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[one-sunny]

Silent Affection

Sanji x f!reader drabble

Summary: Sanji is Sanji and it’s not unusual to witness his displays of affection. However, you never seemed to pay attention to the silent displays of affection that are reserved solely for you. Typical Sanji nicknames and f!reader.

Masterlist

It was natural in an almost startling way.

Sanji was a man that showed his affection for those around him loud and proud. He would dote on you, Nami, and Robin around the clock. Any of your compliments of his food would turn him into the physical embodiment of heart eyes. None of you would ever go without.

But aside from all of the showmanship, there was a silent affection that was reserved for only you.

In the way that he always managed to hand you your sun glasses on a particular bright day, when you’re squinting uncomfortably and attempting to shield your eyes. No words passed between you or call to attention. Just the simple act of noticing.

It was in the chore rotation. How any time you were assigned your least favorite task, Sanji suddenly had the free time to get to it before you. It didn’t matter how many times you protested this, because often times this meant you aided him in his own chores and the man would do anything for that extra time to spend with you.

And above all else, it was the extra sprinkling of oregano in your pasta sauce. The day your nose crinkled when Sanji asked for you to taste test for him, announcing the sauce needed some oregano, he was instantly sent back to the Baratie. Of course, Sanji couldn’t stop himself from uttering the phrase “oregano is for savages”, just as he had so many times to Zeff. He didn’t have it in him to throw the ingredient into the whole pot, but he found himself adding the ingredient to your plate alone.

But all of these acts seemed to fall on deaf ears. You didn’t acknowledge them, for the most part, as this was just Sanji. Despite being reserved solely for you and you alone. You never seemed to notice.

When the Sunny docks onto an island, much to everyone’s relief, the crew is more than ready to head out and explore. Groceries are the number one priority with a captain that could consume the entire ocean three times over. But, groceries are not Nami’s main concern as she is dragging you and Robin away from the group and to a couple of shops nearby.

You spend your day split between a dress up doll and personal hype woman for the navigator. When Nami deems herself done and the shop keepers are all seething in rage at her lack of purchases, you meet your crew outside of a restaurant. Luffy had decided your chef needed a break and, after hearing a local rave about the marinated meat that was a local delicacy, he was more than excited.

Your waiter is an older man that regards your group with immediate distaste and huffs off when Luffy orders one of everything.

When the man returns with a tray of drinks, he places the glass of ice directly in front of you, a lemon wedge on the edge of the glass. Your nose crinkles at the sight. Sanji, caught up in a conversation with Nami about the grocery bill, doesn’t even seem to realize as he plucks the lemon off of your glass to drop it in his own water. After all, your chef knew of your distaste for lemon in your water.

And you simply shrug it off, because he is Sanji after all.

Before the food arrives, Nami requests you follow her to the bathroom, a silent plea in the room full of unfamiliar faces. You follow her with little protest.

Upon returning to the table, plates litter the surface and your food is presented at your seat. You notice Ussop’s eyes lingering on you for a beat too long as you settle down. An arm swoops in at your side before you can question it and a small ramekin of sauce is placed next to your plate. You cast a confused look to the waiter but he is already off.

“Sanji asked for it for you.” Ussop answers your silent question, his brows raising. “And he did that.” He nods towards the raw circles of onion placed on the edge of Sanji’s plate. The raw onions you specifically had asked to not come with your meal.

“Oh.” Is all you can mumble out.

“Oh.” Ussop mocks you with the roll of his eyes. “You should be used to this, ya know.”

Your brows pull together, “What do you mean?”

A smirk pulls to his lips, “So you really are just dense?”

“Says you.” You scoff defensively. At your weak retaliation, Ussop drops the issues and focuses on defending his own plate from Luffy’s hungry gaze. Your eyes drop to your plate as the words ring in your mind. “You should be used to this.”

The meal is good, the marinated meat just as lush as described, but you couldn’t seem to focus on your plate. Sanji’s knee knocks against yours under the table and you are quick to meet his eye.

“Everything okay, darling?” He prompts, lifting his drink to take a sip as his eyes level at you. You can only focus on the extra lemon swirling in his cup.

You clear your throat, “Yeah, i’m fine.”

“Enjoying your meal?” He asks further.

“ ‘S good.” You nod slowly. Your next words leave you before you can even process them, “But i’m almost certain you could do better.” And you begin to wonder just how long you have spoken so freely to Sanji without any thought.

A bright smile pulls to his lips and heat rushes color to his cheeks. “Thank you, mon amor.” He hums in thought. “The marinade is quite good, I believe I could recreate it if i tried hard enough.” That was the thing about your chef, he was excellent at dissecting a meal and recreating it to be a thousand times better. “And I could easily make it more to your taste.” He bumps your knee again with a smile and you find yourself leaning into that touch, much to his surprise.

Your knee rests against Sanji’s as you turn back to your plate- which looks suspiciously lacking from when you last focused on it. Across the table, Luffy chews with a goofy grin on his face.

Yet, you cannot bring yourself to care. Your thoughts rush in your mind as you attempt to piece together just when this all started. When it stopped just being Sanji.

[klausysworld]

Left But Never Forgotten

Upon the Mikaelson's return to New Orleans, they each had their worries. Klaus was focused on his pregnant werewolf and the deep rooted need to be a king. Rebekah desperately wanted her past lover, Marcel back but also felt the need to protect her niece to be. Elijah was supposed to be concentrating on his brother and Hayley as they expected their child, or the mess that the divided factions of supernaturals in New Orleans was but instead, he was thinking of her.

Y/N.

He hadn't seen her since leaving New Orleans a hundred years ago. She and Marcel had been presumed dead, nothing had prepared him for seeing her face again.

Feeling her palm cup his cheek and her thumb stroking the prickle of stubble left on his skin. She was so similar and yet so different to the last time. Before she had been a princess, now she was a Queen.

Even when the Mikaelson's moved into the abattoir and his room was just beside hers, she still felt too far away.

Elijah felt as if he were just watching her life go by without him, it made him sick. He lacked the usual hunger of a vampire, the need to kill or hurt. He lost his passion to protect and guide.

He just wanted her.

Everyone knew that, except her.

Nobody understood the pain she and Marcel went through. They waited day in and day out for their family to come home, to tell them that it was okay and that Mikael wouldn't torture them again, that their nightmares weren't real and they were safe. They rebuilt the city brick by brick, cleaning away the ashes left behind but they still didn't come back. So they moved on. They worked together and they got stronger and they earned their power and their places and then they finally came back and just took it from them like it was nothing.

And Elijah had barely said five words to her.

He just stared, but whenever his lips parted no words would leave him. Elijah didn't realise she took that as something else. But for Y/N, she had been hoping to hear his voice for a century, crying for him in her sleep and now he was here and she felt like he didn't even care enough to talk to her.

She could have thought he didn't care at all if it weren't for the way he looked at her. The look of love in those deep eyes of his. That same look she used to see each morning and night.

Y/N wanted him to know that she still wanted him to look at her like that, she still wanted him like that.

So she tried to show him. A lingering touch hear or there, just on his arm or his shoulder. Or she'd bring him a cup of tea the way he used to like it, ask him about the literature he was reading most currently but he could barely get five words out.

So she tried not to focus on words, instead she gave him a kiss and hoped it was enough. It was.

Elijah hadn't exactly been expecting her to suddenly grab his face and push her lips against his but most definitely wasn't complaining.

Both hands lifted and cupped her face like all those times years ago, kissing her deeply like he'd craved to for so long. He needed her hands in his hair, to ruin the perfect facade he'd been wearing.

His tie was clutched into her palm and tugged gently, leading him with her to his room. He followed her mindlessly onto his bed, crawling over her and keeping his tongue with hers.

The desperation was so strong.

Elijah could feel the fabric of his tie slip from his neck. The buttons on his shirt slowly revealing more and more of his chest, he wanted to rip the clothes from her body but he couldn't stop holding her beautiful face.

It was when his belt was unclasped that he finally pulled away, looking down at her with lust blown pupils. His eyes swirled with that darkness that she enjoyed, her fingers traced the veins beneath his eyes before her thumb slid over his fang.

"I really missed you." She confessed to him and he softened, his hands finally dropping to her hips to pull her close.

"I missed you too, every day." He uttered, eyes flicking between both of hers.

"But you never came back..." She whispered and he looked down.

"I thought you were gone...I saw you, you looked...you didn't look alive. I couldn't bare coming back to the place that did that to you. I couldn't stand the memory of your body strung up like that." He told her shakily, his hands desperate to keep her with him this time.

"Marcel and I had to rip ourselves free of those nails, Elijah. I could hear you, you would have ran whether I was alive or not-"

"Don't you ever think that." He whispered, his hold tight now, both arms round her waist and her body in his lap. "I would never knowingly leave you for dead." He promised.

Her body rest against him, her face against his broad chest and warming his cold skin.

