#HE SAID THE LINE *thunderous applause*

[theonottsbxtch]

BABY, BABY | MV1

an: max verstappen you are a four time world champion!!! here's a little fic to celebrate that. i started writing it while watching the race, then had to mourn the loss of the battle then went back to writing it and my back hurts because my posture is shit. anyway enjoy!!

wc: 3.3k

Max Verstappen lived for speed. The roar of the engine, the blur of the track, the thunderous applause of the crowd—this was his kingdom. At twenty-seven, he was already a legend, a three-time Formula One World Champion whose name was etched into the annals of the sport. And this season? It was shaping up to be another triumph. Four wins in the first five races, podium finishes for all of them, and whispers in the paddock that he was untouchable.

He had every reason to be confident. The car was a beast—precision-engineered, relentless in its power. His team was operating like clockwork, every pit stop a perfectly executed ballet. But above all, she was there. His fiancée. She didn’t need to speak to make her presence known; her calm, unwavering gaze from the paddock was like a talisman. He could feel her watching, believing in him, and it drove him forward.

After his most recent victory in Japan, he leaned against the garage wall, sweat still beading on his forehead. She approached him, her smile soft and private, meant just for him. The cameras flashed around them, capturing their moment, but he hardly noticed.

“You’re unstoppable,” she murmured, low enough that only he could hear.

“For you? Always,” he replied, brushing a gloved hand over her cheek before he was whisked away to interviews.

Everything was perfect. The season was his to lose, and he had no intention of letting that happen.

Six races later, the Max Verstappen that stood on the grid in Barcelona was not the same man who had claimed victory in Japan. His car was still strong, and his team still flawless. But the man behind the wheel was... distracted.

The cracks had started to show at the Monaco Grand Prix. A clumsy lock-up during qualifying left him sixth on the grid. In Hungary, he was slow off the line and struggled to match the pace of the leaders, finishing fifth.

The press was quick to pounce.

“What’s happening to Verstappen?” the headlines screamed.

Max shrugged it off, his trademark confidence still on display. “It’s the car,” he said with a wry smile after Hungary. “We’re making adjustments. It’ll come good.”

It was a convenient excuse, one his team begrudgingly accepted because of who he was. But the truth was far more complex—and far more personal.

She wasn’t here.

She hadn’t been at the last couple of races. At first, she’d said she wasn’t feeling well, and Max had brushed it off. But then the phone call came.

“I’m pregnant,” she’d whispered, her voice trembling. “I—I want to tell you in person, but I don’t think I can travel.”

In that moment, his world shifted. Joy, fear, and an overwhelming need to protect her collided in his chest. The image of her radiant on their wedding day-to-be now came with another—her cradling a newborn, their newborn. And with that came a thousand anxieties he’d never anticipated.

At every moment since, his thoughts weren’t on the track but on her. Was she eating enough? Was she getting rest? What if something went wrong, and he wasn’t there?

But no one knew. Not his team, not the press, not even his closest rivals. To them, Max Verstappen was still the king of the circuit. He could never let them see otherwise.

It was lap 32 of the Hungarian Grand Prix, and Max was battling for third with Charles. The two cars screamed through the corners, inches apart, but Max hesitated. He felt it—his grip loosened, his focus wavered. For the first time in his career, he wasn’t sure he could make the move stick.

Charles darted ahead, and Max watched as the gap widened. His engineer’s voice crackled in his ear.

“Max, you’re losing time in Sector 2. What’s going on?”

“Just the car,” he lied, jaw tight. “It’s sluggish through the corners.”

He crossed the finish line in fourth. As he stepped out of the car, he pulled off his helmet, running a hand through sweat-soaked hair. The cameras were on him, the journalists waiting. But all he could think about was her.

He needed to call. To hear her voice. To know she was okay.

The season was far from over, but the battle raging within Max was one he’d never prepared for. And as he watched his championship hopes start to slip through his fingers, he knew one thing for certain: no race, no trophy, no accolade mattered more than the life he was about to build off the track.

The Belgian Grand Prix was a race Max Verstappen wanted to forget. He’d spent the entire weekend battling the car—or so he told anyone who asked. But deep down, he knew the problem wasn’t mechanical. The fault lay within himself, his mind a chaotic swirl of worry and love that refused to quiet, no matter how fast he drove.

When he was finally allowed to go back to the hotel, the first thing he wanted to do was go home. Not the sprawling apartment in Monaco that everyone assumed was his sanctuary, but the smaller, quieter house tucked away in the English countryside. The place where she was.

It was just after midnight when his car pulled into the gravel driveway. The house was dark except for the soft glow of a single lamp in the living room window. She always left it on for him. He slipped inside quietly, leaving his suitcase in the car.

She was asleep, of course. Seven months pregnant and glowing with a beauty that stole his breath even in her most unguarded moments. He found her curled on her side in their bed, one hand resting protectively over her rounded belly. Max dropped his coat on the chair and toed off his shoes before slipping into the bed beside her.

He pressed a kiss to her temple, careful not to wake her, and then rested his head gently against her belly. The warmth of her skin, the faint, rhythmic thrum of her breathing, and the thought of the tiny life growing inside her—it was everything he needed to feel whole again.

“Hi, little one,” he whispered, his voice soft and filled with wonder. “It’s me. I’m finally home.”

As if in response, there was a small kick against his cheek. Max grinned, a tear slipping down his face as he chuckled quietly.

“Already a fighter,” he murmured. “Just like your mum.”

Her hand came to rest in his hair, threading through the blonde strands. He startled slightly, realising she was awake, her sleepy smile illuminated by the faint moonlight streaming through the window.

“You’re back,” she said, her voice thick with drowsiness.

“Always,” he replied, turning his head to kiss her palm. “How are you feeling? How’s our little champion?”

“Both fine,” she reassured him. “We missed you.”

“I missed you more,” he said, shifting up to lie beside her, wrapping an arm protectively around her waist. His hand settled over hers on her belly, and they stayed like that for a long moment, the world outside forgotten.

The days that followed were a gift—a rare stretch of time without races, press obligations, or the relentless demands of the championship fight. They spent their mornings in the garden, her feet propped up on his lap while he read aloud from the parenting books she’d stacked on the table. Afternoons were lazy, filled with naps, quiet conversations, and the occasional moment when he leaned down to kiss her belly and whisper to their unborn child.

One evening, as they sat together on the couch, her head resting on his shoulder, she turned to him with a thoughtful look.

“You should tell them,” she said softly.

“Tell who what?” he asked, though he already knew.

“Your team. The press. Everyone.�� She tilted her head, watching him carefully. “You’ve been carrying this alone for too long. They’ll understand.”

Max sighed, leaning back against the cushions and closing his eyes. “I like it like this,” he said after a moment. “It’s ours. Just ours. I don’t want them to turn this into... headlines or speculation. I want to keep it safe.”

She reached for his hand, threading her fingers through his. “You’re not just keeping it safe, love. You’re keeping it locked away. And it’s hurting you.”

He kissed her forehead, a slow, lingering gesture that spoke more than words could. “It’s not hurting me. It’s the only thing keeping me sane. When I’m out there, and it’s all chaos and noise, this is what I hold onto. You. Our little one. It’s my anchor.”

Her expression softened, and she leaned into him, her hand resting lightly on his chest. “You know I’ll support you, whatever you decide. But you don’t have to carry this alone.”

“I know,” he murmured, pressing his lips to her hair. “But for now, I want it to stay ours. Just a little longer.”

The break passed too quickly, as it always did, but for Max, it was enough. The air in Austin was electric. Max, back from the summer break and seemingly rejuvenated, had shown flashes of his old brilliance in the first half of the race. But a controversial move during a heated battle for second had earned him a twenty-second penalty. The disappointment was palpable.

In the press conference afterward, he faced a barrage of questions, his jaw tight as he fielded them with his usual composure. But his heart wasn’t in it. He hadn’t seen her in weeks, and the gnawing ache of being apart was beginning to wear on him.

The penalty stung less than the silence in his hotel room later that night. The upcoming triple-header—Austin, Mexico City, São Paulo—meant there’d be no chance to go home. Three weeks without her, without hearing the steady rhythm of her breathing as she slept beside him or feeling the flutter of their baby’s kicks beneath his hand. He stared at his phone for hours, tempted to call, but stopped himself. She needed rest. He could wait.

The race in São Paulo had just wrapped up. Max won, a result he should’ve been thrilled with, but all he could think about was getting back to England. The charter flight to London felt endless, the hours dragging as he stared out the window, replaying every voicemail she’d left him over the past week. Each one sounded more tired, more distant, and it made his chest tighten with unease.

When he finally arrived home, the house was eerily quiet. He dropped his bags in the hallway, calling out her name. No answer. He checked the bedroom, the nursery—they were empty. Panic began to rise as he pulled out his phone and dialled her number.

She picked up on the second ring.

“Hello?” Her voice was soft but carried an edge of exhaustion.

“Where are you?” he asked, his voice tinged with worry. “I’m home, and you’re not here.”

“I’m at my mum’s,” she replied.

“Why?” His voice dropped, laced with confusion. “What’s going on?”

There was a pause, a beat of silence that stretched too long. And then, she said it.

“I had the baby.”

The words hit him like a jolt. He froze, his breath catching in his throat. “You what?” he whispered, as though saying it louder would make it less real.

“I had the baby,” she repeated, her tone gentle, but firm. “Two weeks ago.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” he asked, his voice a mix of hurt and disbelief.

“You had a job to do, Max,” she said softly. “I didn’t want to distract you.”

“Distract me?” He ran a hand through his hair, pacing the kitchen. “You’re my family. How could you think I wouldn’t drop everything to be there?”

“I know,” she said, her voice breaking slightly. “But I also know you. You’ve been carrying so much this season, and I didn’t want to add to it. You were halfway across the world, love. There was nothing you could’ve done.”

He wanted to argue, to tell her that she was wrong, that he would’ve found a way. But deep down, he understood. She was protecting him in her own way, just as he always tried to protect her.

“Is he... okay?” he asked finally, his voice softening.

“He’s perfect,” she said, and he could hear the smile in her voice. “Healthy and beautiful. I wanted to surprise you when you got home, but we needed a bit of extra help, so I came here.”

“I’m coming now,” he said immediately. “I’ll be there in an hour.”

The drive to her mother’s house felt like an eternity. When he finally pulled into the driveway, he barely remembered turning off the car before he was at the front door. Her mother greeted him with a warm smile and a quiet, “She’s upstairs.”

He took the steps two at a time, his heart pounding in his chest. When he reached the bedroom, he paused in the doorway.

She was sitting on the bed, her hair tied back loosely, her face glowing with a tired kind of happiness. And in her arms, wrapped in a soft blue blanket, was their son.

Max stepped inside slowly, his breath catching as he took in the sight. “Hi,” he said softly, his voice almost trembling.

“Hi,” she replied, smiling up at him. “Come meet him.”

He crossed the room, sitting beside her on the bed. She shifted the baby gently, placing him into Max’s waiting arms. For a moment, he could only stare.

Tiny fingers peeked out from the blanket, curling slightly as the baby let out a soft sigh. His nose, his chin—so small, so perfect.

“What’s his name?” Max asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

“We agreed on Emilian,” she said, her eyes shining. “Emilian Lucian Verstappen.”

He looked up at her, his throat tight with emotion. “You gave him my name?”

“Of course,” she said, reaching out to touch his cheek. “You’re his dad. And he’s going to know how much you love him, even when you’re halfway across the world.”

Max pressed a kiss to his son’s forehead, a tear slipping down his cheek. “I love you,” he whispered, his voice breaking slightly. “Both of you. More than anything.”

As Emilian stirred slightly in his arms, Max smiled. He’d missed the moment of his son’s birth, something he’d carry with him always. But here, holding his son for the first time, he knew he was exactly where he needed to be.

For two precious weeks, Max stayed home. It was just him, her, and Emilian. Those days blurred into a haze of quiet moments—feeding, changing, and rocking his son to sleep. He wasn’t just a racing legend at home; he was a father, learning the delicate art of swaddling and singing lullabies off-key at three in the morning.

His fiancée was radiant, even in her moments of exhaustion. Max found himself watching her more than ever, in awe of her strength. At night, they talked in whispers, Emilian nestled between them in a bassinet. For once, the championship felt like a distant dream.

But as the days passed, reality crept back in. The Las Vegas Grand Prix was the next race and the stakes couldn’t be higher. His rival, Lando Norris, was trailing him by just a decent amount of points, but if Max bottled it, it wouldn’t go well for his title. A strong finish could secure Max his fourth championship, but it would be a fight to the very last lap.

The night before his flight to Vegas, Max sat beside her on the couch, Emilian cradled in his arms. He had spent the entire day rehearsing his pitch, trying to strike the perfect balance of persuasion and sensitivity.

“You know,” he began, his tone casual, “Vegas is going to be a big deal. Probably the biggest race of my career.”

She glanced up from her tea, raising an eyebrow. “I thought every race was the biggest of your career.”

“This is different,” he said, grinning. “If I beat Lando by a certain amount of points, I get the title. My fourth title.”

Her smile softened. “I know. And you will. You always find a way.”

He hesitated, bouncing Emilian gently as the baby dozed. “Come with me,” he said suddenly.

Her eyes widened. “Max—”

“I know it’s a lot to ask,” he cut in quickly, “and I wouldn’t ask if I didn’t think you could handle it. But the doctors said you’re fit to fly, right?”

“Yes, but—”

“Please,” he said, his voice earnest. “I need you there. Both of you. It’s an important race. The biggest one maybe. And I want to share it with my family.”

She hesitated, biting her lip. He could see the worry in her eyes, the motherly instinct to keep their baby safe and away from the chaos of the paddock. But then he reached for her hand.

“Win or lose, none of it matters without you. You and Emilian are everything to me. And if I do win... I want you there to celebrate. I want the world to see what really matters.”

After a long pause, she sighed, her resolve softening. “Fine. But only if you promise to keep us far away from the press circus until it’s over.”

He grinned, leaning over to kiss her. “Deal.”

The Las Vegas Grand Prix was a spectacle like no other. The bright lights, the roaring crowd, and the tension in the paddock made it a night to remember. Max felt his nerves hum as he stepped into the garage, but knowing she and Emilian were somewhere safe in the hospitality suite calmed him.

The race was brutal. Max fought tooth and nail, battling it out with Charles and Lewis in a chaotic, tire-shredding 50 laps. In the end, he crossed the line in fifth place.

For a moment, he thought it wasn’t enough. But then Christian’s voice crackled over the radio.

“Max Verstappen, you are a four-time world champion!”

Relief and joy flooded through him, and he punched the air, his voice shaking with emotion as he shouted his thanks into the radio. The garage erupted in cheers, but Max’s mind was already on her and Emilian.

As the celebrations began, he climbed out of the car, waving to the crowd before pulling off his helmet. He turned toward the pit lane and froze.

There she was, standing at the edge of the barriers, Emilian in her arms. They were both wearing ear defenders, her smile wide and proud. Emilian’s tiny shirt caught his eye, and his heart melted:

My daddy is a 4-time world champion.

He laughed, running over to them as the cameras swarmed. When he reached her, he didn’t hesitate, pulling her into a deep kiss. The crowd roared, and the cameras clicked furiously, but he didn’t care.

He looked down at his son, who blinked up at him with wide, curious eyes. Carefully, Max took him into his arms, holding him close.

“Hey, little man,” he said softly, his voice trembling with emotion. “Your daddy did it.”

Emilian gurgled in response, and Max’s grin widened.

For the first time, the world saw Max Verstappen not just as a champion, but as a father. The images of him holding his son, his fiancée beside him, spread like wildfire. The press clamoured for details, but Max ignored them, too lost in the moment to care.

“This is your victory too,” he said to her, his voice quiet. “I couldn’t have done any of this without you.”

She leaned her head against his shoulder, her smile radiant. “We’re so proud of you.”

As the champagne sprayed and the cheers echoed around them, Max knew this was the pinnacle of his career—not the trophy, not the title, but the family he held in his arms.

the end.

[sourcherryandsprinkles]

Would you write a part 2 of the aftermath of this ending https://www.tumblr.com/sourcherryandsprinkles/754130135676076032/sending-aemond-dirty-letters-by-raven-while-you

Request: Aemond ask for Velaryon!reader’s favor at the king’s tourney to piss off her betrothed who is also competing as knight from another house

I was secretly planning this 🤭 It's shorter than I wanted...

my taglists are here + you can send requests here at any time

—

You should have seen Aemond’s move coming. 

He had a smug smile on his face when he met you in secret and stole a good fortune kiss after breaking fast. He told you he would ask for your favor if he won — and not only the flowers kind. 

Seated alongside your brothers, you watched from the royal box as Aemond entered the tournament ground with the other knights of House Targaryen. He sat tall and strong on his black horse, his long silver hair peeking from beneath the helmet. There was something about him in full armor that made you clench your legs, feeling your core ache. You didn’t know if you wanted to tear it off him or keep it on and ride him with it on. 

The other knights parted to the other side of the court, but Aemond stayed. He looked up and spotted you amongst the crowd, his intense gaze fixed on you.

‘’Prince Aemond of House Targaryen will now choose his first opponent,’’ the tourney announcer said.

Knights from other houses were lined up and Aemond trotted before them. He eyes them all, making it seem like he didn’t already know who he was going to pick. The prince smirked behind the protection of his helmet before stopping and pointing his lance at Lord Tully’s son — your betrothed. 

You tensed on your seat, knowing this duel was not going to end well and would stir drama. Aemond wanted to take him down. This was revenge for taking you from him. 

In the court, the two knights positioned themselves. Aemond was calm and collected, but you knew he was relishing every moment of this. His horse was stomping impatiently.

When he signed up for the tourney, Alicent disapproved immediately. But Aemond was determined to participate. He knew it would be more challenging for him since he only had one good eye, but he was confident in his skills. He’s been training for years with only one eye, and learning tactics to work around his blind side. If he could send Ser Criston on the ground, he could manage participating in the tourney. 

‘’Begin!’’ the announcer shouted, and the riders charged towards each other at top speed. 

Horses' hooves thundered, and a part of you wanted to close your eyes, scared of how this duel was going to end. Bloody, that was for sure. Another wanted to watch Aemond tear Lord Tully's son down.

Aemond's horse surged forward, his lance gripped tightly as he aimed true, striking the Tully knight squarely in the chest. A smirk curled on the prince’s lips as the impact sent the knight reeling, his armor screeching against the tilting barrier as his horse galloped on. 

Lord Tully's son regained his balance, then turned around, ready to go again.

You watched nervously, scared for the second round. 

The next clash was fierce, both lances aiming at the same time and splintering with a resounding crack. New ones were swiftly provided by their helpers, and they went again.

‘’Who do you think is going to win?’’ Jacaerys asked, seated on your right. ‘’I think Aemond should get his pride hurt and fall from his horse. He is too arrogant. Did you see the force he struck at the Tully knight?’’

You kept your gaze on the court, the air tense with anticipation. As they charged once more, hooves pounding like thunder, Aemond struck first, sending his opponent crashing to the ground in a clatter of armor. 

‘’That’s my son!’’ the King cheered from his chair, seated right beside Otto Hightower. 

The crowd erupted in applause, Aemond basking in his victory. He approached the royal box with his horse, the sunlight glinting off his armor. You stood to greet him, much to your mother’s irritation, a smile playing on your lips. irritation. She wasn’t happy about his antics, but she couldn't say anything to stop him. Not with so many eyes on you, watching.

‘’Nicely done, Uncle,’’ you congratulated as he removed his helm, revealing his features, his long hair cascading down his armored shoulders. 

‘’Thank you, Princess,’’ Aemond replied, smug satisfaction emanating from him. ‘’I’m certain I can win more duels, but I would like to ask the favor of the fairest lady of the Realm.’’ 

Daemon, who was sitting next to your mother, was watching the interaction, fuming. He knew Aemond was asking your favor on purpose. It was a subtle act of defiance, one that he knew would rile up your betrothed…who he just unhorsed.

You smiled and fetched your prettiest flower crown, the one your mother thought you made for your betrothed, sliding it down Aemond’s lance. ‘’Good fortune to you, Prince Aemond.’’

—

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[nxzz-skz]

~a glimpse on the ice~

ᯓ★ ice skater!sunghoon falling for his biggest fan

ᯓ★ warnings : brief mention of suicide, kissing, fluff, suggestive/implied sex

๋࣭⭑────୨ৎ────⭑๋࣭

The stadium was alive and roaring with thunderous applause, but Park Sunghoon heard none of it. He glided off the ice, his expression stoic and unreadable. His performance had been technically flawless, yet something gnawed at him-a hollowness that remained no matter how many medals he collected or cheers he heard.

Outside the arena, Y/N clutched her homemade banner tightly against the cold winds. Her cheeks and nose stung, her toes numb, but she didn't care. Not when she had been waiting hours just for a chance to see him. The moment finally came when he emerged, surrounded by his security and staff, his sharp features half-hidden under the shadow of his hood.

"Sunghoon!" she called out, eagerly trying to be louder than the rest of the crowd, her voice shaky but the desperation clear.

He paused mid-step, his dark eyes flicking towards her. There was something cold and almost piercing in his gaze, and for a moment, Y/N had regretted calling out. But then, almost hesitantly, he mumbled to his security before stepping forward, his movements deliberate.

She fumbled, thrusting a pink envelope towards him, "I....I wrote this for you. Please read it."

His gloved hand took it, his fingers brushing against hers for the briefest of moments. "Thank you," he said curtly, bowing his head slightly, the words polite but detached. Without another glance, he was escorted away, leaving Y/N standing there watching, her heart heavy with unspoken hopes.

๋࣭⭑────୨ৎ────⭑๋࣭

The letter sat unopened on Sunghoon's coffee table for days, admis the pile of countless other fan mail. It wasn't that he didn't care about it; it was just...difficult. Letters from fans were always the same-praise, admiration, maybe a request for an autograph or even a love letter. But something about this one tugged at him. He doesn't know if it was the way she sounded so desperate when calling him. Not in the way the other fans do- but in a way that sounded as if she was pleading to be heard. As if this was her last hope.

When he finally opened it, the words inside stopped him cold.

"Dear Sunghoon, I know you don't know me, and you probably never will, but I wanted to thank you, from the bottom of my heart. Watching you skate has been my light in the darkest of times..."

He read every line carefully, some even twice, his chest tightening. Y/N had written about her struggles, the suffocating expectations of her family, and how she'd once felt like giving up on this life entirely. But through all of it-watching him-his dedication, his resilience-had given her the strength to keep going.

"You don't have to be perfect to be loved," she had written before signing off with her name and a heart, and Sunghoon felt a lump rise in his throat.

๋࣭⭑────୨ৎ────⭑๋࣭

The next time her saw her, it was unplanned. After a particularly tiring practice, he found himself wandering aimlessly, Y/N's words echoing in his mind. Before he knew it, he was standing outside the small coffee shop she had mention she worked at in her letter.

Y/N's eyes widened in shock when he walked in, the bell above the door signaling his entrance. For a moment, she thought she was imaging things, that her idol couldn't really be standing in front of her. But after blinking twice, there he was, standing in front of her, wearing a simple black hoodie that somehow didn't make him any less recognisable.

"Sunghoon...?" she whispered, he voice barely audible, not wanting him to go through the struggle of a crowd forming around him.

"Can we talk?" he asked, his tone quieter than she'd expected, his gaze refusing to meet hers.

She decided to take her break then, leading him to a secluded table in the corner of the cafe, her heart racing the entire time. As he sat across from her, Y/N struggled to find her words, in both disbelief and confusion. He too, seemed hesitant, his fingers tracing patterns on the edge of the cup of coffee Y/N had insisted he had.

"I read your letter," he breathed, breaking the silence and finally looking up to meet her gaze.

Her breath caught, a slight gasp leaving her lips. "You...did?"

He nodded. "It was different from the others. You're different from the others. I've never had someone see me the way you did in those words. Not even my manager...or my family." His voice softened, his eyes meeting hers. "Thank you."

Her cheeks flushed, and for a moment, neither of them spoke, an invisible jigsaw piece slotting together between them.

๋࣭⭑────୨ৎ────⭑๋࣭

Their connection deepened over time, their coffee shop meetings becoming a quiet refuge for both of them. Sunghoon started showing showing up after practices or during Y/N's breaks, sometimes bringing his frustrations, sometimes just sitting in comfortable silence. Y/N, in turn, shared pieces of herself-her dreams, her fears, her relentless belief and hope in him.

One evening, as the walked together along the empty streets after closing, Sunghoon broke the silence.

"You told me in your letter that I don't have to be perfect to be loved," he said, his breath visible in the cold night air. "I've never believed that y'know. At least, not until i met you."

Y/N stopped in her tracks, turning to look at him. There was something raw and meaningful in his eyes, something she hadn't seen before.

"I've never known how to let go of the pressure or the stress," he continued, his voice wavering slightly. "But...when I'm with you,it feels like i can breathe again. Like i can finally see through the ice."

Before she could respond, he stepped closer, his hand reaching for hers, his thumb running along her skin softly. "You've become important to me Y/N. More than I know how to put into words."

Her heart pounded, her breath hitching as he leaned in. His lips met hers softly at first, tentative and searching, as if asking for permission. But as her eyes fluttered shut and she melted into him, the kiss deepened, his arms wrapping around her waist tightly as though worried she might disappear.

Y/N's hands slid up to his shoulder as she stood on tiptoe, her fingers tangling in his hair as she pressed closer. The world around them seemed to fade, leaving only the warmth of his body and the taste of his lips. When they finally pulled apart, their foreheads rested together, their breaths mingling in the cold.

"You're more than perfect to me," she whispered, and the way his gaze softened made her close her eyes and smile, feeling as though she'd just broken through the last of his walls.

๋࣭⭑────୨ৎ────⭑๋࣭

Their new relationship wasn't always the smoothest. Sunghoon's intense schedule was demanding, and the media's attention on his every move made privacy a constant battle. But through it all, with the power of perseverance and love, they found ways to make it work.

Late one evening, after another exhausting day of training, Sunghoon ran away from his security and showed up at Y/N's apartment unannounced. His hair was damp from having a quick shower before he had come, and he looked more tired than she'd every seen him.

"You didn't call," she said, letting him in with an expression of surprise.

"The press have been so annoying these days....and i didn't want to be alone," he admitted, his voice low.

She led him inside, and before she could say anything else, she was spun around and he pulled her into his arms. The kiss that followed was anything but soft. It was desperate, almost feverish, as though he was pouring all his frustrations and emotions into it.

They stumbled towards the couch, his hands finding the curve of her waist as he pressed her down beneath him. Y/N's breath hitched as his lips trailed from her mouth her neck, leaving a trail of heat in their wake.

"Are you sure?" he asked, his voice husky, his dark eyes searching hers.

She nodded, her fingers threading through his hair. "I'm sure. Always sure with you."

What followed was slow, deliberate, and filled with a tenderness that left her breathless. Sunghoon's touch was reverent, his movements careful yet passionate, as though he was meticulously memorizing every inch of her.

Afterwards, they lay tangled together, the room bathed in the soft glow of the city lights outside. Sunghoon's hand brushed through her hair, his expression uncharacteristically vulnerable.

"I've never felt like this before...not for anyone or anything," he confessed, his voice barely above a whisper.

Y/N smiled, her head resting against his chest. "Me neither."

๋࣭⭑────୨ৎ────⭑๋࣭

In the moths that followed, Sunghoon found himself skating not for the judges or the crowd, but for himself-and for Y/N. She was there for every performance, her unwavering support reminding him that he was more than just a skater.

When he won gold at the World Championships, his first instinct wasn't to look at the medal or the cameras, but to find her in the crowd. And when their eyes met, her tear-filled smile said everything he needed to hear.

As they embraced later that night, away from the cameras and the noise, Sunghoon whispered against her ear, "You're the best thing that's ever happened to me."

Y/N smiled, blushing, pulling him impossibly closer. "And you're everything I ever dreamed of."

"I love you.." he responded before burying his face in the crook of her neck, leaving her speechless.

For the first time in his life, Sunghoon wasn't chasing perfection. He had already found it-in her.

ᯓ★ Send an ask or leave a comment if there's any fics or tropes you could recommend for me to write!

ᯓ★ Reblogs appreciated!