"I love you, Y/N. I loved you from the second I laid eyes on you." He murmured, lips kissing her shoulder gently after. "You mean more to me than anything. You're family."

"Don't lie to me, Elijah. I know I'll never be your family, I don't think anybody can truly become a Mikaelson. Hayley's the closest anyone can get and that's because she had Klaus's baby and we both know I can't give you a child." She practically whimpered.

Elijah just looked at her for a short while, guilt in his gaze. He could remember when she was human, when she didn't yet know he was vampire. She wanted them to have three children, when she found out he couldn't she thought maybe there could be a spell, there was still hope. However when she turned too, she knew that it was a useless thought and gave up altogether.

They had considered adoption but Y/N worried that if the child wasn't biologically a Mikaelson that they wouldn't truly love or protect the child. Not any of the Mikaelsons.

Of course she'd never verbally expressed that fear but Elijah could tell. Knowing that Klaus could procreate and he couldn't was difficult for him, just like he knew it was difficult for Rebekah knowing her brother could have a baby but she also couldn't.

But seeing Y/N hurt by it too was an extra hit to his heart.

After all these years, he still dreamt of their family. He'd be a much better father than Mikael, and she'd be a much better mother than Esther.

"It's not you who can't give me a child, Y/N." He murmured. "It's me, my fault. You can't blame yourself, I turned you and I took that possibility away but it will not ever change how I feel for you. You are my family, I'd carry you with me for eternity."

It was just difficult to believe with how that family behaved towards outsiders.

"Okay." Y/N whispered, it was clear she was only relenting to try not form an argument and Elijah wanted to be more reassuring but he knew it would only escalate things.

His hand reached to touch hers, hold hers.

"Allow me to court you again." He murmured, wanting to show her their potential again but she laughed softly and shook her head.

"I don't want us back at square one. I want it to be how it was before." She told him, smiling softly. It warmed him.

"I'd like that." He nodded, his thumb stroking the back of her hand. "But I still want it to be special, I haven't been able to cherish you for so long now."

"I suppose I won't stop you from a gift or two." She teased and he hummed.

She looked back down at his bare chest and sighed, she'd missed this.

He pulled her back to his chest, coddling her to him and stroking her back lovingly.

The skin to skin wasn't something Elijah experienced often, he only allowed it when he truly loved someone. His mind and body craved it.

Y/N knew how deprived he was right from childhood. So, just like she used to, she pulled her shirt from her body and let the skin of her upper body lay against his.

"You know that I love you?" He whispered and she nodded.

"I just wish you'd talk to me more, I can't be with you if you can't even hold a normal conversation with me Elijah..."

"I know, my sweet. I was just so struck when I saw you and I feared that you could have moved on...with Marcel." He hesitated and she scoffed.

"Oh? And after he was making out with Rebekah? That didn't clue you in, no?" She teased and he looked down with an embarrassed smile.

"I was shy I suppose." He admitted and she smiled.

"You used to be shy all the time." She whispered, stroking his hand and leaning up to kiss the corner of his lips like she used to.

He leaned forward and leant his forehead against hers, a warm smile on his face.

"I'm so glad you're here."

"So am I."

[sunny44]

September 30th

Pairing: Max Verstappen x Mom!Wife!reader

Warnings: pregnancy and mentions of birth

Summary: It’s Max’s birthday and he couldn’t ask for a better gift than his wife giving birth to their daughter.

Celebrating Max’s birthday had always been special, but this year felt different. The restaurant was filled with the warmth of familiar laughter. Seated at the table were Max, his parents, Victoria, and a few close friends, all smiling and sharing stories. Despite my prominent belly revealing how close we were to meeting our daughter, I felt light and content. We were in one of those cozy Italian restaurants Max loved, the air rich with the aroma of fresh pasta and fragrant herbs.

While Max chatted animatedly with his father, I noticed the sparkle in his eyes—he had always cherished these simple family moments. It made me smile. I knew how much these gatherings meant to him, especially now that we were on the brink of a new chapter in our lives.

“Are you okay, love?” he asked, noticing my gaze fixed on him.

“I’m fine,” I replied, gently caressing my belly. “She’s calm today… for now.”

He chuckled softly, placing his hand over mine to feel the subtle movement of our baby. “She knows it’s my birthday. She’s being kind to me.”

The evening unfolded beautifully, framed by joy and love. I felt complete. It wasn’t just being surrounded by the people we loved but knowing that soon, we’d be holding our daughter in our arms. As plates came and went, conversations flowed effortlessly. Victoria and Sophie, Max’s mom, exchanged ideas about the baby’s nursery. I chimed in occasionally, but mostly, I observed, lost in thoughts about how it would feel to see Max with our daughter, how he would step into his role as a father.

Suddenly, I felt a slight tightening in my belly. It was barely noticeable, a subtle pressure. I didn’t think much of it. I’d felt a few of these small contractions before, and the doctor assured me they were normal in the final weeks of pregnancy. Taking a deep breath, I shifted in my seat, catching Sophie’s warm smile. “You’re glowing, Y/n. You don’t even look like you’re so close to giving birth.”

“Thank you,” I laughed. “But I think that could change any moment now.”

A few minutes later, another tightening came, stronger this time. I tried to mask it, but my hands instinctively went to my belly, and this time, Max noticed.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” He squeezed my hand, concern evident in his voice.

“Yes… I think so.” But deep down, I knew something was changing.

As the minutes passed, the contractions became more frequent. At a certain point, I could no longer hide my discomfort. The pain wasn’t unbearable yet, but it was growing more intense and consistent.

“Y/n, you’re starting to look pale,” Victoria commented, her worried eyes on me.

I sighed, trying to stay calm. “I… I think it’s happening.”

Max froze for a second, and I saw the moment he processed my words. “You mean now?”

I nodded, biting my lip as another contraction hit, sharper this time. “Yes, now.”

The restaurant, which had been buzzing with laughter and conversation moments before, grew quiet around our table. All eyes turned to me and Max, who was now on his feet, ready to take charge.

“Let’s get you to the hospital,” he said, his voice steady but his eyes betraying a mix of excitement and nerves.

The drive to the hospital felt like it lasted forever and passed in the blink of an eye all at once. I sat in the car, Max by my side, gripping my hand tightly while trying to focus on the road. The contractions continued, each one stronger than the last, making the reality of becoming parents all the more tangible.

When we finally arrived, a medical team swiftly led us to a delivery room. Max stayed by my side the entire time, holding my hand and murmuring words of encouragement. By then, I could barely think clearly. The pain was intense, but all I could focus on was the thought of seeing our daughter’s face.

Time lost meaning as the process unfolded. Sometimes, it felt like hours; other times, it blurred into a series of contractions, deep breaths, and Max’s voice reassuring me that I was doing great.

During one of the most intense moments, I looked at Max. He was sweating almost as much as I was, his face concentrated, but his eyes shone with emotion. “You’re amazing, love. We’re almost there,” he said with a smile that, despite the tension, gave me strength.

And then, finally, after what felt like an eternity, I heard the sound that would change our lives forever: the soft, sweet cry of our daughter.

She was born at 11:59 PM, in the last minute of Max’s birthday.

Tears streamed down my face as the doctors cleaned her up and placed her in my arms. She was perfect—tiny, delicate, and absolutely perfect. Max, beside me, gazed at her with an expression I’d never seen before—a mix of pure love, awe, and reverence. He kissed my forehead, then gently kissed our daughter’s head.

“She was born on my birthday,” he whispered, almost in disbelief. “The best gift I could ever ask for.”

I smiled, exhausted but utterly happy. “I think she wanted to make sure this would be an unforgettable day for you.”

He laughed softly, his eyes still locked on her. “I’ll never forget this.”

The next moments passed like a dream. Max held our daughter in his arms with a tenderness that surprised me, considering how fierce and relentless he was on the racetrack. In that moment, he was just a dad, completely in love with his little girl.

Our family, waiting anxiously in the hospital lobby, was soon notified. They quickly joined us, their faces glowing with smiles and tears of joy. Sophie cried as she held her granddaughter, and Jos looked so proud, seeing his son step into fatherhood.

“Have you decided on a name yet?” Sophie asked, her eyes sparkling as she looked at us.

Max and I exchanged a glance. We had discussed a few names but wanted to wait for the right moment. I looked at our daughter, and suddenly, it was clear. “Eva,” I said softly. “Eva Verstappen.”

Max smiled, nodding. “Perfect.”

As the night turned into early morning, the hospital grew quieter. I lay in bed, Max beside me, Eva sleeping peacefully in his arms. The silence was comfortable, filled with peace.

“I can’t believe she was born on my birthday,” Max repeated, still in awe. “It couldn’t have been more perfect.”

I chuckled softly, brushing my fingers against his cheek. “I think she wanted to make sure you’d always have this special bond.”