[swiftiethatlovesf1]

Toto Wolff with wife reader. Feat their son, Jack. I've seen teams do a fan forum for races and I would like to request one. She had been invited along with Lewis and George and of course Toto to the stage (like the one in Silverstone) and just answered fans questions. I know that sometimes they throw things (I saw one with Toto trying to catch or failing to catch something🤣🤣) And them being the cutest couple. Him giving her heart eyes, her blushing, fans teasing for kisses👀 Anything. Tag me later! Thanks!! :))

The sun cast a warm glow over the Silverstone paddock, creating a shimmering backdrop as the crowd buzzed with energy. It was an eventful day, and the atmosphere was electric. The stage, lined with banners bearing the iconic Mercedes logo, was set for a special interaction with fans. You stood at its centre alongside Lewis Hamilton, George Russell, and Toto, your husband, whose presence always stirred excitement among the fans.

“Alright, everyone,” Lewis said, a wide grin on his face as he scanned the crowd. “Let’s hear those questions!” The fans cheered in response, a sea of raised hands waving enthusiastically.

A young fan at the front raised a microphone. “This question is for Mrs. Wolff,” she began, eyes bright with anticipation. “What’s the best thing about being married to Toto?”

A ripple of laughter passed through the crowd. Toto glanced at you, a playful smirk curving his lips as the spotlight settled on you. You tucked a strand of hair behind your ear, feeling a subtle blush rise to your cheeks.

“Oh, where do I start?” you teased, earning a delighted roar from the audience. “I’d say it’s the way he’s always so calm and collected—except when he’s yelling into the radio,” you added, feigning a serious look that cracked into a smile as Toto let out an exaggerated groan.

“Guilty,” he admitted, shrugging as Lewis and George chuckled beside him.

The session continued with light-hearted questions and stories. George shared an anecdote about Toto’s impeccable timing during practice, while Lewis reminisced about their first Silverstone victory together. Then, without warning, a playful shout came from the crowd.

“Catch, Toto!”

A white blur sailed through the air. Toto instinctively reached out, fingertips brushing the fabric before it tumbled past him. He broke into laughter, shaking his head as Lewis bent down and picked it up. The object was revealed to be a t-shirt, emblazoned with a large, grinning image of Toto’s face and the words “I Have It Printed Out” in bold lettering.

The crowd erupted into cheers and laughter. “That’s brilliant,” George said, turning the shirt for the audience to see. You covered your mouth to stifle your giggles, eyes crinkling with mirth.

“Looks like you’re a walking meme, Toto,” Lewis teased, nudging him lightly.

“Oh, don’t I know it,” Toto replied, rolling his eyes good-naturedly. He turned to you, holding the shirt out with an exaggerated flourish. “Do you want to keep this as a gift, darling?”

You reached for it, the crowd chanting in unison: “Kiss! Kiss! Kiss!”

The chant grew louder, blending with laughter and whoops. Toto’s eyebrows shot up, and he glanced at you with a gleam of mischief. “Well, the people have spoken,” he said.

Your blush deepened, but you couldn’t help smiling. Leaning in, you pressed a soft, fleeting kiss to his cheek, the gesture met with thunderous applause and whistles. Toto’s eyes lit up, softening with unmistakable affection as he turned to face you fully, the rest of the world momentarily forgotten.

“You two are too cute,” Lewis said, placing a hand over his heart and pretending to wipe a tear.

George laughed. “No wonder they throw shirts at you, Toto. They know who the real star is.”

“I can’t argue with that,” Toto said, his voice low but warm, eyes still locked on yours.

The next question came from an older fan in the back. “Toto, do you ever feel nervous when your wife is up there with you?”

Toto’s expression softened further. “Every day,” he answered sincerely, earning a collective “aww” from the crowd. “But in the best possible way,” he added, turning to you. “She’s my strongest supporter and my fiercest critic, all in one. And seeing her out here, sharing this moment, makes it all even more special.”

For a moment, the event paused in an unplanned silence, filled with the warmth of genuine emotion. You reached for his hand, squeezing it lightly as the crowd watched, eyes glistening with admiration.

“Okay, before we all start crying here,” Lewis said, breaking the moment with a grin, “next question!”

The session continued with the same playful energy, with fans firing off questions and sharing laughs with their racing heroes. But the moment on stage between you and Toto lingered, a reminder that amidst the roar of engines and competitive spirit, there were human stories filled with love, laughter, and shared dreams. And today, under the sun and in front of thousands of fans, those stories shone as brightly as the Silverstone track itself.

@pear-1206

[axelsagewrites]

Roy Kent*Charitiy

Pairing: Roy Kent x reader

Word count: 1535

Warnings: Rupert existing and Roy being Roy

Masterlist here

Ever since last year when Rupert crashed annual charity ball and donated a butt load of money to steal her thunder, she was determined to make this year's even better. It was odd to you that someone donating so much to a good cause was grounds for revenge but then again, you'd met Rupert. He really was the worst. 

She'd gone all out this year, making sure she lined up at least 3 famous performers that equally hated Rupert and inviting everyone who was anyone. You were automatically on the list as her assistant but and also as Roy's plus one. It was at last year’s ball that Roy ended up walking you home from and kissing you in your doorway. Cut to this year and you were now in a semi-secret committed relationship with Richmond’s newest coach. You had both decided not to share to the press and after much convincing Roy let you tell Rebecca and the team.

One of the nights biggest earners was of course the charity auction. Roy had refused at least 19 times to do it but eventually with enough eyelash batting and promises of favours you'd convinced him to sign up. All the boys had signed up, even Will was forced to sign up.

To make things even more bizarre Rebecca herself was being auctioned. Though you as her assistant had also hired someone to come bid on her so she'd never have to have the date but still she was technically on the roster. What you hadn't expected was for her to turn to you with puppy dog eyes. 

"We need more women on the list. Cmon, you know how it is. Think of the children,"

Roy was more outrage you had said yes than the fact he had been convinced to do it as well. You however were sure that it would be fine. After all people were there to bet on the footballers to play a game with their kid or show off to their friends or whatever other questionable activities they had planned. Not some assistant. 

What you hadn't accounted for was that you were no longer just an assistant. Not only did you often appear in pictures with the team, but rumours floated around that you were dating at least one if not multiple of the boys. Between always being around famous footballers or the fact Keeley Jones was your best friend you’d forgotten people actually knew who you were now.

The night was fine to begin and halfway through the auction Rebecca had already hit the same record as last year but that was not going to stop her. Danni had gone for £5000, Sam for £6000, Keeley for £10,000. Yes, even Keeley had donated one of her Friday nights to Rebecca's cause.

Roy had practically begged you that if the old lady who won him last year was going to win that you steal the win and he'd give you the money so sure as fate you had just won a night with your boyfriend for £8000. This was only going to fuel the fires in the tabloids, but it was worth saving Roy another painful night with a toothless granny.

"Up next we have my dear, dear friend who many of you will recognise as the teams shadow. Come on up"(y/n)," Rebecca said, clapping as you walked up with an awkward smile.

" Can we start the bidding at £500?" You thought this would be over and done with in less than a couple minutes.

"Five thousand pounds," Ruperts voice came booming from the back of the room followed by the sound of Roy’s chair scrapping against the floor as he stood up, "Forgive me for being so late my dear Rebecca. A family emergency kept me away, but I couldn't miss this for the world," he said gesturing to the crowd who gave him a round of applause he didn’t deserve, “After all it is for the children,”

For once Rebecca stammered for words before finally stuttering out "Yes well thank you Rupert. Do I hear six?"

"Ten thousand," Roy boomed across the room. Small gasps left several tables as you stood, eyes bulging out at the moment happening. You’d got to witness the bidding war that went for Jamie last year with Keeley spending twenty-five grand, but you knew that both Rupert and Roy were far more stubborn. this could go for a while.

"This isn't how auctions exactly work boys-" Rebecca tried to cut in, knowing how stubborn Rupert was and how violent Roy could get, but to no avail. she looked at you with a sympathetic glance as the carnage began.

"fifteen thousand," Rupert said, walking to stand by Roy's table, his wife a few paces behind standing awkwardly. 

"twenty,"

"thirty,"

"thirty-five-" you heard Jamie's voice pipe up followed by a loud growl from Roy who was glaring daggers in the previously laughing boy, "withdrawn!" Jamie yelped as he shuffled his chair towards Keeley. you almost felt bad for Jamie as you tried not to laugh.

"forty-five," Roy yelled before turning to Rupert, whispering something in his ear as he went to say fifty.

You could practically see Ruperts sweat dripping down his forehead as Roy pulled away, a satisfied smirk on his face, "Hard to beat that," Rupert smiled as he carefully stepped away from Roy, slowly moving back to his wife, “I withdraw,” Rupert said before pulling his wife to go join some random table filled with old white men.

"Forty-five going once, twice," Rebecca said as she scrambled to grab her gavel, "sold to Mr Kent. What a generous donation, everyone let's give him a round of applause," Rebecca said as she started the claps as everyone followed suit to try mask the awkward tension. “Always such a generous soul,”

You gave Rebecca a sorry smile as you walked back down to Roy, wondering how you’d explain this to the tabloids, but Roy had other plans. As you walked up to him, ready to quietly thank him, Roy stepped forward, grabbing you by the waist and pulling you into his chest. The kiss was brief, but it knocked the wind out your lungs and left you wishing you had a private room as whoops and hollers came from the room around. You pulled back, breathless and grinning like an idiot. 

"Just to be clear that isn't included in the final sale," Rebecca said from the stand, trying to avoid lawsuits and trying desperately not to laugh since the auction still had its final prize left, Jamie.

"What did you say to him?" you asked, as you finally say back down, hand in hand with Roy. 

"I told him I knew where he lived and enough people to hold him down if he didn't back off what's mine, “Roy said as cool as a cucumber as if he didn't just threaten to beat a multi-millionaire, possibly billionaire at this point. "Plus, I said I'd tell his wife about you know who," 

This however caught your, Keeley’s, and Jamie's attention, "Who's you know who?" Keeley ask as you all three leaned in for the dirt. 

"Fuck knows," Roy barked making you all look at each other confused, "once a scumbag always a scumbag. There's probably some poor girl out there he’s fucked I just don't know which one," 

The three of you began to cackle as Rebecca announced her last prize of the night. “Time to shine,” Jamie said as he got up, running a hand through his hair before jogging up to join Rebecca on stage. His cocky joy went from pale faced terror when the woman who won Roy last year won him this year but for £9000. Jamie returned to the table, no pep in his step or swagger in his walk as he sunk down into his chair, “Why did you save me?” he whispered in betrayal.

“I’m not your girlfriend anymore, remember,” Keeley teased as she sat back in her chair, “Call us even for last year babes,”

Jamie turned from Keeley to you and Roy, looking like a kicked puppy, “Roy?”

“Mate I’ve just spent 50 grand tonight. go fuck yourself,” Roy said before what was left of his drink.

“It’s for children Roy,” Jamie said as he sulked back into his chair.

“Fuck the children,” Roy said with no hesitation, “I’ve just bought them a really fucking nice orphanage to stop some old prick touching my bird,”

you couldn’t help but laugh at how Jamie pouted in his seat, trying to avoid the old woman’s little waves. “You do release your little stunt means we need to do press now?” you said, glancing up to a now groaning Roy.

“Already on its babes,” Keeley said from where she sat on her phone, “I’ve been waiting for this for months. knew you two wouldn’t go for my soft launch option,”

“Fucks a soft launch?” Roy said, confusing racking his face as he turned to you.

you patted his arm and shook your head, “You just let me and Keels deal with this yeah?”

Roy sighed as he sat back in his chair shaking his head, “I fucking hate charity,”

[ladykailitha]

The Hellfire Exotic Club Part 13

Do I mourn the fact that this isn't the last chapter because it's a spooky number? Yes, yes I do. But!

Have fun!

In this we have the renovation and reopening of the club, the trial of Robin's attacker, and Steve gives the performance of his life.

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10 Part 11 Part 12

~

Construction of the new stage went smoothly with guardrails to keep the dancers from falling off and keeping the crowd from getting to handsy.

The chairs and tables were red leather and black metal fittings. The chair backs had the club logo in wrought iron. It was really cool. The wood floors where replaced by red and black tiles. The walls were painted with flames and the lighting was changed over to faux candles.

The whole vibe went from converted speakeasy to an actual Hellfire Club. When the second set of dressing rooms were finished; it would be the backup dancers on the right, because they had more costume changes to go through in a night and needed the bigger space for all their costumes and the Sins on the left.

Each Sin would have their own vanity and closet where they would have more room to change into their Sin costumes, because they tended to be more over the top. Well, all but Brian’s. Brian’s was his three piece suit, but he was a large guy, so he still needed all the space he could get.

When Steve asked where Eddie was getting all the money to do the renovations he merely grinned and tapped the side of his nose.

The truth was that Eddie had gone to Nancy’s boss and told him about her schemes. The man offered $300k to make the problem go away. Which Eddie happily took and then someone *Wayne cough cough* call in an anonymous tip to their main rival. It wasn’t Eddie’s fault that of the fifty odd people who were there that night decided to take justice in their own hands, was it?

He kept $100k of it back, and put the rest into updating the club. Upped all his insurances and made sure all his licenses would cover the bigger place, getting all his ducks in a row.

Opening night was packed to the gills, even for a Saturday night. Just like addicts needing their fix.

The three new dancers fit in seamlessly. Mason considered themselves to be non-binary so it was a bit of an adjustment getting use to the new pronouns but Eddie was proud to say he hadn’t hired a single fucking bigot among them as they all got used it. Admittedly, some quicker than others, but they all adjusted.

Steve really got along with Micaella, the new Wrath. Which privately Eddie thought was pretty hilarious considering how little he got along with Stella.

Eddie got up to the stage and pulled out a microphone. “I don’t usually do this public speaking bullshit. Singing, dancing, and playing in front of an audience is fine, it’s the talking that scares the hell out of me. Go figure.”

There were some polite chuckles.

“So why am I doing this you ask?” Eddie said, pacing back and forth on stage. “Well it’s because the club isn’t the only fresh face around here. Our Satan wasn’t given a proper introduction because we literally threw him into the deep end. So let’s give him a round of applause.”

A thunderous roar came and Steve blushed a deep red as he waved.

“I don’t stand for bullies no matter the form they take,” Eddie continued. “And when a couple of my dancers started to bully our Satan, I had to gather up the evidence I needed to make sure I fired the right people. So it pains my to say that Dagon, Leviathan and even our very own Wrath, Lamia, will no longer be preforming with us.”

There was some oohing and disgruntled mumbling on that one.

“When they endanger the life of fellow dancer,” Eddie said solemnly, “that’s line that needs to be drawn. So that’s why the guardrail was put up. It won’t interfere with your viewing pleasure. I checked.”

There was some appreciative rumbling and Eddie took that as a win.

“So to replace our little demons,” he continued, “we have Set and Kimaris. And to replace our Wrath, we proudly introduce Megera, the Fury!”

The three of them stepped forward, waving and bowing. Then they stepped back

“And to celebrate our grand return,” Eddie concluded, “we present Fairy Tails!”

There was some wolf whistling and stomping as the lights went down.

They did the fairy tales Seven Deadly Sins style and Ellie’s costumes were an absolute treat, coming off with a sultry ease.

The new additions fitting in so seamlessly that soon the audience had forgotten their counterparts in light of their new titillation.

Mason Clark was a non-binary black person whose Set was chaotic and fierce, the way they danced with Cheryl or Choronzon was electric. So much so Eddie was starting to think of changing her name to better fit the Egyptian god theme. He would just have find a really good that match their style. He was thinking Apothos or Ammit. Whichever one she liked the best.

Kyle had that sweet country boy look off the stage, cowboy boots and blue jeans. He had blue eyes and red hair. But once he got on stage all of that fell away and he was phenomenal. And if Eddie ever retired from dancing, he knew he would have his perfect replacement in Kyle. The man could move and move you in a style that was both rough and tender at the same time.

Eddie still wasn’t sure how managed it. Maybe rough wasn’t the right word. Raw. Raw was a better word. It was like he was showing you a side of himself reserved only for the stage. It was breathtaking.

The money flowed in as easily as it had before the two week closure, leaving Eddie, and by extension, Wayne feeling very relieved indeed.

So Wayne made the decision to go back to Hawkins, safe in the knowledge that Eddie now had everything under control.

~

Eddie sat in the back of the courtroom, squirming in his seat. He had never be in the gallery before, usually the defendant’s chair, so it was making him twitch.

Robin had given her testimony last week and now it was Steve turn. He wore a simple grey sweater vest over a long sleeved white button up and grey slacks. You wouldn’t have known from the look of him that he shook his ass on stage five nights a week.

The prosecutor was up first and got Steve to lay out the events of the day as plainly as he could remember them.

The defense lawyer stood up. He was slick man in a thousand dollar suit, diamond rings on almost every finger. The man screamed slime just from his appearance.

“Can you state your current employment?” the lawyer asked smugly.

“Objection!” the prosecutor cried, leaping to his feet.

“Goes toward the character of the witness,” the lawyer said.

“I’ll allow it,” the judge said dryly, waving his hand to the prosecutor’s visible displeasure.

“Hellfire Exotic Club.”

There was some twittering in the jury box but the gallery remained silent.

“And what do you do there?” the lawyer asked, standing up and walking around to the front of the table.

“I’m a dancer,” Steve said, with clenched jaw. His hands gripped the sides of the witness chair.

Eddie could tell it was taking every ounce of self-control for him not to rip this guy’s balls off. Which he was happily willing to do the job for Steve because this guy reminded him of his dad in all the worst ways.

“You strip,” the lawyer corrected, wagging his eyebrows suggestively.

“Yes.”

The lawyer turned around and picked up a folder from the table and flipped through it for a moment. “It says that you were the lead dancer at the Indiana Ballet Company, is that correct?”

The room was tense as everyone waited to see where this was going. Eddie crossed his arms and leaned back in the seat, taking a desperate measure not to leap over the guardrail. Robin grabbed his knee and gave it a squeeze. He looked at her and she gave him a weak smile back.

“Yes, sir,” Steve agreed, leaning further into the microphone.

"And why did you leave the Indiana Ballet Company?" the lawyer asked, throwing the folder back on the table.

"Because I tore a muscle in my shoulder," Steve replied tersely.

The lawyer rolled his eyes. "You're a dancer, why would a shoulder injury make you quit?"

"Because a male danseur must be able to lift other dancers,” he said slowly as though he was talking to a small child. “Do you know how useless a danseur who can't lift is?"

"No."

"About as useless as this line of questions is in reference to my character as a witness,” Steve bit out. “Move it along."

There was some snickering among the prosecutor’s table.

“Mr. Harrington...” the judge warned, giving him the eye.

“May I say something really quick,” Steve asked the judge, looking over at him on the bench, “before this becomes a ‘gotcha’ moment?”

“Your honor!” the lawyer huffed. “This is most unusual!”

“I think he should have a say if it’s relevant to his character,” the prosecutor said, leaning back in his chair.

“And is it?” the judge asked Steve sternly.

“Yes, your honor.”

“I’ll allow it,” the judge said waving off the defense’s further objections.

“I only started working at the club because I was fired from the rec center,” Steve said, shyly. “The bills were piling up and I needed to make a lot of money fast.”

The courtroom was a still as a statue and as quiet as death at that proclamation.

The judge turned to the prosecutor. “Is this true?”

“It is your honor.”

“So let me get this straight, counselor,” the judge said angrily, “that the reason Mr. Harrington was working at the strip club in the first place is because he was fired from the rec center for reporting your client? Do I have that right?”

“I can’t attest to the cause of Mr. Harrington’s dismissal–”

The judge cut him off with a single glare. “Do I have that right?”

“Yes, your honor,” the lawyer hissed.

“So all his working at the strip club attests to is that his firing made him desperate,” the judge said. “As Mr. Harrington said, move this line of questioning along.”

The lawyer seethed but did as he was told. He tried to work every angle to get Steve to trip up but Steve was flawless on the stand.

Eddie was proud of him. So fucking proud.

Then it was time for closing remarks and Eddie really enjoyed the prosecutor’s.

“...Not only did this man brutalize a young woman for the sheer fact she was gay,” he said solemnly, “but their subsequent firing left them destitute and having to turn to working at a strip bar to make ends meet. The sins this man has enacted upon Robin Buckley is immeasurable and despicable.”

Steve was silently crying into his silk and lace handkerchief and Robin and Eddie held on from either side.

No one was surprised when the jury returned the verdict as guilty on all charges in less than twenty minutes.

As they walked away for a little celebration, Eddie turned to Steve, “So... you’re still going to work at the club, right?”

Robin and Steve shared a glance and then burst out laughing.

“Yeah, of course,” Steve said, stuffing the handkerchief into his pocket. “My mother is a complete bitch, but she absolutely is also one of the best lawyers in the state. I have seen her coach many a client on how to cry on command. Not a single fucking tear was genuine, let me tell you.”

Eddie’s shoulders sagged in relief. “That’s is so good to hear.”

“Now let’s call the crew and have them all meet us at Kincade’s for drinks and barbecue on me,” he replied with a grin. “We have some real celebrating to do!”

~

Part 14

Tag List: CLOSED

1- @rozzieroos @itsall-taken @redfreckledwolf @zerokrox-blog @gloomysoup

2- @gregre369 ​@a-little-unsteddie @chaosgremlinmunson @messrs-weasley @cryptid-system

3- @maya-custodios-dionach @goodolefashionedloverboi @val-from-lawrence @carlyv @wonderland-girl143-blog

4- @irregular-child @bookbinderbitch @bookworm0690 @forgottenkanji @garden-of-gay

5- @anne-bennett-cosplayer @yikes-a-bee @awkwardgravity1 @littlewildflowerkitten @genderless-spoon

6- @dragonmama76 @ellietheasexylibrarian @thedragonsaunt @useless-nb-bisexual @disrespectedgoatman

7- @counting-dollars-counting-stars @tinyplanet95 @ravenfrog @swimmingbirdrunningrock @lingeringmirth

8- @gutterflower77 @a-lovely-craziness @just-a-tiny-void @w1ll0wtr33 @beelze-the-bubkiss

9- @dreamercec @sadisticaltarts @too-much-tma-stuff @dolphincliffs @chameleonhair

10- @themoonagainstmers @novelnovella @micheledawn1975

[lalunanymph]

𝐁𝐄𝐓𝐖𝐄𝐄𝐍 𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐄𝐆𝐎

↳ a foul-mouthed, aggressive, pro-soccer player on the verge of being disqualified from the biggest game of his life, is tossed into a fake relationship with a spoiled heiress to salvage their bad public reputation. what exactly could go wrong?

𖨆♡𖨆 itoshi rin x fem!reader

cw. mentions of injuries, angst, mentions of food, the itoshi brothers and their horrible communication skills, mentions of medication, arguments, shidou being a menace, language

masterlist | playlist

#6: HIS CONFESSIONS

Rin didn’t know what compelled him to open his mouth, or for those words to tumble freely from his loosened lips. He liked to think it was grief which compromised his unwavering pride for a split second. Or, the guilt for what he did and said to his brother when he exhaled—

“Teach me how to win her back.”

Sae’s expression betrayed a hint of surprise when those cold features morphed into begrudging curiosity. 

His deadened stare sparked to life with a flicker of interest, and he regarded his younger brother for a long moment. When the silence got too much for Rin to bear and he wanted to walk away and play it off as the after effects of a mild concussion, Sae tilted his head to one side. 

Another agonising moment later, he nodded.

“Fine,” his older brother mumbled. “On one condition.”

Rin waited for him to counter-offer something humiliating which his ego and pride would never consent to him doing. He anticipated the other shoe to drop, and tensed, shoulders squared and ready to take back his foolish question, replacing it with spat hatred into Sae’s face.

But, his nii-chan’s next words shook him to the core, and he thought he might actually be suffering from a concussion when Sae said: “Play soccer with me again.”

Rin’s shoulders slumped, and something achy and hot pressed in the back of his throat. It crept into his eyes, burning a stinging path which bubbled over into beads of tears forming right on his lash line. Sae, too, could not bear to look at him; like he was a mirage and if he stared too long at his little brother, Rin might vanish.

“Oh.” Rin spoke past the lump in his throat, ignoring Shidou who hovered in his periphery like a gnat, batting its wings and waiting to float back to Sae’s side. “... okay.”

Their moment was interrupted by Shidou’s loud gagging. “What is this? A fucking Hallmark movie? You both are corny as fuck. Lame.”

He jammed his large hands into his hoodie and rolled his vermillion eyes, stalking back towards whichever hell hole he came from. “See you later, Sae. Don’t get too weepy.”

“Man, fuck you,” Sae murmured mildly.

“I would if you gave me a chance.”

Rin’s disgusted grimace broke the fine film of tension between the two men and Sae shook his head absentmindedly. Looking back at his brother, he motioned to a nearby field which was empty this afternoon save for a shoddy goalpost and one discarded, almost deflated soccer ball. 

“One on one?”

Unlike that wintry night when Sae challenged him to the same thing, Rin didn’t feel a sense of foreboding or dread. He welcomed the sunshine shimmering in his vision, almost blinded by the faintest glint of sincerity in his brother’s irises. Sae picked up the ball, and just like when they were both teenagers again, he shot his brother a challenging smirk. 

“Ready?”

Rin nodded, stepping forward out of his shell and into the man he already was today; a champion and a worthy opponent. A man who had proven himself multiple times in the big field. A man enough to go against Itoshi Sae. 

“Ready.”

It was time to put old ghosts to rest. 

The thunderous applause echoing across the gilded palace rooms vibrated through your very soul. 

Its ardour would’ve scared you if it was not directed towards your creations waltzing down the catwalk, validating your belief in your designing prowess. The spectators called you Japan’s next best underground fashion designer, and many heiresses, too, wanted you to dress them for their next event.

Your works encapsulated a mix between ornamental opulence and sleek simplicity; kimono-inspired suit sets made from spun golden silk, body-hugging cashmere and luxurious sleeves showcasing models of every ethnicity and body size as their godlier versions. A true spectacle considering the palace’s heavenly aesthetics which complimented your creative touch. 

You took one shaky step up onto the stage, and the lights almost blinded you; you were wrapped in a simple black corset dress from your collection, its sleeves trailing down to your knees and almost covering your hands when you humbly clasped them in front of you, bowing lowly to the applause.

The fashion critics remained impassive, and you had no doubt they would try to find an opening to diss a relatively unknown fashion designer. They may call you a nepotism baby, never mind that your father was famous in the sports world and this was the first attempt for the L/N name to breach through the fashion industry.

You let the naysayers whisper behind your back, already feeling like you achieved something because you took the first step—trusted yourself to put your abilities forward when the whole world saw you as nothing but a spoiled rich brat. That was considered a win in your book. 

“Congratulations, Miss L/N!” Every designer and model you worked with bore a bright smile when you went backstage to speak to them. 

Warmth suffused across your cheeks, and you shook your head, giving them back the credit. “No, it is all of you who deserve the recognition for bringing my designs to life.” Bowing low to each of them, you said, “Thank you for putting your trust in me.”

The talented individuals were touched by your acknowledgement, and it showed in their bright smiles and shiny eyes. 

“Tonight, drinks are on me,” you announced to the whole room through your cupped palms. Everyone cheered and the legendary near frenzied post-party after a fashion show began with manic cleaning up and rapid-fire jokes going off across every room.

Someone touched your arm amidst the chaos, and you turned to find Damara, her light eyes twinkling with mirth. 

“A gentleman is outside of the building and he’s requesting a one-on-one with you. Fair warning, he’s rather good-looking.”

You blinked, retracing in your mind who would have expressed interest in your works and stifled a gasp. Was it perhaps Itachibana-san himself who promised your father he would drop in for this show? Junni’s dad always did have a soft spot for you, and his contacts extended towards the top fashion conglomerates in the world. You pictured the mature, but still attractive man waiting for you with his carefree smile, and thanked Damara for sending the message.

Heart beating hard in your chest, you swiftly moved towards the backstage exit and out into the cool wind, forgetting to bring your jacket in your excitement. The streets were filled with activity, and you blended right into its motion, keeping your eyes peeled for your best friend’s father.

But, it wasn’t him standing underneath a pool of orange street lamp light, holding a rose bouquet.

Rin tugged at the collar of his dress shirt, teal eyes bright despite his impassive expression.

You faltered and took one step back when you noticed him. 

The bruise around his eye was stark across his pale skin, and his smile was paper thin with nerves.