“I always knew this would be the best birthday ever,” he replied, kissing Eva’s tiny head with a tenderness that melted my heart.

As sleep finally overtook me, I knew without a doubt that our lives had changed forever. And I couldn’t have been happier.

Bonus scene!

Maxverstappen Instagram stories

“Today I received the best birthday gift ever, my wife gave birth to our baby girl and make these birthday the best. Both mama and baby are great”

[skzficdump]

Two lines and eight reactions

Where I made headcanons when your partner is pregnant, even if they used protection

request!

hyung line | maknae line

Han

"Ji… I'm pregnant."

He stared at the test. Then he looked at you. Then back at the test.

"What…? This is a joke, right? Where's the camera? IS THIS A TIKTOK CHALLENGE?!"

"No, Ji…"

He looked into your eyes, and then he understood. His whole body tensed. He hugged you tightly, as if you needed someone to hold you through the shaking.

"We didn't plan it. But I'm not running. I'm here. With you."

His words, though stuttered, were all I needed.

Felix

You didn't know how to say it, so you just placed the positive test in his hand. Felix looked at him. He went still. Then his eyes filled with tears.

"Is it real…? A baby?"

You nodded, scared. You expected him to back away. But he smiled, a shaky smile, and hugged you.

"You know what? Even though we didn't expect it, I already love him. I already love you both."

You leaned into his chest, and he silently stroked your back.

"We're going to do this right. I promise."

Seungmin

"I'm pregnant."

You said it quickly. Without breathing. He froze, staring at you.

"Are you sure?"

"Yes…"

"And what are you planning to do?"

"I don't know…"

He nodded slowly. He didn't say anything for a few seconds. Then he leaned closer, hugged you firmly, and murmured, "Then let's decide together. Whatever it is, I'm not going to let you go through this alone."

And in that moment, you knew that, even though he was scared, Seungmin had already gone into protective mode.

Jeongin

“Jeongin… we need to talk.”

You gave him the test. He took it, looked at it, and looked at you. His face paled.

“Are you saying…?”

“Yes. I'm pregnant.”

“But… we used protection! We were super careful!”

You sat up in bed. So did he. His hands were shaking.

“I don't understand…” he whispered. “But I'm not going to let you deal with this alone either.”

He leaned closer, took your hand, and rested his forehead on your shoulder.

“I'm scared. But I love you. And that doesn't change.”

[sorryiliketoscreenshot]

[rivendell-poet]

❝𝐘𝐨𝐮 𝐜𝐚𝐧'𝐭 𝐬𝐩𝐞𝐚𝐤 𝐄𝐥𝐯𝐢𝐬𝐡?❞ « one-shot »

Pairing : Legolas X Reader

Wordcount : 4.3k

No TWs | Gender-neutral reader | Elf!reader | First part of this work

(Legolas POV - Italics means the dialogue is Elvish)

The first time Legolas had met you, or rather truly spoken to you, he was trying to solve a riddle from one of the books he’d procured in Rivendell. It wasn’t all a riddle book, most of it was a collection of Elvish poetry along with the occasional story or song, but he’d finished all of it, along with the other three riddles in that book, yet he still couldn’t figure this one out.

He’d taken to asking around for an answer to it, or at least for help, but because of the fact it was in Elvish only Aragorn and you could understand it. And Legolas quickly discovered that, despite his many good qualities, riddles and their solutions were not Aragorn’s strong suit. Which had left you to ask.

Legolas approached you quietly, as he always did, but you’d still heard him and turned around to greet him, smiling slightly as you shuffled closer to him.

He probably would have walked over to you even if he’d know the answer to the riddle, so he could see that pretty smile and talk to you for a bit. But what was he thinking? He had come here to ask you about a riddle, not to admire and stare (hopefully not too obviously) at you in the afternoon light.

“Do you need anything?” You asked, looking briefly at him and then at the book in his hands. Legolas smiled, and then took a few steps to sit down beside you, “Yes, actually. I’ve been reading this for a while now, and one of the riddles in it, I simply cannot understand. I was wondering if you could offer me your advice?”

You looked up at him for a second, then gestured to the book still in his hands, “May I?”

“Of course,” he began, as both of you reached for the other, there was a brief moment as his hand met yours. Just a brief touch, but Legolas could feel the tips of his ears turn a slight shade of pink, and thanked Valar that they were hidden behind his hair.

For a second he risked a glance at you, and then your ears, to see if he could perhaps spot the same thing? It was a silly idea, to think that you would be interested in him, but some part of him wanted to see anyway. But there was almost nothing on your cheeks, a faint rosy hue, but something that could easily have come from the heat of today. And Legolas wasn’t about to make assumptions, it would be unfair of him to spring unwanted feelings onto you, especially since the two of you had barely spoken.

You had now taken the book from him, and had begun to stare at the well pondered over page, reading the Elvish riddle with a slight frown. Then you looked up at him, “This is the riddle about what it cannot do, right? How it says ‘cannot be seen, cannot be felt’?”

“Yes, have you heard of it before?”

“Ok, it is. And yes, it’s one of the more common ones used in Rivendell. Children generally use it all the time, they think they're so clever when they get it right, or that they’re an idiot when they don’t,” you paused for a second, and Legolas hoped you wouldn’t see the hurt in his eyes. Was it really that common of a riddle in Rivendell, yet he hadn’t figured it out?

You looked closer at him at that point, and he felt a bit of blush take over the embarrassment, “Oh - no. I didn’t mean it like that, it’s an annoying riddle to know the answer to,” you almost stumbled over your words. “Besides, I don’t like riddles anyway,” you trailed off, as if to say something more.

But whatever you were going to say didn’t matter so much, and Legolas felt himself smiling again, it wasn’t that he’d been being foolish, the riddle was just a harder one. Then he felt himself smile again, and he turned back to you in a lightly teasing tone, “It’s ok to call me a fool . I haven’t exactly the best record when it comes to riddles or poetry.”

You had let yourself slouch a little now, and a new, still just as beautiful, but less tense smile was on your face now, “Well, I’m awful at it too. We may suffer its confusion together,” at that, a laugh escaped him, as well as a small one from you, and he felt his heart grow lighter still. Was it really normal for him to have feelings about another elf so rapidly?

There was a brief, although not awkward, pause as the two of you sat together, before he could see Frodo begin to get up again, causing Aragorn to follow him. “We shall continue going forward, I want to get to the edges of these fields by midnight,” Aragorn proclaimed, looking around and slightly into the distance, before turning back to you, “Will you take the front?”

You had gotten yourself up at that point, “Of course. The ring-bearer in the middle?”

There was nodding, and small conversation struck up between the fellowship as they decided where to go in their march. Like most days, Legolas turned to Aragorn and then Gandalf, as he would walk by them, but both were already in company with one of the hobbits. He looked once more, not particularly wanting to be walking with the dwarf, or with whatever chaos Merry and Pippin were sure to bring. Stepping ahead again, he caught up to you, “May I scout with you? My usual marching partners have both found someone else, and I would like to appreciate the views with someone.”

That was the first time you two had walked together, and Legolas could feel the nervous beating in his heart as he asked, and waited for an answer. He could feel the strong blush in his ears, and the thankfully lighter on dusting his cheeks. He also felt the almost soaring sensation when you had said yes. 

From the one the two of you had always gone on scouting missions together, or both stayed up to watch throughout the night. Even if neither of you had a specific job in the line, more often than not it was you and him walking together. And he loved that.

And now it was in a situation like this. Like most nights, Legolas had offered to take a night-watch (elves not needing as much sleep as the others) and everyone had instinctually looked to you as well, and your hand was already up. Lazily raised, but your eyes were shining and there was a smile on your face that grew brighter when you looked at him. At least, Legolas thought it did.

He still wasn’t sure of your feelings for him. He knew of his feelings for you, of course. To him you were perfect, and would be the one forever. But how could he really say that to you? Or know that you felt the same way. Yes, you were around him most of all, and you seemed to share a special bond - but he didn’t want to be imagining all of that. He didn’t want to ruin what was already there.

And he was hesitant to get advice from any other members of the Fellowship, especially as they were not elves. Of course, they could fall in love and spend their lives together, but mortal lives were just that, lives. And if Legolas decided to love you, like he had, then he would love you for the rest of eternity, and that wasn’t something many other cultures understood.

But quite a lot of the Fellowship did seem supportive of the two of you. Even if most of it was Gimli making some sort of joke as the two of you went off together, prompting Pippin and Merry to start as well, it gave him quiet confidence that something was there between the two of you. And Aragorn knew, maybe even before Legolas had completely figured out his own feelings.

And it was Aragorn’s advice he was thinking of, as he gazed into the woods. Around them, only a few metres off, the rest of the Fellowship was sleeping. Only you and him were awake and still watchful in the moonlight. There was almost only moonlight as well.