“Hey. C-Congratulations on the show. Here—” He walked over to you and handed you the arrangement. You gingerly took it by the hefty stem, cradling the burst of roses to your chest, your heart doubling in speed from how heartbreakingly handsome Itoshi Rin looked tonight.

Glossy dark green locks tinted black from the darkness were pushed from his face, stray bangs falling across his forehead and brushing his chiselled cheek. Even with a blooming black eye, it could not compare to the delicate jut of his nose bridge or the elegant curve of those thick lashes framing his beautiful eyes.

Your voice was stuck in the back of your throat, and you stared at him in silence for a few seconds.

“I… heard from your designer that the show went well.” Rin shoved his hands into his slack pockets, dropping his gaze towards the grey pavement shyly. “I’m—that is to say, I… you did good.”

You suddenly felt too hot around your neck, and like there were far too many eyes on you. Shifting your weight from one Louboutin heel to the other, you managed to exhale a small laugh.

“Thank you.” Glancing at the bouquet, you gestured to it. “And thank you for these. Red roses are my favourite.”

“Yeah, you told me that before.”

You blinked. Like a mirage, the memory of that conversation sparked in your mind; the both of you sitting across the table having a simple dinner of ochazuke and tempura—where it felt like aeons ago that you could sit in such casual affection with a man you once held such strong feelings for. 

Feelings which were resurfacing back despite your efforts to keep a lid on them. 

“I guess I did,” you mumbled, smiling weakly. A beat of awkward silence passed between you two, and you desperately wished he would say something. Do something rather than blink owlishly at you, as if he were trying to find the right words to say. You settled for wrapping this conversation up, deciding it was time to put an end to your contact with Itoshi Rin.

“Thank you for the flowers. I have to go back in. My colleagues are waiting for me,” your smile grew tighter.  “I assume you’ll be heading off to France soon?” 

It stung him how you still remembered despite everything. How his schedule was etched in your memory. When he didn't reply, your smile waned around the edges and you bowed your head forward slightly. “Good luck with your game, Rin. I’ll be rooting for your win against your brother.”

Your best efforts at hiding the wobble in your voice was masked by your bright smile and you almost turned around to leave when his choked rendition of your name stopped you short. 

“W-Wait…”

Never in a million years did you anticipate Itoshi Rin wrapping his fingers around your wrist to anchor you to his side, a slight tremble in his grasp. The bouquet tumbled out of your arms in surprise, hitting the pavement in a rush of falling blooms, mimicking the blood roaring in your ears.

As if on instinct, your body flinched from his, and you backed away, unable to look into his beautiful teal eyes which were brimming with such a sharp emotion, you feared one glance would cut you up for life.

“Don’t,” you managed to whisper, tightening your arms around your torso. “Don’t… don’t play with my heart like this, Rin.”

The pain in your hushed voice drew him up short. 

Tell her you’re sorry, Sae’s voice echoed in his head. Apologise for what you said to her. Y/N’s feelings are hurt and if you try to make peace first, she will be open to hearing your words. 

But, what came out of his mouth was completely different from the words Sae coached him to repeat. 

“You did this to me.” 

Amidst the twinkling lights of the Milanese streets and the adrenaline pumping in your veins, no one could fault you for taking a step back; wanting to preserve what sliver of inner peace you still had left.

Those that he hadn’t taken from you just yet.

You puffed your chest and squared your shoulders, meeting Itoshi Rin’s glare head-on even though you felt like dissolving into sniffling sobs. He truly was the bane of your existence—not even a few days ago, you were glad to be away from Tokyo; away from the man who had taken every inch of your thoughts, but did not reciprocate it.

“It’s all your fault.” You had never heard Rin sound this angry. 

Your words were tripping over each other, spluttering out into indignant sentences which raced to fly off your acidic tongue when you suddenly stopped. 

He had closed his eyes, pretty eyelashes casting shadows onto his chiselled cheekbones and took the final step so your chest was pressed to his. 

“I hate you.”

He swept you into his arms, holding you fast to his heart while his face was buried in your hair. The anger you held for him died in the back of your throat, and you froze, unable to believe he was touching you on his own free will. 

“Can’t stop thinking about you,” he continued to murmur into the softness of your hair. “Lost so many goals because of you. My pass rate dropped by 45%. I got a foul. I punched Isagi in the face.”

Your mind was blaring sirens of overwhelming response to his sudden touch and barrage of information. “Rin,” you gasped. “You did what to Isagi—?!” 

“Stupid,” he growled, stopping your influx of words. Tall and imposing, his body heat was heady and made you want to curl up in his embrace forever. A sob bubbled from the roaring depths of your heart and you hiccuped it back, refusing to fall into his embrace and deception again. “You’re such a fucking pain, Y/N.” 

You swore you would never be that same girl who cried on the plane to Italy while wearing the jersey you stole from his closet. 

You swore you would never let Itoshi Rin kick your heart around as if it were a spare ball. 

But, you couldn’t pull away, not even for one second. 

“Yeah?” your voice quaked from disbelief. “If you hate me, then why are you here?” 

His rough palms slid up the bodice of your dress, feeling the ridges of the corset you wore which barely concealed how your heartbeat was quickening; his lips touching the rapid pulse ticking under your jaw. 

Itoshi Rin was never a man who minced his words, so what else did you expect when he exhaled— 

“Told you. Can’t stop thinking about you.”

“Rin—”

“Y/N.”

He gave you no time to second-guess his intention when he leaned closer to you, one palm cupping your cheek to hold you in place. You could not look at him, not when the words he uttered behind your back still scarred your trust.

You had shown him, didn’t you?

Showed him how you finally found the courage to stand on your own two feet; how you did something crazy and stupid and took a chance on your dreams which landed you on one of Milan’s hottest runways.

He knew that, didn’t he?

“I thought you hated me,” you whispered, unable to look directly into his eyes; afraid of what you might find. The truth, perhaps, that your doubts were real. “Said I was nothing but a spoiled brat.”  

“I’m sorry,” he finally muttered after a beat of silence. “I was wrong. I was so, so wrong. My ego—”

“Is fucking huge,” you quipped which earned you the softest glimmer in his teal eyes even if his expression remained impassive.

Eventually, he agreed.

“Yeah,” Rin muttered softly. “It is fucking huge. And it nearly cost me someone I care about.” 

Were you hallucinating?

Did his team put him up to this so they could record your reaction and laugh at it later in the locker rooms? 

Whatever hope you buoyed that Rin actually reciprocated your feelings curdled in your chest like sour milk from the bitter memories, and you stepped back from him, unable to look into his gorgeous aquamarine eyes which clouded over with confusion when he noticed the tremble in your lower lip. 

“I should go,” you mumbled, willing the tears not to break down your cheeks, and spinning around so he couldn’t see your expression. Gathering what was left of your composure, you dipped your head low and mumbled: “We don’t have to fake anything anymore, Rin. You can hate me out loud now. I won’t mind. It’s your sentiments. It’s just—”

I wished you didn’t.

But, you had no courage to tell it to his face. 

In the end, you were as much of a coward with your emotions as he was, and your skin suddenly flashed hotly, goosebumps prickling your arms; the world was spinning slightly in your periphery, the lights too loud and the people rushing down the streets sounded like a roaring waterfall and you haven’t eaten anything yet this whole evening so you could fit into this stupid, vintage dress and you were so sure your curling iron was still switched on in your hotel room and—

His strong grip on your wrist nudged you back into his chest. Halting your thoughts right in their frenzied tracks.

You did not get to fight him off, not when he was fueled with desperation and contempt for his stupidly big ego.

Not when he gently spun you around, lifted your chin and fixed you with a look of hunger and yearning which softened the hard edges of his once diamond-like yes and definitely not when—

The world screeched to a stop.

Soft as a cushion, Itoshi Rin’s lips pressed onto yours, stealing the last of your protests and breath away.

Nothing in your existence mattered beyond the curve of his mouth rasping against your own; the hot press of his hands roaming up and down your back, bringing you closer to him—Rin’s courage solidifying from such an ensconced location away from the ruthless eyes of cameras, fangirls and Ego’s scheming. 

Is this really happening? 

Rin tilted his head to the right to slot the jut of his bottom lip in between your parted, panting mouth, and you almost shied away from the tip of his tongue touching yours, coaxing you to come out and meet him in a reciprocal dance of devotion. 

He ruthlessly overpowered his opponents on the field as easily as he overwhelmed you with his tenacity on this dimly-lit street, and you did not protest when one hand came to cradle the nape of your neck, holding you in place while the other tentatively squeezed your waist, committing your curves back into his memory.

Ever a quiet gentleman, Rin let you break off the kiss first; a single strand of spit connecting both your lips together flashed like a silver thread from the hazy orange glow the streetlamps above casted over two uncertain lovers.

You licked your bottom lip, tasting his musk and something minty, breaking the final connection between both your parted mouths. A dust of pink glowed on his cheeks, and his azure eyes—usually boring into yours with sullen distaste—were almost overshadowed by his black pupils, only a thin ring of blue left.

It was endearing how he could not even meet your gaze, uncharacteristically timid for someone so sure on the field.

A smile burst forth onto your face, illuminating the scenery with a sweet luminosity which took his breath away.

“So,” you started, a teasing glint in your eye. “I take it this means you miss me and you want me to come back?” 

Rin’s first instinct was to roll his eyes and scoff. But, strangely, the same contagious happiness stole the muscles on his face, curving his thin lips into a smile against his will.

There she goes again—making me act like a fool with no self-control.

He didn’t have to reply. That little grin was the only answer you needed.

The city lights continued to sparkle and a cool breeze nipped both your noses, but Rin’s hand in yours is as warm as ever. 

“—and that’s another spectacular goal from Itoshi Rin!”

“He’s on fire this season!” 

“The finest soccer legacy from Blue Lock is right here, ladies and gentlemen!”

You chanted his name along with the crowd, the cameras panning towards his impassive face with those fired-up teal eyes you knew and loved.

His number blazing across your chest, and pride overflowing in your soul—you were surprised when he lifted his head and noticed you right in the heart of the crowd. 

Nothing could compare to how the entire stadium went wild when they saw his eyes softened infinitesimally in real time; their clamour rocking straight into your bones when it kicked up a notch from his small smirk and wave in your direction. You shyly waved back at him, and this time, it was your lovesick grin splashed over the huge LED screens for the world to see.

But, Rin and you didn’t care. 

You were past faking anything, anyway. 

He doubled back after the ball went careening into the opponent’s goal, jersey soaked with sweat, and he gave a small fistbump when the crowds roared his name. You leapt to your feet with the rest of Japan’s supporters, and clapped, pride blooming hotly in your chest.

As if you had him in a trance, Rin glanced up at you, and disregarding the pitch etiquette, he jogged over to where you were separated by the touchline barriers and pushed his bangs from his forehead in time for you to flounce closer, hands extended towards him.

“Are you hurt?” you said in dismay, recalling the ball which accidentally smashed into his face, leaving him a smear of dirt on his cheek which you wiped it away with your thumb. He beamed up at you, drawing a gaggle of surprised reactions from his teammates who had never seen this side of Rin before; his broad shoulders relaxed, brow smooth, Captain armband stretched across his defined bicep. He looked far too enticing for such a crowded area. 

God, you wanted to kiss him so badly. But, you reined in your reactions, biting your lower lip to keep your face from splitting into a wide grin. 

He took your hand and squeezed, nodding. 

“After this game, baby, I’m bending you over the couch and I’m not going to go easy on you.” 

You gaped at him, unsure if he said what you thought he said in the middle of the most important game of his life. He’s insane. Your heart flipped and your stomach exploded in a rush of butterflies when Rin grinned at your stumped silence and ran back into the action, kicking up dirt from his quick sprint, leaving your melted heart gooey with affection.

He’s insane and he’s all mine. 

When Blue Lock scored 2-1 against Bastard Munchen, you swore you had never seen your boyfriend look this ecstatic; brows shooting up to his hairline, mouth parted in a raucous yell when he scored the final goal—his teammates lifting him up in the air as triumph blazed their happiness like a second skin.  

A familiar bob of reddish-brown hair made its way to the field, and you couldn’t see what the older Itoshi was saying to his younger brother, but Rin wore a small smile, and nodded. You had faith it was something good.

Later when the frenzy died down, you were admitted into the premium lounge where you found him sitting on the edge of the plush leather sofa, conversing with Isagi in low tones. At the sight of you, he paused, raising a brow. Quietly asking for you to come over to him. 

You did, and Isagi beamed when he noticed how easily you sat next to Rin, no longer tense nor fidgety. He took your hand and rubbed gentle circles onto the rise of your knuckles, and to everyone else in the Blue Lock, the sight must be completely alien for a few other players were smirking in your direction.

“Hey, Isagi, do you think I should get a girlfriend, too?” Bachira asked innocently from his perch on the floor, holding an isotonic drink pack in one hand. Ego was in the corner, speaking to a team of managers that he did not overhear Meguru’s innocent question which would land him in hot water.

Taken aback by his friend’s question, Isagi chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck. “I don’t know. If it’s anyone you should ask, it would be Rin.”

To everyone’s surprise, the unsmiling, aloof and cold Itoshi Rin scoffed fondly, flitting his calm teal eyes towards you.

“Go for it,” he murmured while tightening his grip on your hand, secretly enjoying the feel of his fingers laced with yours, and the sight of his name and number on your chest. Everyone knew without a shadow of a doubt that you belonged to him. 

The corners of your eyes crinkled from your wide grin which was so full of life and unaffected by anything else. Completely enamoured with the fact you could wake up everyday and call Rin Itoshi yours. But, no one could say you were still not the same teasing girl who had melted the ice-cold walls around his heart. 

“Try it if you dare, Bachi. Rin should be able to give you some pointers off-field if you get stuck thanks to my training.”

Your charming quip was met with raised brows and surprised smiles, least of all from the one man who could make you melt into a puddle of your own glee when he scoffed a quiet laugh.

“Yeah, I’ll give you some real advice alright,” he grumbled to appease Bachira’s sudden onset of relationship questions.

He tuned his teammate out. 

No one else existed in the room to Rin at this moment; not Ego calling for the team to regroup and debrief on the latest match, or Bachira who bravely thumped Isagi’s back to cajole him to help get me a girlfriend, Yoichi-kun! I wanna see what the hype is all about! 

It was just you and Rin in this split second of time, and he could not stop those stupid muscles on his face from ticking upwards in a shy smile. Completely honest and truthful when he showed the world how much you had him head over heels in love. 

After all, he was done pretending, too.

hihi this is finally done and though i admit my interest in bllk has waned, im happy i wrapped this up and this little story has made everyone feel good :'> im not so sure what my future in the bllk fandom would be but your support and love for my work will always be the highlight of my time here <;33

p.s: pls listen to this song as the closing credits for a little serotonin boost as much as i had when i wrote this hehe

xoxo dawnie

©️ all rights belong to lalunanymph. do not copy, repost or claim as your own.

[thicccshady]

NSFW Good Enough (Relax Part 3)🍫

Eminem X Reader

AI EDITED PHOTO

✨️MasterList✨️

A/N: This is part of the Relax series. You don’t need to read the earlier parts to enjoy this one—it stands on its own!

Content: Smut, Cursing, Newer Relationship, Consent Checks, 18+ Activities!

The arena thrummed with life, the roar of the crowd vibrating in Y/N’s chest as Marshall took the stage. The electric energy was contagious; thousands of fans screamed his name, all vying for his attention. But Y/N knew his eyes always sought her out first.

From her spot towards the front of the pit, she watched him transform. Under the spotlight, he was untouchable—confident, magnetic, every word hitting the beat with precision. He performed as if the world revolved around his every syllable, and for the next few hours, it did. 

Y/N tried to focus on the performance, letting the music pull her in like it always did, but her thoughts drifted. It had been a few weeks since they'd made things official, only sharing the news with a few friends, and everything had felt so effortless. But tonight, a weight she couldn’t name pressed against her chest. She shoved it down, determined not to let it ruin the night. Really, she was proud of him—of how far he’d come, how talented he was—but as the night went on, she couldn't shake the feeling of being... out of place.

As Marshall performed, the sea of fangirls screamed, reaching out toward him, their eyes full of admiration, obsession, and desire. Every time they screamed his name or reached for his hand, a small seed of insecurity planted itself deeper in her chest. She knew Marshall had a past, knew the kind of attention he’d always recieved, but tonight, it felt different. The adoration seemed endless, and she couldn’t help but wonder—was she enough? Was she really the one he wanted, or was she just another name in a long line of faces?

Marshall’s eyes found hers for a brief moment in the crowd, and he flashed a smirk and winked, but the doubt still lingered.

When Marshall ended the final song, the crowd’s thunderous applause rolled through the venue, deafening and endless. He gave them a grin, flipped them the bird, and disappeared backstage.

---

Waiting backstage, Y/N saw Marshall approaching her. “You looked amazing out there,” Y/N said as he closed in. A towel draped over his shoulders, a thin layer of sweet coating his skin. She plastered on a smile, hoping the truth in her eyes wouldn't give her away. 

Marshall’s brow furrowed as he studied her. “What’s up?” 

“Nothing,” she replied too quickly. “I’m fine. Just tired.” 

Marshall’s gaze lingered on her, pursing his lips, skepticism evident. “Uh-huh.” He leaned closer, voice dropping. “Wanna get out of here?” 

“Yes, please,” she responded, her smile faltering. 

Knowing something was wrong, he didn’t push. Not here. Instead, he slung an arm around her shoulders, pulling her close as they navigated through the maze of crew and equipment to his tour bus.

Once inside, Y/N sank into the plush couch, her fingers fidgeting with a pillow she held close to her stomach. Marshall grabbed a bottle of water from the mini-fridge, handing it to her before sitting across from her, his knees brushing hers. 

“Alright,” he said, tone soft but firm. “What’s going on?” Y/N avoided his eyes, staring at the cap of the water bottle instead. “Y/N.” His voice carried the same steadiness he used onstage, the kind that made you listen whether you wanted to or not. “Talk to me.” 

She hesitated, her resolve cracking under the weight of his concern. Finally, she exhaled shakily. “Marshall, It’s stupid.” 

“Try me.” 

She glanced up, meeting his gaze. “I was watching you out there tonight, and you were… so incredible. You always are.” 

A slow smirk tugged at his lips. “That doesn’t sound stupid to me.” 

“No, it’s…” She bit her lip, frustrated with herself. The lump in her throat swelled. Suddenly, the words coming out more vulnerable than she intended. “I just... I don’t know, Marshall. I see all those girls out there. They’re screaming for you, throwing themselves at you, and I just... I can’t help but feel like I’m not good enough. You could have anyone you want, and I just don’t know if I’m enough for you. You’re so… larger than life. Everyone loves you. And sometimes, I feel like I’m just… here. Like I don’t belong in your world.” 

As she spoke his smirk faded, replaced by something softer, more serious. He waited, allowing her to express her feelings. “Y/N, don’t do that. Don’t make yourself small. You’re not ‘just here.’

Her eyes watered at the sincerity in his voice.

Marshall shifted closer, taking her hands in his. “You think I’d be with you if I didn’t think you belonged in my world? You’re not just a part of it, Y/N. You’re the best part. Those people, out there, the crowd, they are just noise. You’re who I want to come home to.” 

Tears pricked at the corners of her eyes, and she gave a watery laugh. “You’re annoyingly good at this, you know?” 

“Shit, well,” he said, smirking and brushing a thumb over her knuckles, “you make it easy.” 

She leaned into him, resting her head against his chest, the tension in her shoulders starting to ease. Marshall wrapped his arms around her, holding her close, his heartbeat steady beneath her ear. 

“Y/N, I love you.” His voice low and soft but clear. 

Y/N nodded, a smile replacing her doubt. “I love you too.” 

He gently lifted her chin up to meet his. A gentle, passionate kiss broke the silence between them. His warm hands cupped her face, tilting it up towards his as their lips met in a gentle, yet passionate, kiss. The room seemed to disappear, leaving only the two of them. As their lips meet, they close their eyes, savoring the softness and warmth of each other's touch. In the dim light, their faces are illuminated by the moonlight streaming through the window, highlighting their features in a loving glow. The soft sounds of their quiet moans and gentle sighs filled the room as they lost themselves in the moment.

Pulling away, Marshall broke the silence, “Let me show you how much I love you.” Gently, he picked you up, something your past partners couldn't or wouldn't do. You held onto him as he showered your neck in delicate kisses. One hand holding the back of your head for protection, he lowered you two onto the small tour bus bed. The mattress creaked softly as Marshall laid Y/N down, his body hovering over hers. His eyes roamed her face, drinking in every detail as if committing it to memory. He hovered over her, one hand braced beside her head, the other tracing the curve of her cheek. Y/N's heart raced, a mix of love and desire coursing through her veins.

Marshall's tender kisses traveled along her jawline, his touch feather-light. "You're beautiful," he murmured, his voice husky. "And you're mine."

Y/N's breath caught in her throat as Marshall's lips found hers again, the kiss deeper this time, more urgent. His hands slid under her shirt, calloused fingers skimming across her skin, leaving goosebumps in their path. She leaned into his touch, a soft moan escaping her lips. His kisses were intoxicating, making her head spin and her body ache for more. She ran her hands up his back, feeling the sore muscles ripple beneath her touch. In response he tugged at the hem of her shirt, breaking the kiss just long enough to pull it over her head. 

His eyes roamed over her exposed skin. “Fuck.” He breathed out. Marshall's eyes darkened with desire as he took in the sight before him. He leaned down, trailing kisses from her collarbone to the swell of her breasts. His hands cupped them gently, thumbs brushing over her nipples. Y/N gasped at the sensation, arching into his touch. She hastily pulled her bra off, flinging it across the bus.

Marshall's gaze lingered on Y/N's newly exposed skin, his eyes intense with passion. Slowly, reverently, he lowered his head to her upper chest. His lips trailed lower, leaving a path of warmth in their wake. When he reached the valley of her breast, he paused, looking up at her through hooded eyes.

"Is this okay?" he murmured, his breath hot against her skin.

Y/N nodded, her fingers threading through his short hair. "Yes," she breathed.

With her permission, Marshall continued his exploration. His tongue darted out, tracing delicate patterns across her skin. He took his time, savoring every inch of her. When his mouth finally closed around her nipple, Y/N gasped, arching into him. He lavished attention on one breast, then the other, alternating but not neglecting either one. Without breaking his rhythm, he pulled his shirt off.

"Marshall," she breathed, her voice trembling slightly. He looked up, concern flickering in his eyes at her tone. "I... I've never done this before."

Understanding dawned on his face. He moved back up, pressing a tender kiss to her forehead. "We don't have to do anything, love. You’re here, and that’s enough.”

The look in Y/N’s eyes shifted, something deep and hungry took over. ”Marshall, I want it.” She slightly arched into him, “I need you inside me.”

Marshall lovingly gazed into Y/N's eyes, searching for any hesitation. Finding only desire and trust reflected back at him, he nodded slowly. "Okay," he murmured, his voice low and tender. "Then we'll take it slow. I want to make this perfect for you."

Marshall's lips found hers again, the kiss deep and passionate. His fingers returned to her nipples, as she squirmed into his touch. His kisses trailed lower, across her collarbone, between her breasts, down her stomach. When he reached the waistband of her pants, he paused, looking to her for permission. At her nod, he slowly slide them down her legs.

He returned to her stomach then her left thigh. His hands gripped her right thigh as his thumb traced circles. Marshall's fingers hooked into the waistband of Y/N's panties, pausing to look up at her once more. 

She nodded, whispering, “Yes, Marshall. I trust you.” Slowly, she lifted her hips to help him as he slowly slid them down her legs. He took a moment to enjoy the sight of her, completely bare before him.

"You're so fucking beautiful," he murmured, his voice thick with emotion. 

Y/N felt exposed, vulnerable, but the look of pure adoration in Marshall's eyes chased away any insecurity. He lowered himself between her legs, pressing soft kisses to her inner thighs. His small stubble scratched lightly against her sensitive skin, sending shivers through her body.

"Tell me if anything feels uncomfortable, okay?" Marshall said, his warm breath ghosting over her as she spread her legs. 

Y/N nodded, and he slowly lowered his head. Y/N gasped at the first touch of his tongue, her back arching off the bed. Marshall took his time, exploring and tasting, learning what made her moan and tremble. His tongue traced patterns of various speeds, sending shivers through her body. He teased her with light flicks and gentle sucks, reveling in the way she responded to him.

Y/N's fingers gripped his short hair as she arched into him, her moans growing louder with each touch. She couldn't believe the sensations that were coursing through her body, and she couldn't get enough of Marshall's touch.

As he began to focus on her most sensitive spot, Y/N cried out in pleasure, her hips lifting completely off the bed as she neared climax. Marshall's fingers gripped her thighs tightly as he continued to pleasure her, bringing her closer and closer until she finally reached her peak. Moaning and convulsing into him, her mind silenced, reaching a new forgiven realm of ecstasy. Coming back down, she looked into Marshall’s eyes. Her breath was shaky as he smiled back at her, clearly pleased with the reaction he caused. 

Face flushed, Y/N pulled Marshall to her lips. Her kisses were hungry and deep. Just as Marshall had done, she pulled at the hem of his pants. Without breaking their connection, he helped her pull them off. She smirked as her hand brushed against his dick, already hardened and erect. As she felt him over his boxers a low moan escaped him. 

“Mashall.” He froze at her soft voice. “Please.” 

His eyes locked with Y/N's as he nodded. With a low groan, Marshall captured her lips in a searing kiss as he shimmied out of his boxers. Y/N's breath caught as she felt him, hard and hot against her thigh. Her eyes widened slightly as she took in the sight of him fully nude for the first time.

Marshall noticed her reaction and smirked. "We'll go slow," he promised, positioning himself between her legs. "Tell me if anything hurts, okay?"

Y/N nodded, her heart racing with anticipation. Slowly, carefully, Marshall began to push into her. Y/N gasped at the new sensation, her body tensing slightly. Marshall paused, looking into her eyes as he slowly began thrusting into her. He moved slowly, giving Y/N time to adjust to the new sensation. His eyes never left hers, watching for any sign of pain. "You okay?" he murmured, his voice strained with the effort of holding back.

Y/N nodded, her breath coming in short gasps. The initial discomfort was fading, replaced by a growing pleasure. "fuck," she breathed. "Don't stop."

Encouraged by her words, Marshall began to move with more purpose. He kept his pace gentle, his strokes deep and measured. As Y/N's discomfort disappeared she found herself moving with him. He set a steady rhythm, his hips rolling against hers in a well-rehearsed dance. As the pleasure built, Y/N found herself lifting her hips to meet his.

"God, Y/N," Marshall groaned, his forehead pressing against hers. "You feel amazing."

Y/N's pulled him closer, craving more of his skin against hers. Marshall buried his face in the crook of her neck. His deep groan against her sent vibrations down her spine. Marshall's pace increased, his thrusts becoming more urgent as he felt Y/N's body responding to him. Her legs wrapped around his waist, pulling him even deeper. The change in angle caused them both to cry out.

"Marshall," she gasped, feeling a building tension, her nails dug into his back. "I'm close."

He lifted his head, panting. "Let go, baby," he groaned and gently nipped at her neck. "I've got you."

His hand slipped between them, his fingers found her clit. The added stimulation pushed Y/N over the edge. She cried out, her body arching against his as waves of pleasure washed over her.

At the sight and feel of Y/N's release, Marshall's rhythm faltered. With a low moan, he followed her over the edge, burying his face in her neck as he found his release

For several moments, they lay tangled together, catching their breath. Y/N held onto Marshall as he peppered her neck with sleepy kisses. 

Marshall gently rolled to the side, pulling Y/N with him so she was nestled against his chest. She smiled, feeling safe and cherished in his arms. His fingers traced lazy patterns on her bare skin as their breathing slowly returned to normal. The small tour bus bed barely fit them both, but neither seemed to mind the closeness. 

"You okay?" Marshall murmured, pressing a soft kiss to her forehead.

Y/N nodded, a contented smile playing on her lips. "More than okay," she whispered. "That was... incredible."

Marshall chuckled softly. "Fucking incredible," he said, his voice filled with warmth and affection.”Damn Y/N. That was your first time?… Impressive.”

She giggled against his chest. They laid in comfortable silence for a while, basking in the afterglow. Y/N's earlier insecurities felt distant now, washed away by the intensity of their connection.

"Y/N," Marshall said softly, his voice fatigued.