With both of you being elves, you could rely less on fire to provide vision, and could instead gaze further into the darkened forest and still see if there was any danger. But all was calm, there wasn’t a single noise from the forest, and as both him and you sat in companionable silence, there was no noise from either of you. As he tried to listen, he realised he could still hear a few things.

There was a soft flickering from a lantern that was still on, positioned next to Merry’s bed, but only emitting the slightest bit of noise. And he could hear the soft breathing of everyone at camp, some hitched slightly, but most deep and calm. Yours was calm as well, content and peaceful.

Then he heard a slight shuffle, and he felt a weight against his back. Now Legolas could hear his heart, beating faster, as well as feel himself blush slightly more heavily. It was you, you were leaning up against his back, and looking up into the stars.

Surely this contact couldn’t be comfortable for you, he reflected, noting how you were lent up against the bit of armour he still had on. But he didn’t want to push you off either, his heart panged at the idea of losing physical contact with you. Instead, as gently as he could, he began to shift slightly and manoeuvre as to where you were still leaning on him, but much more comfortably.

Then the weight was gone, and he could feel you suddenly shift off him. Legolas turned around to look at you, and you smiled back at him, head still faintly titled back to watch the stars. You spoke, “Sorry, should’ve… asked permission, I know.”

He smiled at this, quick to reassure, “Oh, don’t worry about it. I don’t mind it at all friend . I was simply curious as to what you were doing?”

Even though you’d been sitting in silence for the past hour, it was so comfortably easy to start a conversation, for both of you to bring out each other's smiles. And tonight was no exception, he looked at you a little closer. Was that a slight amount of blush on you? Even with the poor lighting, he could see it was. But was it because you loved him back, or was it just embarrassment?

“I was,” there was hesitation in your voice, so probably the latter he realised as his heart sank, “Observing our immediate upward surroundings,  to make sure a… bird, doesn’t attack us while we’re sleeping.”

Legolas found himself laughing at that, although just a soft one. Not wanting to ruin the tranquillity of the firelight mood, or to make it seem like he was laughing at you. Suddenly unsure of himself, Legolas looked up towards the stars as well, “It is ok, I think the stars are very beautiful too.”

Then he caught himself. His heart was beating faster, much too fast. He thought back to what Aragorn had told him, and what he knew in his heart. Glancing around for a brief moment, everything seemed perfect to him. If he was ever to let you know he loved you, now would be the time. The hesitation had only been a second, but he felt uncertain. Then he opened his mouth to speak again.

“They are very pretty, my love.���

There was a pause between the two of you, and he looked back into your eyes, almost desperate. Please, give me a sign that you love me too? Legolas searched around your face, from the blush that had spread from your ears to your cheeks, and the fact your eyes almost seemed to sparkle. But then nothing, instead you gave a small smile, an obviously forced one, and turned from him to face the forest.

His heart fell. Nothing, he loved you, and would love you for the rest of forever, but it wasn’t the same for you. There was a second where his eyes blinked more rapidly, but instead he peered out into the night, searching for something that wasn’t there. Just like he’d seen something that wasn’t there. And now because of that he was stuck on watch with someone he’d poured out his heart too, who didn’t love him in return.

That incident had been last night, and it was the morning now. He hadn’t gotten much sleep at all, being kept awake by his aching heart. Not that elves like him needed much, to be fair.

Like usual, everyone else awoke - and Aragorn insisted on eating breakfast while on the move instead of sitting down to dine. Normally you would protest, and then the hobbits would join in (you telling him afterwards you wanted to watch the end of the sunrise with him) but there was no voice of complaint from you either, just a resignation as you got up.

Although you, and some of the fellowship had now started walking forward, Legolas waited a bit longer. If he stayed behind here, would you have waited for him to catch up? Six strides, seven strides, eight strides. It didn’t seem like it, and as he strode to not be felt behind by the party, he could hear whispers between Merry and Pippin.

The rest of the day was equally forlorn, him staying completely near the back until you and Gimli had both slowed your pace a little, as if to stay behind him. His heart had started to lift, the first hint of a smile, but then you turned briefly and faced Boromir, so he’d turned immediately to face Gimli, striking up a conversation with the dwarf based on faked enthusiasm - and not wanting to look at you being happy with someone else.

Eventually, you tried to approach him a few times, and his heart made it so he couldn’t bring himself to even look at you fully. Legolas gave short answers in the few times you spoke with him, and all of them were about what was currently going on (like a brief scouting report) and a brief moment of caring again, when he’d asked you what you ate.

But in all the conversations, he’d been quiet and reserved, trying to slip away as quickly as he could to scout or talk to anyone else. He couldn’t just pretend things would go back to the way they were, not if you didn’t love him but he loved you so dearly. And he didn’t want to force you to speak with him either, and approached with that awkwardness that you had - as though you didn’t want to be there.

The only words he had uttered that were about that night had been a brief phrase to you, “I’m sorry.”

But you had looked blank, and then he ran ahead again to the scouting position of the party before he could hear what you had to say. It was fine that you didn’t love him, but he didn’t want to hear you say that - or flounder around with words to pretend everything was ok.

The next day was the same, walking alone or with Gimli, even briefly along with Merry and Pippin (to see if their incessant joy could infect him) but that didn’t work either. When he’d approached them they looked shocked, and Merry had given some not-so-subtle glances to you, and then to him with concern on his face. Legolas had just told them not to worry, and tried to engage with them tales of Mirkwood instead.

Eventually, the company stopped for the night again. Basic camp was set up again, the two of you placing your sleeping mats almost on the opposite side of the circle the fellowship always seemed to make. Three larger logs, sturdy but long fallen, encompassed where you had set up camp, and like most nights people began to split into little groups and make small talk about the day's journey.

Legolas forced himself to sit down, shoulder slightly slumped in a way unlike him, and facing partially away from most of the circle, instead looking at Aragorn. The ranger noticed him almost straight away, and silently walked away from where he was sharpening his blade to sit down beside the elf.

“What’s wrong with the two of you?” came the soft words of Aragorn, looking briefly at you before staring back at Legolas.

“In Elvish,” Legolas instinctually corrected, not wanting the rest of the fellowship to become involved, “I… took the advice that you had offered me a few nights ago.”

Aragorn raised a brow, casting his mind back and remembering the windy time. They’d been on watch together, and Legolas had approached Aragorn confessing his feelings about you. Wondering how Aragorn had managed to confess to Arwen, and what he should do.

“I presume it didn’t go as well as you thought it would?”

“No, it didn’t,” there was a more melancholy tone to Legolas’s voice, clear even through the beautiful tones of Elvish, “Everything… everything seemed perfect. I wasn’t sure if I’d ever been more in love with them.”

Aragorn’s eyes became a bit more sympathetic as he saw the elf almost struggle to finish his sentence, looking slightly lost. “And then what happened?”

“They were looking up at the stars, they looked beautiful. And, we talked about them for a brief while. Then, I called her my love, and they said nothing after that. We sat in silence for the rest of the night.” At that, a more intense sadness formed in Legolas’s eyes, and the two of them briefly looked over at where you were sitting. You had been briefly staring back at them for a second, and the two of you met eyes for a second. He could feel his heart break a bit more, and he turned away, missing the concerned look that crossed Aragorn’s face as he stared at the two of you.

“Well, my friend. I am sorry that this has happened,” there was little comfort that Aragorn could give at the moment. Legolas knew the ranger would be there for him, and he would not appreciate meaningless words of comfort to try and soothe an aching heart. Aragorn paused for a second, before asking, “Do you still care for them?”

Legolas looked up at this, voice raising for a second and then shushing again, “Care for them?” That was when it got quieter, “Of course I do. They are my stars, my forest, my heart. Even if they do not feel the same way.”

“Well then there may still be hope for the two of you, do not give up yet Legolas.”

There was a lull in conversation between the two of them, and comfort for a second before Legolas looked back at the camp. Looked to see you sitting and staring into the floor, Frodo at your side. A now familiar sadness twinged in his heart, before the silence was broken by Sam, “Is anyone available to go get firewood, I want to start cookin’ before it gets too late.”

“I will.”

As soon as Legolas said it, he heard you say it at the same time, and he looked up at you for a second with a smile before reality came down upon him. But before he could apologise, shake his head and retreat back to Strider, Sam clasped his hands together.

“Two is better than one, I suppose.”

Now seeing that neither of you could back out, Legolas sat up, giving a brief look to Aragorn - as though to ask for help. He didn’t want to have to be with you right now, especially after he’d just confessed he still loved you.

“Just be getting firewood, mind,” Gimli called out as the two of you were leaving to head into the forest, and in spite of himself Legolas could feel his ears burn with blush, just like they always did. You would have nudged him at this point, some blush scattering your cheeks, and replying scathingly, but the both of you stayed silent this time.

He filled in the gap for you instead, “Do not worry Gimli, it will just be collecting firewood.”

The phrase came out colder than he intended, and he saw you rush forward into the trees, before stopping and looking around at the floor. Your movements seemed almost erratic at times, and while he stooped to collect firewood he kept his eyes trained on you, still worried. It was ridiculous, he knew. The idea that you would need help from him, or want it.

After only a few minutes, he saw you had much more timber in your arms than usual (normally the two of you would make jokes, and he’d end up collecting the brunt of it) and watched as you straightened up, “I think we have enough - do you want to head back?”

There was a moment of silence, before you began to continue, “Wait, Legolas, I meant to-”

“Yes, I think we have plenty between us,” he cut across quietly. There was no reason for you to apologise to him, or for the two of you to discuss what had happened in the moonlight. He just needed to get back to camp, not have his heart tricked into thinking you might like him again.

But what if you did, what if he had interrupted you. “Wait, I do actually love…” His voice trailed off as he saw you several steps ahead, clearly not listening and desperate to get back to camp. Of course you weren’t speaking to confess, why did he let his heart lead him yet again?

“We’re back, is this enough?” He heard you say to the fellowship, appearing out of the treeline a little behind you silently. Dinner was quiet, and he sat off to the side with Aragorn, neither of them speaking and instead just eating silently. Eventually dinner ended, and like always the matter of who was going to watch was brought up.

Legolas watched as you volunteered, hand going up, then felt as everyone’s gaze turned to him. Watching was another one of those things the two of you would do together, but he couldn’t face being alone with you right now - especially after two failed confessions in three days. As the silence began to grow tense, Aragorn moved slightly to volunteer as well, throwing an almost chiding look at Legolas.

Sleep was difficult for him, but everything was silent and he managed to find himself drifting off, although dreamlessly. When he awoke, it was to something jabbing him in the side. For a second fear raced through him, a sword perhaps? A cunning ambush? But then the thing tapped him again, it was just a stick. And if Legolas knew him, it would be Aragorn. Silently, he moved his hand to be free and listened for the movement of the air. 

Then he struck, one hand grabbing the stick and the other straying to his bow - if only to give a brief scare. He looked around at the moonlight before remembering the watch, a slight scowl falling over his face, “I assume I’m taking over the watch?”

His voice was slightly stiff, and he hauled himself out of the bedroll, pulling on his quiver as he did so and readjusting his bow. There was a slight grin on Aragorn’s face as he walked away, one of those knowing ones that he got once in a while. Silently Legolas sat up and walked to face the fire, instinctively walking to be next to you and then swerving and sitting opposite you.

There was silence as he stared at the fire, his heart both wanting to say something to you, but his heart also worrying that it would get hurt again. And both were battling, and neither were winning when you suddenly emitted a small sound.

It was like a choking one, and worry immediately flooded his eyes as he looked up at you. Were you ill, had something happened? But he shouldn’t still be fussing over you… that, wasn’t his job anymore. Not that it ever truly was. Legolas began to look away again, not wanting to torture his heart more.

“I can’t speak Elvish.”

Shock was the first thing that hit him, like a punch in the safe. That and almost absolute confusion. You were an elf, how could you not speak the mother-tongue? But then, along with the shock and confusion, his heart began to sing as well. You may still feel the same way, you just didn’t know what he had said.

Almost timidly, and certainly quietly, he spoke up while daring to glance into your eyes, “So you could not understand me, when I was talking to you in the forest?”

You shook your head, and his heart soared. There was still a chance for him, for the two of you. Then it hurt again as you let out another almost choked sob noise, “I know five words, the most useful one is food.”

So you truly had not understood him when he had been speaking. Relief was now rushing over him, that and love again. Still just as strong and pure, but he wasn’t squashing it down because of your supposed ‘rejection’. Almost subconsciously he stood up and moved over to you. Not quite touching, but close.

“What… what did you call me on that night?”

Your eyes left his, and he almost felt his throat make the same choked noise, “I- I’m not sure how you’d respond to it now.”

“Legolas, the only reason I didn’t react is because I didn’t understand you, I promise. I was just uncertain of what you said, and I didn’t want to ruin our friendship.”

Your eyes now met again, and he was struck by an urge to hug you. Or, perhaps kiss you. But he wasn’t sure, so instead his hand just reached out and grasped yours. He tried to speak and then gulped nervously, before trying again, “I called you my love.”

He whispered it, and then tried again, “In the forest. Meleth nîn means my love, and I said it because,” at that point his voice, or maybe his nerves, betrayed him, and his voice trailed off. You grasped onto his hands again, to stop them from slipping away.

“As… as in partners?” there was nervousness in your voice, but certainty in his heart. He needed to let you know, and he took a deep breath.

“Yes, meleth nîn, as in… I love you.”

Hope you enjoyed! Requests are open <3

thank you for reading *･༓˚✧ wish to be tagged?

[pankowstuff]

rudy pankow as jj maybank — icons.

[robinbuckleyluvr]

⊹˚˖⁺ our childhood is gone - steve harrington

masterlist | requests

pairing: steve harrington x platonic fem!reader

summary: reader and steve end tied up in the secret russian base, where the reader turns to anger and finally confronts steve after he threw out their friendship just for popularity.

warnings: none

notes: i love angst long live angst

word count: 864

⸻⊱༺ 

When she first walked into her new job and saw Steve Harrington, she could not believe it. How could Steve, the most entitled and pretentious guy at Hawkins, end up with a crappy job at an ice cream parlor?

A bit hypocritical to say, seeing as though she had the same job. 

They exchanged a polite ‘Hello’ that first day, but no words were spoken. There was no acknowledgement of their past, of their friendship they once cherished, ever since they were 9 years old. High school had completely turned Steve into a jerk, and she resented him for it. Him and his ‘friends’ would stare and laugh when she’d walk by, just like they did with anyone they deemed ‘uncool’.

What hurt most, was making eye contact with him.

She never once saw an apologetic look from him. Not then, not now, not ever.

Scoops was a dead-end too, as she pretended not to know him, and he did the same.

How they ended up in an underground Russian base, tied to chairs sitting back-to-back with each other, was a question neither could answer. They sat in silence, waiting and fearing whoever was due to come in the room to question them.

“So…” Steve began, attempting to light up the dreary mood.

“So what?” Y/N snapped. Not a single bone in her wanting to be kind to him.

“I just, you know… quite the situation we’re in here.”

“Cut the shit, Harrington. Don’t act like you want to make small talk with me right now.”

Steve sat quiet. They both did for a few minutes. Taking in the gravity of the situation they faced, and the uncomfortable silence that filled the room.

“You know,” Y/N laughed, sarcasm lacing her words, “You really are the same person you were back in high school. When I first saw you here… I cannot believe I really thought you’d changed. But of course, you didn’t. You’re still the same douchebag you used to be… pretending not to know me. You’re an ass.”

Steve was at a loss for words, “Oh, don’t act like you’re a saint,” He snapped, “You ignored me too. I guess you’re a douche too, then.”

“It takes one to know one. I wasn’t the one who went prancing around to the ‘cool’ kids as soon as we entered high school just because I wanted to be ‘someone’.”

“At least I was someone.”

“Harrington, I think you’ll be happy to know, making fun of people doesn’t make you ‘someone’. It just makes you an asshole.” She shot back.

“Oh, for crying out loud,” He muttered under his breath.

“You are fucking unbelievable.”

He rolled his eyes in response, “For the love of God, I’m sorry, okay?” 

“You don’t even know what to be sorry for, Harrington.” She hissed, “A half-assed apology won’t get you anywhere after the hell you made me go through these past 3 years. You know, when I first started high school, I foolishly thought ‘How cool! I have my awesome, cool, friend, Steve Harrington in the grade above me! What could go wrong?’”

Steve laughed, “You did not say that–”

“Of course not, asshole, I was being sarcastic.” She sighed, “I still did not think you and your fucking ‘friends’ would make it hell to walk through those halls. Never had a single day of peace. If you weren’t making fun of the books I carried, it was the way I walked. Or the way I wore my hair. How does doing that to so many people not haunt you, Steve?”

He stared at the floor. His expression dropping with each word she spoke, hurt and sarcasm never leaving her voice.

“Do you not regret it, Harrington?”

They both reflected on the words exchanged, the minutes dragging out before they spoke again. Their minds raced and dwelled in the hurt and regret filling the air.

“I do. I never thought it was going to go that way. I never thought…” He paused, “I never wanted to hurt anyone. But I sat with them on my first day. And suddenly I was part of it, I finally… belonged somewhere. I started playing basketball with them, and before I knew it, I was in too deep. I never planned to make fun of people in the halls, but when you stand there with them, careful not to laugh too loud and… they turn to you and wait for you to make a comment, you just do. ”

“Please,” She huffed, “You’re not getting any pity from me with that fuck-ass story. You threw away years of friendship to make fun of people and shoot balls up at the ceiling? Fuck you.”