She lifted her head slightly to look at Marshall, her eyes heavy with contentment and face flushed from passion. "Hmm?"

He played with her hair, his touch gentle. "I meant what I said earlier." His voice was low, earnest. "I know all this," he gestured vaguely, indicating his fame and career, "can be a lot. But I need you to know that at the end of the day, it's you I want to come home to. Only you."

A tender warmth spread through Y/N's chest at his words. She felt tears dwell in her eyes, overwhelmed by the sincerity in his words. She pressed a soft kiss to his chest, right over his heart. "I love you, Marshall. So much."

He pulled her closer, tucking her head under his chin. Y/N could hear the steady thrum of his heartbeat, strong and reassuring. “I love you too.”

A/N: The amount of missionary content I have written lately is concerning. Then again... I'm sure we all saw that Missionary promo. Also, friendly reminder sex can be awkward and frankly funny. Remember not to take yourself too seriously. <3

Relax🍫PART ONE

Stock Up For My Bitches (Relax Part Two)🍫

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[its-time-to-write]

ch. 5 - hustling for the good life

table of contents

your boots beneath my bed

You, on the other hand, had done your proper research. Watched his highlights on Lust Conquers All and everything. You want to know what exactly your stupid brain is doing, thinking someone like that is cute or (retch) boyfriend material but who gives a shit because you’re probably not going to see him again. 

You’re out of the hotel and in some tiny little cottage just outside of London. No paps, no PR agents or what-fucking-ever, just you, Natalie, and loads of fresh air. She finds you in the yard one morning, plucking a tune on a guitar and humming.

“That’s new,” she grins. “Gonna have a new single out soon?”

You raise a shoulder. “I don’t know. Maybe. Might just keep this one to myself.”

Natalie says hmm then turns on her heel to go back inside. 

“Oh,” she says after a few steps, “you should at least send it to him. He might like it.”

“It’s not about anyone!” you call after her rapidly retreating figure. 

“Sure!” she yells back. You flip her off and she says, “I saw that!”

—

Natalie’s booked some coffee shop concert for you, so you’re a little preoccupied with sound checks and meeting your temp band and promising to drink a latte as soon as you’re done singing because fuck sleeping.

It’s sold out which isn’t hard because the place is small, but it’s fun to sit on a stool and sing into a small microphone and be able to talk and joke like you’re the small-town artist you began as.

The crowd goes crazy when you strum the first few notes of Mango, as they sing along to the whole thing. You finish the set and begin thank everyone for coming when you see an oddly familiar face in the very back of the room. You’re not even sure how you caught it because again, it’s crowded, but there it is. He’s with some other people who you’re pretty sure are part of AFC Richmond, but you don’t care about that now.

You pause in the middle of your goodbye and say, “You know what, I’m actually going to play one more song. It’s a rough draft right now, so be nice to me. The working title is Poolside, and you guys are the first to hear it.”

You begin to pluck the repeating melody that’s been playing on repeat in your brain and start the first verse.

I know it’s a bad idea

And I can’t have you anyway

But you’re like a tiny bit of sunshine

I can’t seem to chase away

It’s terrifying and vulnerable in a way you’ve never been before. You’ve played songs for boys before, but never like this. 

You were in a hotel room with Austin one night after one of his movie premiers and just giggling about how stupid it all was. 

“I already have our breakup song,” you’d said, hopping down from the table. “Wanna hear it?”

Austin thought that was hilarious so he said, “Obviously,” so you grabbed your guitar from your room and strapped it on. 

“Alright,” you said while strumming a bouncy tune, “this one’s a little more line-dancey than my usuals. So.”

Austin had tapped his foot while you sang, “A long time ago/in a land not so far away/we met in a bar/and you fucking said ‘hey.’”

It was silly as you both bounced around the room singing about your impending split. Neither of you cared because it wasn’t real, and you had recorded him singing a harmony on your phone. 

You snuck it into the actual track months later, too faint for anyone to actually notice. 

But that was the closest you’d ever been to directly singing someone their song. It was different with Mango because it wasn’t romantic. 

And now it’s different with Jamie, because you’re singing about how dumb it is that you keep thinking about him asking if you were ok at that dumb fucking party. 

You end the song to thunderous applause, and you’re pretty sure bootlegs are going to end up on YouTube within the hour. You don’t care. All you can think of is slipping to the back of the café to claim that latte then sneaking out the back. 

“Nice one, girl,” Natalie remarks as she hands you a cup. “The label’s gonna love that.”

You smile. “They don’t care. I make them too much money for them to care.”

She rolls her eyes and opens her mouth to speak but just stops. 

“Hello? Earth to Nat?” you say, waving a hand in front of her face. 

“Hey,” says a voice from behind.

You spin around. It’s Jamie. 

And god, he looks fucking fit in trackies, Gucci slides, and a neon orange shirt. 

You can feel Natalie sneaking away behind you, and for once, you’re glad to be alone. 

“Hey,” you reply. “How’d you get in here?”

Jamie smiles. “Keeley. She can talk her way into anything.”

You nod, still holding your latte. “Well, usually we have a strict policy about fans who try to come talk to me unannounced, but I guess for you, I’ll let it slide.”

Oh god, are you fucking flirting?

Jamie smirks. “Babe, I ain’t any old fan. Probably number one.”

You raise an eyebrow. “Uh huh. Right. And when did you decide you could call me babe?”

Jamie takes a step closer. “Right about the time Keeley convinced me to ask you out.”

You almost drop your coffee. 

All you can say is a weak, “Oh.”

“She would love to,” Natalie pipes up from behind a stack of coffee beans. “I’ll get you her number and you can set it up.”

Jamie’s looking at you expectantly, and you suppose he probably wants your consent, not just Natalie’s. 

You nod and say, “Sure,” with the same lack of conviction the oh held. Jamie’s expression ripples for a moment, but then he’s grinning and saying “Mint,” before saluting Natalie and exiting the way he came. 

“What the fuck, Natalie,” you say. Your bones feel like jelly. “I can’t go out with him.”

“Yes you can,” she tells you. “And you are. It’s settled.”

Oh fuck. 

—

He texts you the next morning.

hey it’s Jamie :)

I can’t be seen with you, you write back before you chicken out. The press would have a field day. I’m not looking for something public, so if you’re only in this to gain popularity, you’re out of luck. 

It’s a little harsh, but you’re going to be open about this.

no worries, he says. paps r fuckgn annoying. we can do smthg small. 

Turns out something small means sneaking into a restaurant where Jamie’s been going for ages. It has a small room in the back with windows you can see out of, but no one can see in.

“John’s been getting me back here for ages,” he says. “Haven’t had an issue with the press yet.”

It’s all so normal, the way he pulls out your chair and tells you what he likes to order. The way he’s making you laugh and asking you questions about your life, not the ones about your music, but the kind that are actually about you. 

The server comes around with a bottle, and asks, “Wine?”

Jamie looks to you and you shake your head, barely suppressing a grimace.

“All good here, mate,” he says.

“Not a drinker?” he asks once the man is gone. 

You hesitate. You’re about to cross into point-of-no-return territory. 

“I- I don’t know, I can’t really smell it without thinking of my family. They’re all…”

Jamie nods. “I get it. Like me dad. Prick’ll be sober when he’s dead.”

“Yeah,” you say slowly. “Yeah, never had a family event without someone fighting. My mom’s the first one to get out, because she’s the youngest. She saw all that shit and decided it wasn’t for her. She went away to college, met my dad, and never looked back. Course, my uncles started showing up once I got famous. And my aunt, too. She’s probably the worst of all of them. She actually broke into my first apartment asking for money. She smashed a bottle and cut up my face pretty bad… I was nineteen and still trying to figure out my music career and stuff. I still have a scar on eyebrow from it. But, I wasn’t so famous that it ended up on the internet, so…”

You trail off again. Jamie’s looking at you all thoughtful. You’re not sure when he started holding your hand across the table, but there it is. It’s warm and calloused, and he doesn’t seem to care that yours is sweaty.

“My dad’s the same way,” he says softly. “Showed up a month back at a match. Fucking prick. But… can’t seem to cut him off, y’know? He’s fuckin’… family or some shit.”

“Hah,” you say, “That’s what Margarita’s about.”

Jamie’s silent for a moment. “Thought it was about how you really fucking liked limes,” he says finally.

That gets a laugh from you. “I do actually really fucking like limes. But enough about me. How’d you get into football?”

By the end of the night, you’re properly smitten. This boy knows how to flirt, knows all the right compliments and ways to brush his hand against yours or brush a stray strand of hair out of your face. 

This is bad, you think as his lips touch yours. This is very, very bad.

table of contents

[asordinaryppl]

A3! Main Story: Part 4 - Act 15: PAINFUL RE:BAKE - Episode 18: The Fate of Ashes

also proofread by myuntachis!

Kabuto: "The ancients confessed before God. Now man is repenting before society." (1)

Kabuto: In other words, the script is done. Sorry.

Banri: It’s so damn light…

Aoshi: Please don’t drag Akutagawa into this.

Kabuto: Perhaps I should say I was entangled in the evil customs of the detestable world of theater… I need more than just time in order to write, there’s not much I could do differently.

Kabuto: Well, it’s well in time for our first performance. We’re going to start practice, so read through it properly.

Banri: Want me to hand out copies?

Kabuto: Yeah.

Actor A: I thought we’d end today with just etude training again…

Actor B: We’re finally starting the real thing, huh.

Banri: (Like he said, I’m the lead, and Hyodo’s the co-lead. Let’s see–)

Banri: ——

Kabuto: The title is “The Fate of Ashes”.

-

16th century London.

After the death of his mentor Jakes, a great playwright and director, the actor Baal takes over his theater company.

Gifted with talent, the directing techniques he had inherited from his mentor, and a large theater company, Baal felt omnipotent.

Just when he thought his time had come, his master’s will wished for him to act out the final play he had written alongside an unknown actor.

The lead would be played by Baal, and the co-lead would be played by an actor who went by the name of Judas. His mentor had discovered him in an orphanage, taken a liking to him and taught him acting.

Without understanding his master’s intentions, Baal welcomed Judas into the theater and they began rehearsals. However, secretly, he despised Judas’s acting, which was barely anything more than amateurish.

In an attempt to embarrass him and make him leave of his own accord, Baal made Judas act alone in the town square, introducing him as the new actor.

But when Judas started acting in front of the audience, it was as if he was a completely different person from the one during rehearsals, and his acting captured the hearts of the people.

When Baal witnessed the acting that had attracted his late master in the first place, he became filled with a jealousy stronger than he’d ever felt before.

As the opening day of the performance approached, Judas’s talents became more and more refined, and Baal started fearing that if they stood on the stage as they were now, he would be seen as the inferior actor.

Growing mad with the fear that he would lose his position and the theater company he inherited from his master, Baal devised a plan to replace the prop knife during the performance’s sword fight with a real one, and kill Judas in a way that would seem accidental.

And on the opening day–

Judas, despite being fully aware the props had been switched, still accepted Baal’s challenge.

Judas was jealous of Baal. He had been cared for by Jakes and stood in the spotlight, not only as an actor, but also as director and owner of the theater company, and wanted to kill and replace him.

The murder attempts disguised as acting escalate into a shameful scuffle on top of the stage, and they wind up killing each other.

The curtain falls, and their corpses are showered with thundering applause.

-

Banri: An one-man show in the town square…

Banri: (... Ain’t this just a rip-off of our Portraits?)

Kabuto: Heh.

Banri: (Now he’s done it.)

Banri: (Baal fixates on Judas’s acting to the point of jealousy and madness… It’s like he’s tellin’ me this coulda been me...)

Banri: (Honestly, it’s irkin’ me that I gotta perform this for him, but… It’s interesting, and seems like a role worth playing.)

Banri: (And this is a play I can’t perform in MANKAI Company– It’s a play that’s got Hyakka Troupe written all over it.)

Banri: (It’ll definitely become a huge source of knowledge down the line.)

Banri: But what’re you gonna do about the artwork and staging necessary for this?

Aoshi: We don’t have the time to create the props necessary to reflect the time period this play is set in.

Kabuto: We won’t be making any props this time.

Kabuto: My plan is to arrange, stack and break soapboxes in order to reflect each scene’s atmosphere.

Aoshi: Soapboxes?

Juza: I’ve seen… somethin’ like that before.

Juza: While the actors stood on stage, stuff like panels and chairs were moved around to represent either a train or a conference room–

Juza: The way the actors themselves created the set while acting was impressive.

Kabuto: That’s exactly “somethin’ like” it.

Kabuto: I plan to have all actors, main cast included, carry soapboxes during each scene change.

Juza: Sounds interesting.

Banri: … Do you even understand how difficult operatin’ through this is gonna be?

Banri: …

Banri: (What does Hyodo even think of this script?)

Banri: (Is he aware that we’re the inspiration for it? Or is he too dumb to get even that much…)

Banri: (Either way, this is a play worth actin’ for both of us. He’ll need to walk over my dead body to beat me on stage.)

Banri: (Uh, I do die in this play, though.)

Banri: ‘lright, let’s get the read-through started–

Kabuto: Wait.

Banri: ?

Kabuto: You and Hyodo will be playing each other’s roles until I tell you to switch.

Banri: Huh?

Juza: I’ll be playing Baal…?

Aoshi: You also had them act as each other during the etudes.

Banri: Ahh, yeah…

Kabuto: That being said, you can start.

Banri: Yes, sir. As you wish, Your Majesty.

-

Kureha: Hmmm… Muffins, or donuts…

Keiku: …

Kureha: Ah! It’s you again! Look, I’m still trying to decide!

Keiku: Doesn’t seem that way to me tho?

Kureha: J-Just wait a second, I’ll pick one right now–

Girl A: What, what?

Girl B: What’s wrong, Kureha-kun?

Keiku: Sup.

Kureha: He snatched the sweets right as I was picking last time, so I’m trying to secure them this time. Ah, but thanks for the puddi–

Girl A: You can eat my desert, then!

Girl A: This seasonal sweet potato roll cake is sooo delicious~! I’ll give it to you!

Kureha: Huh? Th-Thanks…

Keiku: (... Lovable, eh?)

Keiku: What’s that feel like?

Kureha: … Huh?

Keiku: ——tch.