“I’m sorry.” Steve responded quietly. “You’re right. I was a coward, an asshole, and a douche. Everything you said,” He sighed, “You are correct about it all. I hurt a lot of people, and I do wish I could un-do that damage. I wish I hadn’t thrown our friendship away either.”

“You were my best friend,” She spoke, her voice breaking, “I wanted to believe in the 9 year old Steve I once met. But you made me feel invisible.”

[dootznbootz]

A bit messy a bit rushed but !!! I am an anthos enthusiast

I cannot draw cats Lmao 😔

dskljf NIKO

YOU DARLING WONDERFUL PEROSN YOU!

THANK YOU SOMUCH lskdjf I LOVER HER SO MUCH AND I ADORE HOW YODU DOODLE HER AND YOU DO SUCH A FANTASTIC JOB AND ANTHOS LOOKS SO CUTE! SHE'S PERFECT KITTY CAT! THEY CATCH FISH TOGETHER! THEY LVOE EACH OTHER! THAT'S HER KITTY CAT!

Niko, you're genuinely so precious and wonderful. I so so happy, you have no idea

[one-sunny]

Waiting, waiting

Sanji x reader

Summary: Following the events of Whole Cake Island, Sanji is a broken man. He turns to the only person he has felt true affection for with a desperate plea. Angst, desc. of a panic attack, hurt comfort.

Based on the song “Would you fall in love with me again.” Also, disclaimer, i haven’t seen the entirety of the WCI storyline but im sending it anyways 🤷‍♀️

Masterlist

Would you fall in love with me again,

Your relationship with Sanji has always been complicated. You knew of the affection you had for each other, of the longing, and of the little things stuck in your minds that have kept you away from each other. He offered sweet words and the affirmations you needed for comfort. You offered him a gentle presence and acceptance. There were consistent lingering touches and longing stares. But there was always something keeping you away from each other.

There was nothing but relief upon Sanjis return to the crew. You were aware of what he endured and of every way he was different.

He returned to doting on you all, but he lingered in the kitchen and away from the crew far longer than usual. His prep took extra time. The dishes were a much larger task. And above all else, he no longer accepted any aid from you as he so freely did before.

If you knew all i’ve done?

Sanji made an effort to avoid you upon his return to the ship. He was a broken man, but above all else, he wasn’t sure he could face you. After everything he had done. After everything he had to face. Could you really look at him the same?

The man was never sure what to make of your relationship before.

You spoke to him freely, combatting his flirting at time, and leaving him a flustered mess. No one could make him blush in the way that you did. No one made his heart flutter like you. And no one made him feel loved like you could.

The things I cannot change.

Sanji felt his lungs constrict.

Everything was too much. The things weighing on his mind, playing in a constant loop, it was all too much. His hands ball into fists and the cigarette is flattened between his lips with the effort that it took to hold back his tears.

But it wasn’t enough.

A hand presses to his mouth in efforts to quiet his cries. His fingers were wet and pruned from soaking in the dish water, the smell of soap overwhelming his senses. Shoulders begin to shake and his knees nearly buckle with the effort of keeping himself upright.

His breath hitches. One. Twice. A third time and Sanji feels himself spiraling. He can’t breathe.

Would you love me all the same?

“Sanji.” You call out to him. He doesn’t have to turn around for you to take in his wrecked state. You rush to his side, prying his hand away from his mouth and pushing his hair out of his eyes. “Hey, hey, hey.” You coo in effort to comfort him. “Sanji, you’re okay. I’m right here. You’re safe. You’re on the Sunny.”

His hand shoots out to grab at your sleeve, nails digging into the fabric. Quick breaths push out of his mouth as the tears stream down his cheeks.

You cup his face in your hands, speaking to him in a low voice and trying to talk him through the panic attack. To breathe. To let you in. To remind him that he is safe now.

As his breathing stabilizes, he collapses forwards into you. “I’m sorry.” He calls to you. “I’m so sorry.”

“Sanji, why are you apologizing?”

He tugs you closer and presses his face into your shoulder. You hand rubs along his back as he sobs into your shirt. “I’m sorry.” He repeats the words over and over. “I’m sorry I’m not a better man for you.” He chants his apologies for everything he has done. For not treating you how he should. For not showing you the love you deserve. “I’m so in love with you and all i’ve done is run from it. You deserve better.”

A shiver shoots down your spine at his ramblings. He was in love with you. He was in love with you. It was something that you knew deep down, something you easily reciprocated, something that the two of you had complicated for far too long.

“Sanji, hey, come on. Come on love.” You coax him out of his place at your shoulder, running your fingers through blonde locks, and look back at him with every ounce of adoration in your body. “I forgive you for everything you’ve done, okay? You were trying to protect us. I could never fault you for that.”

“You don’t understand, I- I-“

“I don’t care about any of it.” You wipe at the tears to no avail as they continue to fall. “I love you the same as I did before, Sanji. I’m in love with you. And I always have been.”

His lips purse into a thin line and his chin quivers with his effort to just stop crying.

You stroke a hand over his forehead, pushing his hair out of the way, and leaning in to press a delicate kiss to his skin. Your lips trail around his face to pepper kisses along his skin. His fingers tighten into your shirt as he clings to you.

Then, a laugh leaves his lips. It’s breathy and clipped, but it warms your heart all the same.

“I missed you, Sanji.” Your lips brush along his jaw, your voice tingling at his skin and making a smile pull to his lips. You lean back and revel in the smile that you had missed so much.

“I missed you too, darling. More than ever.” Sanji presses his forehead to yours as another breathy laugh leaves him. “Can I- Can I kiss you?” He shakily asks.

You push forwards to connect your lips in a delicate kiss and his hands move to cup your cheeks. The kiss is tinged with salty tears and tobacco, but it’s a combination that is just so Sanji that you don’t mind. Sanji is the first to drag himself away, drawing in a deep breath, before breaking out into a bright smile. It lights up his whole face this time.

I know that you’ve been waiting, waiting for love.

[sunny44]

Lost in the Paddock

Pairing: Carlos Sainz x Girlfriend!reader

Warnings: none, just a lil blurb

Summary: A few drivers got an eye on Carlos girlfriend.

The paddock was bustling as always, and I walked through it trying to find the Ferrari garage. It was easy to get lost in the confusion of teams, mechanics, and journalists, and that's exactly what happened to me.

Carlos and I have been together for 4 years, but I had never been to a race before and was trying to find my way around. I was already familiar with his world, so that's why we decided to keep our relationship hidden.

As I walked, I could feel the curious looks of some reporters, fans, and even some drivers since I was wearing the Ferrari badge.

Among them were drivers like Lando Norris, Max Verstappen, and Charles Leclerc, and from what Carlos told me about them, I knew they were cool.

Lando was the first to approach, with his bright and confident smile.

"Hey, you seem lost. Need any help?" I smiled politely, trying not to reveal my nervousness.

"Yeah, I'm actually very lost," I smiled nervously, and he chuckled.

"I'm Lando, by the way."

"Oh, I know your name, I'm Y/n.”

"It's a beautiful name. Just like the owner." He smiled, and I saw Max and Charles approaching.

"Thank you. Actually, I'm looking for the Ferrari garage."

"Or you could come with me to Red Bull. Our garage is much cooler, and I'm Max, by the way." I felt flattered by their attention, and I had to hold back from laughing because they really had no idea who I was.

"He's lying, the Ferrari garage is much better, and I would love to take you there."

He smiled, and if I didn't love Carlos, surely that smile and those dimples would have won me over.

I was startled when I felt arms around my waist and recognized the hands immediately.

"Hiii baby.” I turned and held his face, kissing him.

"Hey hermosa, I thought you'd arrive later," he smiled and looked at the three behind me. “Why the shocked faces? And what are you doing around my girlfriend?"

"She's your girlfriend?" Lando asked shocked.

"Wait, you have a girlfriend?" Charles said.

"Since when?" This time it was Max.

"Like 4 years ago," he said.

"4 YEARS?" Lando shouted and got a slap from Max.

"Why do you look so shocked? As if it were impossible for me to have a girlfriend."

“It's just that she's WOW, and you're you," Lando said, and I laughed.

“Oh, thanks for calling me ugly."

“It's not that, it's just that she's way out of your league.”

“And way more out of yours so back off and stop drooling, all three of you.” he said, taking my hand.

"Bye, boys, it was nice meeting you, and thanks for the help.” I said, waving to them.

“You don't think I'm ugly, do you?" He asked, and I started laughing.

“Of course not, in fact, I think you're very very hot." I gave him a peck on the cheek, and he smiled as we headed to the Ferrari garage.

Bonus scene!

Carlossainz Instagram stories

“Yes, I have a hot girlfriend!!!!!”

[fallenprophets]

pure bliss forever

arthur morgan x reader

PART 1 🌀 PART 2

summary : a quiet evening in a hut in the Grizzlies.

gn reader, no use of y/n, not explicitly romantic unless you want it to be, 3.4 K words

warnings : swearing, very brief mention of suicide

a/n : if you know the song the title is based on, i'll send you a tenner and a kiss on the forehead

༅☾»⟣⋱

I’m knee deep in the snow, gloved fingers fumbling awkwardly with my bow and arrow. The gloves are Arthur’s- about fifteen sizes too big, hard to hunt with, but warm, which is the least you can really ask for in this part of the Grizzlies. I’ve had get new gloves scrawled on my list of things to do for the past four weeks- since Arthur first took my hunting in the mountains, and I realised that I might have misremembered how goddamn cold it was. 

I’ve been tracking this grizzly bear for half an hour now. At first, I wanted to kill it, skin it, bring the meat back to Arthur, make the pelt into a coat (or some gloves, I think miserably). But the more I’ve been watching it; the more I’ve been following it, the less I want to raise the bow, notch the arrow, let it fly and land in the bear’s soft neck. At this point, even though I’m still holding the bow and arrow, I’ve made the decision not to kill the sweet animal. She’s too pretty, sniffin’ around in the snow. 

Arthur is also out hunting; further down the mountain than me. He tried it out; waitin’ for animals, in the snow. Said it as nicely as possible, that he wasn’t patient enough for that shit. So he leaves the tracking and waiting to me, and goes to where the snow is thinner, hunts deer and such. 

For the first time, he said he’ll stay the night with me, in a small hut we’ve found. It’s not like my daddy’s old hut; smaller, lower ceiling, nowhere outside to hitch the horses. We’ve had to try and plant sticks in the ground, hope the horses don’t tug and try to run away. Thought it was so funny that I fell in the snow; had to change into a pair of Arthur’s spare trousers ‘nd shirt, another twelve sizes too big. 

I follow the bear a little longer, ‘till it’s nearly nightfall. Then, I turn back, trudge through the snow in my boots (they’re the only thing I’m wearing that are actually the right size). My socks are starting to get wet; these are Rhodes boots, not Grizzlies boots. I don’t mind, though. The freezing cold air, despite being sharp and almost painful at first, smells like home. 

It’s night time when I get back to the hut. It looks like Arthur beat me- the lantern inside is lit, golden light beaming out through the cracked windows. It’s so cold in the hut that we had to sleep in our coats, last night; I made a passing joke about sleeping on top of each other, like I used to with my daddy when it got real cold, and we both laughed it off.

“Fuckin’ freezing in here,” I say as I kick the door open. I don’t take off my coat; but I do kick off my boots, so I don’t track snow onto the newly cleaned floor of the hut. 

Arthur chuckles, his low-down laugh warm. I smile, all teeth. 

“Didn’t catch anything?” He asks. I haven’t caught anything on my trips hunting. I think he knows I get sentimental about these animals. Last time, I sheepishly brought back a can of tinned beans after failing to catch a deer. Thought Arthur was gonna collapse, the way he was laughin’. 

“Nah,” I answer, even though my empty arms are answer enough. “Didn’t find nothin’.” I think of the bear, probably sniffin’ around for food for her cubs. “Cold probably drove ‘em all home.” 

“I’m sure.” He’s caught two rabbits. “Wanna light a fire?” 

It’s the least I can do. “I gotta put my boots back on?” I complain, jokingly. “Got sticks?” 

“In the corner there.” Points, with two ungloved fingers. I go to the sticks, lift them up. Slip on my boots. Take them to the hole we’ve made in the snow, for campfires. “It’s cold,” I mutter to myself as I drop them down into the hole, make sure they’re arranged right. I go back inside; Arthur is still there, skinning the second rabbit.  

“Got a match?” I ask, dusting my hands off on my to-big trousers. “Somethin’ I can light this with?” I know he does, ‘cause he always does, it’s tradition, though, to ask him. 

“Over here.” Wipes his hand, takes the box from his pocket, pushes it open; I grab two matches, ‘cause I always fuck the first one up, put them between my teeth, then take the box from his hand. Strike one- fucked up. I drop it onto the unlit campfire, then strike the second one. It flares up. I smiled the tiny flame with my hand, kneel down, hold the burning match to the sticks and wait for them to catch fire. 

“Done,” I call back into the hut, pulling my coat closer around myself. I hum to myself as I hold my hands out, let the growing flames warm them. 

Arthur comes out with the rabbits, edible bits impaled on knives. He hands me one, then crouches down in the snow, holding it above the fire to cook it. 

“So,” I say, once the silence has stretched too long. 

“So,” he answers, in the same tone, voice going up at the end. 

“Cold,” I say, because I want to say something but there’s nothing really to say. 

He snorts, and we lapse back into comfortable silence. 

“Thank you,” I say. My rabbit has cooked- I bite into it. Tastes like the food I ate three times a day with my daddy, when I was a kid. “For- for takin’ me here, and stayin’. All that. I really- I appreciate it.” 

“I know.” He doesn’t say it unkindly. I’ve thanked him before, a lot, but I feel like I gotta. He’s done so much for me. 

“And, y’know, thanks for staying the night.” It was supposed to be one night; last night, just to test the waters, see if maybe I did want to stay here longer, by myself. But I think Arthur sensed, when we woke up this morning, that I didn’t want to go just yet- maybe saw it in the way I held my shoulders, the tic in my jaw returning as I ground my teeth together. He suggested that we stay, just one more night, and I jumped on the opportunity, my jaw unclenching, my shoulders relaxing once again. My father always told me I was readable; didn’t realise it was that bad until Arthur sensed every thought before it even completed itself in my head, made suggestions that just worked for me. He doesn’t make it feel like I’m, I don’t know, burdening him, with my loud feelings and tightening shoulders. He just takes it in his stride; like he takes everything else in his stride. It’s what I like about him. 

Once we’re done eating, we go back inside. Leave our boots at the door (so domestic, I think to myself, as the toe of my left boot stays resting against the toe of his right one). Keep our coats on, sit down on our separate sleeping bags. 

“You goin’ straight to sleep?” I ask him, readjusting my coat. Another routine. 

“You want to go straight to sleep?” Like he always does. I snort (like I always do, because we have a routine, one we’ve established the last few times we’ve come here). “Alright,” I say. I shuffle in, pull my blanket tight around myself. It hardly keeps the cold out, but it’s comfortable. I’m shivering a little less. 

Arthur isn’t wearing any gloves because I’m wearing his gloves. He’s got his hands tucked under his legs where he sits, but he must be cold. I don’t want him to be cold, so I shuffle ‘round, look at him fully. 

“You can have your gloves back,” I say, already wriggling out of them. “S’alright,” he answers, like I knew he would. “Really,” he adds, when he sees that I’ve got a glove off already. “Take one, then,” I say, a compromise. I throw it at him, and he catches it. “One glove each. So we can be… half warm each.” 

His turn to laugh, half through his nose, half through his mouth. Slips the glove on, wiggles his fingers at me to make a point. I smile, with some teeth. 

“So,” I say, tucking my ungloved hand between my knees. “You like it here?” 

Arthur breathes out, looks out the window for a long moment before looking at me again. “Yeah, I like it plenty.” He pauses, looks at me more, his gaze locked on my face. 

It’s cold, but something in my chest stirs, something warm and small and soft, like a squirrel, or a small rabbit. I fold my arm under my head, prop myself up like that. 

“There’s a part of the mountains,” I say, after a few minutes of warm silence. “A little- I think north of here, there’s a dip, towards the top of the mountain. It’s like- the top dips, a little, so there’s a cave. You can see the stars from there, better than anywhere else in the mountains.” I smile at the thought; it’s coldest up there, the stone bare of snow most of the time. I remember going up with my daddy; just once, though. All the other times I went alone, to clear my head. 

The memory turns sour when I remember the first time I stayed overnight, huddled by a campfire in my coat. When I got home, my daddy was gone, bullet in his temple, blood sprayed on the walls. 

“Sounds real nice,” Arthur answers. He’s right, it is. 

“Wish the gang could see it.” I smile, wipe my nose with my ungloved hand. “Jack would love it.” Arthur chuckles, lowly, softly. It makes the bunny in my chest twitch happily. 

“I’m sure he would.” He lies down, pulls the blanket over himself. “How far is it, from Rhodes?” 

“Opposite direction.” I sink a little, into the floor. I think I know what he’s thinking. “Too far to go tomorrow, on our way back to Rhodes. Maybe another time.” 

“We can take Jack, if Abigail lets us.” 

“We can take Abigail, too.” I feel my smile come back, just at the thought. “John, if he’s around. Charles might like it- lots of hidden wildlife. Stuff to watch, even if you’re not huntin’ it.” 

“That what you been doing?” He doesn’t say it unkindly. When I first came back empty handed after almost a full day of what was meant to be hunting, I’d expected him to bristle, to sigh, maybe to pinch the bridge of his nose and tell me that this wasn’t enough, I gotta pull my weight (although whenever I pictured it, it was Pearson’s voice, or Dutch’s that said it; never Arthur’s). We’re here to hunt, God’s sake, not for me to dawdle and watch the animals from a distance. 

“Yeah,” I say, almost sheepishly, shifting my arm, pulling at a finger of my glove- his glove. There’s a silence; not an uncomfortable one. “I don’t know why. Up here, I just…” I can’t bring myself to kill them, I want to say, but that’s ridiculous, because they’re animals, right? 

But the look in that doe’s eyes, back in Rhodes, right when I shot her; the way the bear walked softly, earlier today, hunting for scraps. The way the rabbits bounce along, terrified when they see me; the way the birds fly so high above. I saw a dead wolf on the way up here, decomposing on the side of the road with an arrow through its throat- stifled an almost sob, told Arthur I was just happy to be back. 

“I get it,” he says. Does he? He doesn’t seem to struggle with killing animals, hunting to keep us alive. Maybe that’s why- they gotta survive, but so do we. Does that apply to all the men he’s shot dead, for the sake of himself and the gang? A gang that I’m a part of, of course. I’ve killed for them too, finger tight on the 

trigger, ribs tighter around my lungs. 

“I draw ‘em, sometimes.” He adds, in a quieter voice. Like it’s a secret. 

This takes me aback slightly. i know he keeps a journal of sorts, tucked away in that satchel of his. I’ve seen him around camp, or on our journeys when we stop to rest the horses, scrawling away. I know he writes- Mary Beth mentioned it in passing, once. I always thought he was just doin’ that- writing. Not drawing. 

I squint at him, vision narrowing to zero in on his face. 

“I didn’t know you drew,” I say. 

He shrugs. Shifts on his sleeping bag, so the blanket shifts with him, pulling up, letting the cold air in. 

“Can I…” I hesitate, draw my hands in close to my chest. “I mean, I get if it’s private, and all. But I- can I see?” A hesitation, a beat of silence where the cold air rattles against the windowpanes and wolves howl in the distance. 

“Sure.” 

I know where the journal is. It’s in its usual place, on the table, next to his satchel. My sleeping bag is placed so that if I wiggle around, reach my arm out far enough, my fingertips graze the leather cover. I do just that; am able to leverage it closer, finally tipping it over the edge and into my other hand, this one gloved. 

It feels wrong, to hold this in my hands in this way. To turn it over, run my bare fingertips over the cover, the lines in the spine where it has been cracked countless times. I used to have a journal, when I was a kid, scrawled in pencil in a notebook my daddy got me from town. 

Reverently, like what I’m holding is holy, I fold it open. 

The first page is a log of something, initials of gang members written in surprisingly legible pencil, alongside numbers. I turn the page, find a crude map of Blackwater. A shiver runs down my back. I know he’s watching me as I turn the page once more, find a drawing of a riverbed, trees, a bridge. I want to touch it; want to run my fingers along the strokes of the pencil. The place he’s drawn is both recognisable and not; a cross between a dream and a distant memory. Next comes a church of some sort, surrounded by field and trees. I wonder when he finds the time to do all this- to sit and draw. Wish I could, I think wistfully. 

The third page is writing. I feel his eyes on me as I skip that, go to the next drawing. These are his thoughts; his feelings. They’re none of my concern. I’m here for the drawings. 

I flip through, ignoring the writing, tracing the drawings with my eyes. I don’t want to touch it in case it smudges. Instead, I try to picture all the places he’s drawn, try to remember them, pull them from that place in my dreams. It’s like a dip into a normal, different world; normal people in the streets of Blackwater, mingling, talking. 

“They’re pretty,” I murmur, more to the journal itself than to Arthur, whose gaze is still firm on my face, flicking occasionally to the page I’m on. 

There’s one word, however, that I stop on. Davey, a cross drawn next to the name. Nothin’ else on the page. I touch this one, run my fingers along the loops and curves of the name. Does he do this for all our dad? Dedicate a page, a cross, a whispered prayer as we pass on? Will he do it for me, if I ever by some misfortune find myself with a bullet in my temple? 

I shake the thought away and keep going. Drawings of our camp in the Grizzlies; drawings of the train we robbed, owned by that Leviticus Cornwall. Horseshoe Overlook, drawings of the gang around the fire. I think I spot myself in the background of one of those drawings, a dead rabbit over my shoulder, my hair shorter than it is now. The church in Valentine; a grizzly bear. Then, a familiar face, only in pencil, catches my attention. I stop, narrow my eyes slightly. I don’t get much of a chance to look at myself; can hardly remember my own face most days, if I’m honest. But this- the lines of the face, the swamp scrawled in the background. A drawing of me, the day he sat with me and smoked and talked about home. 

I feel my throat tighten. It’s strange, seeing that someone thinks about me in that way; wants to have my face in his journal, drawn with soft grey lines. 

“You’ve made me look soft,” I say, turning to him once more. “Drawn me the way you draw rabbits.” Ain’t a bad thing; in fact, it makes the rabbit in my chest happy, makes the warmth come back twice as strong. 

He chuckles. Knows me well enough to know it’s not a criticism. 

“’S real pretty, all of this,” I tell him, tracing the drawing with my fingertips. The lines smudge, make me look slightly blurry. I pull my hand away, find the pads of my fingers slightly silver. “Sorry,” I say, because I’ve ruined it. 

“S’okay,” he answers, with a smile. “Do what you want with it. ’S a drawin’ of you; may as well.” 

I laugh, shut the journal and slide it over to him. Turn fully, so I’m angled towards him. I fold my arm under my head again, the cold forgotten slightly as the blanket falls away. 

“Thank you,” I say, trying to push as much of the warmth that I’m feeling into my voice. “For lettin’ me see your journal. And, y’know, other things.”

He chuckles, shifts. It’s dark; the candles have burned to the bottom, hardly illuminating the hut. I’d be more scared, but I have him, his warm everything. 

“Maybe I’ll draw you,” I say, and that earns me another laugh, because we all know I can’t draw for shit. I was put in charge of drawing a map once, for the gang; looked more like a self portrait than anything else, pencil smudged where my tears had fallen. 

“When we leave camp,” I tell him, because I know we will leave Rhodes, and Saint Denis, and the swamps and alligators, behind. The thought doesn’t fill me with distress. Maybe we’ll go somewhere colder. But as long as I have him, it’s okay. “We might go far- too far to come back here for day trips.” Already thinking of the end; of how I’ll live with the memory of this, and the knowledge that I won’t be able to return. 

“We can make it work,” he answers, firmly, but softly. “We’ll just stay, one or two nights.” 

“You can teach me to draw.” 

There it is again; his laugh. I love it, and I love him, for what he’s doing for me. 

“I’ll buy you a journal,” he says, and I don’t think he’s joking. I curl up, knees closer to my chest, then stretch out again. Somehow, he’s closer than before. A simple extension of my arm, and I could touch his hand (the one with the glove on, but his hand, nevertheless). Hell, if I stretched my leg out, I could cross my ankle over his, although I’d have one hell of a cold leg. 

Our conversation has ended, I realise, and we’re watching each other fall asleep. He’s the first to go, eyes dropping shut. We discussed taking turns on the lookout, then decided we were safe enough, hidden by pine trees and miles and miles of snow and mountain. 

When his breathing slows, really slows, I reach out, touch my bare fingertips to his gloved palm. I rest my hand there, hoping he doesn’t notice. I consider touching his wrist, feeling his pulse, but my hand is cold, and I don’t want to wake him. 

I drop off; but not before I feel gloved fingers slightly tightening around my wrist. 

I wake up in that position, hands molded together. His ankle crossed over mine, despite the freezing cold. Somehow closer to each other than before. 

I smile, close my eyes again. 

[invinciblerodent]

💖

[vagueeyes]

Finally caught up and watched DR JEKYLL AND MR HYDE: THE READ WITH REECE SHEARSMITH. What a stunning production!

There's a moment towards the end where it cuts to Utterson reading Jekyll's confession, and it was almost jarring for me because I had forgotten it was Reece playing both characters?

This performance really encapsulates what a terrific actor he is - I loved all the different voices & accents he did for the characters.

We were in Edinburgh in October 2023 and visited The Writers' Museum. I enjoyed the 1/3 dedicated to Robert Louis Stevenson and ended up purchasing two of his books from the gift shop (the other book being KIDNAPPED/CATRIONA, which I paused to read the in9 scriptbooks):

I remember when reading STRANGE CASE OF DR. JEKYLL AND MR. HYDE, that I was trying to envision Jekyll/Hyde in my head. And the best part of watching THE READ is, if I ever reread the story, I can now imagine it's Reece!

Also wanted to note, in terms of cinematic adaptions, these are the ones I've seen:

So getting to see Reece's take on this was an absolute treat!!

[pankowstuff]

rudy pankow as jj maybank — icons.