[Keiku walks away]

Kureha: Ah, wait–

-

Keiku: …ugh. I should comm with someone.

previous episode | masterpost | next episode

NOTES:

(1) quote from ryunosuke akutagawa's shuju no kotoba (dwarf's words)

(2) the title of the chapter (and the play) literally translates to 'divine providence of the scorched earth'... kabuto when i get you

[bunnysnuff]

What I've Been Looking For.

Pairing: Poly!Ricky Bowen x Reader x Nini Salazar-Roberts.

Trigger Warning: Poly Relationship, none, surprise celebrity at the end!

Request.

The opening night of High School Musical: The Musical was finally here, and you were feeling every ounce of excitement, nerves, and adrenaline. You had spent months rehearsing with Ricky and Nini, both of whom were by your side through every high and low. Being in a relationship with both of them made everything feel even more magical — like you had a team who understood and supported you no matter what.

As the audience filled the seats, you found yourself pacing backstage, trying to calm your nerves. Ricky caught sight of you and quickly walked over, his hand slipping into yours. “You’re gonna be amazing,” he said softly, giving you that signature charming grin. His calm energy always seemed to ground you when you needed it the most.

Nini joined you both, a warm smile on her face as she squeezed your other hand. “You’ve got this. We’re all in this together, remember?” she winked, making you laugh despite your nerves. It was moments like this that made you realize how lucky you were to have them.

As the house lights dimmed and the show began, your mind raced, but once you were on stage, everything seemed to fall into place. The music, the choreography, the lines—it all flowed, and the energy from the audience made it feel even more electric.

By the time the final bow came, the applause was thunderous. You stood between Ricky and Nini, their hands in yours, hearts pounding with the exhilaration of a show well done. The three of you shared a proud look before heading offstage, basking in the glow of your accomplishment.

However, as you made your way to the dressing rooms, a familiar voice stopped you in your tracks.

“Y/N!” You spun around, heart skipping a beat. Standing there, smiling brightly, was Vanessa Hudgens, your cousin. She stepped forward, arms open wide.

Your eyes widened in shock. “Vanessa?! What—what are you doing here?”

Ricky and Nini exchanged confused glances, but your cousin didn’t hesitate to pull you into a tight hug. “I wouldn’t miss your big night for the world! You didn’t think I was gonna stay away when you were performing High School Musical, did you?”

“I didn’t think you even knew!” you stammered, still in disbelief.

Vanessa chuckled, pulling back to look at you. “Of course I knew. Your mom may have let it slip, but I wanted to surprise you.” She glanced over your shoulder at Ricky and Nini. “So, are you gonna introduce me to your friends?”

You turned to your partners, cheeks flushing. “Um, yeah. Vanessa, this is Ricky and Nini. They’re... well, we’re...”

“Together,” Ricky finished, smiling sheepishly as he extended his hand. Nini gave a small wave, her own smile matching the pride in her eyes.

Vanessa raised an eyebrow, but her smile widened. “Well, it looks like you’ve got a great team supporting you. I’m really proud of you, Y/N. You were incredible tonight.”

Your heart swelled as you took in her words. Being related to someone who had been a part of the original High School Musical was something you’d always known but never thought much about—until now. The connection felt surreal, but standing there with Ricky and Nini, you realized that tonight was even more special than you’d ever imagined.

Ricky wrapped an arm around your shoulders, pulling you close. “Looks like being a star runs in the family.”

Nini nodded, her hand slipping into yours again. “I��d say we have some pretty big shoes to fill.”

You laughed, feeling lighter than you had all night. “Well, no pressure, right?”

Vanessa grinned. “Trust me, you’ve already made your mark.” She glanced at Ricky and Nini. “And I’m glad you’ve got these two to back you up.”

As the night went on, you couldn’t stop smiling. With Vanessa’s surprise visit and the warmth of Ricky and Nini by your side, you knew this opening night would be a memory you’d cherish forever.

[curiouselleth]

Be He Foe or Friend

Decided to start posting this here as well! (ao3)

Be He Foe or Friend is a Silmarillion choose your own adventure fic I've been writing for a little while now, and right now I have 3 rounds of chapters out (including the first one.) At the end of each chapter there is a choice, and the one you choose corresponds with which chapter you read next! Right now I have the next chapters on ao3 linked in the options at the bottom, and I'll be reblogging this post with the next chapters!

This is written in second POV, as if you, the reader, are Lalwen.

Chapter 1: Introductions

“You are still young and this is a big step, my darling Lalwen, but as my daughter and princess of the Noldor, it is time you start attending court and finding your role as a princess of our people. I know you are unsure, but I have every confidence that the people will adore you.” your father said encouragingly.

“Are you sure, atar? I fear due to the controversy of your and amil’s marriage I may be ill received not just in the court, but by the people if I begin to take a greater role…”

Finwë tucks a braid behind your ear, “do not fear my darling, Fingolfin and I will be with you the entire time, even Fëanor will be there today.”

You smile, take a shaky breath, and nod, “I suppose we should stop stalling, then.”

“Lalwen, my daughter, my darling, my precious. You are the one stalling, not me!” we laughed.

---

The court hall had always been lavishly adorned. Precious metals were inlaid into the very stone of the walls and floor, running like rivers and vines. The floor is a beautiful mosaic depicting the path the Noldor traveled from the very waters of Cuiviénen in the far east to the border of the home of the Noldor in the west, the white city of Tirion. The thrones sat on a raised dais, and upon each step a level of the city is depicted, until the top step, which shows the gardens outside this very hall, with the thrones in the middle sitting where the Court Hall would be depicted on the mosaic. 

Windows of vibrantly colored glass depicting scenes of the Noldor’s travels and crafts starting nigh a step up from the floor stretch fathoms up, nearly to the ceiling where finely polished gemstones hanging in the eaves and vaults of the roof sparkle brilliantly in the light of the two trees. Between the windows hang intricately woven tapestries displaying the symbols of all the different Craft Guilds gently billowing as a breeze passes through the great doors of the hall.

Today the hall is filled with Noldor dressed in their finest clothes and jewels, and so many elves that they had to remove the benches that lined the halls to make more space. Garlands of flowers and vines stretch across the hall- no, not flowers! Finely crafted stones, ores and gems, shaped and arranged so realistically that one who was not accustomed to the Noldor would not even see the difference between these and the most beautiful of Yavanna’s blooms. If the light of the trees were any brighter the scene would be near blinding with the light reflecting off all the gems, metalwork, and polished stone. 

There were also minstrels scattered through the hall, playing soft, joyful melodies and harmonies, for today a new Princess of the Noldor was taking her place in the court.

As the Royal family enters, a hush falls over the hall, so that the very steps of even baby Finarfin, your young brother, can be heard by the elves' ears.

Finwë leads your family in with Indis and baby Finarfin between them, as they pass the people bow, then Fëanor, Nerdanel his wife, pregnant again already! You marvel for a brief moment, and their son Maedhros. Next Fingolfin, your brother, and his betrothed Anarie. 

Then it’s your turn. After you pass, the elves rise from their bow, and when you reach the dias and turn, about to take your seat, they erupt into thunderous applause and cheering.

It took several minutes for the crowd to quiet again so Finwë could properly introduce your joining the court. Such was their excitement to have a new Princess in court, as your sister Findis discovered that court was not for her and had begun contemplating becoming a devotee of Varda. The rest of the court session passed in a blur, so luckily there were not any matters that required your attention.

Unlike Findis, Fingolfin, your brother, had taken to court and politics like a… well like how only a prince of the Noldor could. 

Fëanor too had taken to courtly matters quickly as well, though his true passions were lore and smithing. Even though he was your half-brother, and your eldest sibling, you did not know much more about him then any other elf, as his disdain for Indis, your mother, and Fingolfin, your brother, usually resulted in him visiting seldom, and on the few occasions he did, he was rather haughty, although never to the point of being straight out rude. He seemed rather tolerable on easier topics though, the few times you had the chance to speak.

Perhaps it was seeing how confident Fëanor and Fingolfin were and how sure in themselves and their beliefs they were was what made you hold your head higher, and even began to allow a seed of courage to begin to take root. 

---

Perhaps you should’ve expected someone would ask you about it. It had been controversial from the start, and the memory of elves was long, so it may always be so. But when they asked you if you thought it was fair to Míriel, who was barred from ever being re-embodied when your parents married, it still shook you. For you to say it was unfair would be to say that you wish yourself, your sister, and brothers would never, should never have been born, and your parents never married. 

To say that it was not unfair to Míriel who was to be left dead permanently was to appear callus, saying that she made her choice and should never be returned to life.

Your half brother, Fëanor, the son of Míriel, would never miss the opportunity to argue for justice for his mother. But none could blame him, for he alone in all elves born in Valinor knew the pain of the death of a parent, in the undying lands. And furthermore the strange feeling of the loss of one who will never return. 

Your brother Fingolfin usually took a more delicate approach, recognizing that Míriel did make a choice for herself, so Finwë had the right to do the same for himself.

All this passed through your mind in a flash, and you voiced your support for:

Fëanor’s position that it was unjust to Míriel, and Fëanor himself for he lost his mother permanently. Go to Fëanor’s Position

Fingolfin’s position that Míriel made her choice, sad that it was, and Finwë had the right to seek happiness when Míriel chose to leave, as Manwe, King of All Arda, declared Finwë’s right to remarry. Go to Fingolfin’s Position.

Allowing everyone, including Finwë and Míriel, privacy in difficult decisions such as these and that the discussion of such personal matters should not be a matter of public debate, despite the fact that it was about their King. Go to Privacy for Eru’s Sake!

[whump-softie]

Eddie 2

Masterlist

“You’ll call me John.”

Startled awake with a kick to the shin, Eddie bursts up from his cot. Before his eyes can adjust to the light, a hand grasps his shoulder and drags him to his knees in front of a man.

“Did you hear me?” John, presumably, says, tilting his head to the side minutely. Eddie can barely see his face with the glare from the overhead lights.

John straightens when Eddie doesn’t respond, then cracks his knuckles, distracted for a moment. “I. Don’t. Think. You. Heard. Me,” he spits, the words cracking through his teeth.

Eddie wishes at that moment that he could respond. Surely, this man knew what he was purchasing for an ungodly amount of money?

“Get up,” and Eddie does so immediately. “Walk exactly five feet behind me, always in reach of my right hand. Stare at the ground and do not speak for any reason whatsoever.” John turns and faces the door, motioning for Eddie to follow his direction. “This is the most important moment of my life. You will not ruin this for me.”

They walk out of the room together, and Eddie does as he is told. He stares at John’s feet, watching the shiny shoes sparkle with each step. He can see the legs of people as they pass, and the first few are maids, and servants with dusty boots. Then he passes more and more shoes like John’s.

“We are pleased to welcome to the stage, John Villarreal and his newest prized possession; a rumored Speaker.”

Eddie cringed at the very name. He was not a Speaker, a psychic of myths, said to speak only when they are telling a fortune, or seeing the future. Sure, Eddie had never learned to speak, and sure, his parents were long descended from an ancient woodland tribe of elves, but it didn’t make this true. Was this why John had bought him for an outrageous amount of money?

Eddie doesn’t look up, but he can see stage flooring beneath him, and bright lights reflect from the shiny surface. He can hear thunderous applause from in front of him, and John standing proudly five feet ahead.

“Thank you, thank you,” John says, overflowing with glee. “I know how important this gala is to everyone, and I apologize for the long wait, but my friend here…” 

John leans his hand over, grabbing Eddie’s chin and forcing his head up, so that he is faced with blinding lights, and more thunderous applause. The crowd is filled with people that looked exorbitantly rich, dolled up in diamonds and jewels and fur. In the back of the large auditorium, stands a line of servants, waiting on their master’s every beck and call.

“...he had to rest his vocal cords after a lengthy journey to my humble abode where you all stand today,” John continues, never letting go.

“And today,” he exclaims, “we all shall witness the magnificent glory that is…” he pauses for seeming dramatic effect, much to the excitement of the crowd. “A Speaker!”

[artist-issues]

Star Wars: The Last Jedi is a great example of fandoms ruining their own movie experience. Often fandoms are right when they think a movie doesn’t deliver on their favorite franchise. But in The Last Jedi, the Star Wars fandom kind of proved that their heads are in a terrible place.

I will explain.

Movies are meant to reach in and grab your emotions. You’re supposed to get out of your own head, and the story is supposed to get under your mental defenses, so that you not only suspend disbelief, but suspend your inner film critic and enjoy an experience/learn what the movie is trying to tell you.

If a movie has terrible form and repellant content, like bad acting or a message like “cold-blooded murder is neat” then people generally don’t get to have that experience because the movie couldn’t reach in and grab your emotions.

The Last Jedi was not a bad movie. I know for a fact that it one hundred percent DID what it set out to do, in the theaters. What happened was, you Star Wars fans enjoyed the movie while you were watching it. Then you got home and got in your own heads and read what some other people thought and watched some Mark Hamill interviews and retroactively decided you actually didn’t like it.

I know you liked it because I was in the theaters with you. I saw TLJ on opening night, in a packed theater of dressed-up fans. Then I saw it three more times in theaters. I heard fans clap when Luke fought Kylo Ren and said “see you around, kid.” I heard them laugh when he threw the lightsaber over his shoulder. I heard them applaud when Snoke got cut in half. I heard no groans of disbelief during Holdo’s Hyperdrive ramming—you could’ve heard a pin drop, exactly as the filmmakers intended. I heard fans holding their breath or whispering, “please please please” when Rey said to Kylo Ren, “Please don’t go this way.” I heard, all four times, thunderous applause during the ending shot, when a kid with a broom is revealed to have the Force.

‘When the lights came on and everyone was leaving the theater, I heard NO ONE saying:

“I can’t believe they ruined Luke.”

“What was with Holdo? Hyperdrive doesn’t work like that.”

“I hate Rey, she’s a Mary-Sue.”

“What was with that casino planet scene, that was useless!”

I heard people excitedly talking about how awesome the film was. I heard them repeating the jokes to each other, or sharing their favorite parts. I heard them hoping Ben Solo would be redeemed for the next movie. The closest I ever got to anything even approaching negative was, “What was with the blue milk alien?” Which is fair. But my point is, even when the movie was over and we were leaving the theaters, the fans loved it. At the time. When the movie was all they had to base their opinion on.

I sat next to a young man who is now the loudest Internet Proclaimer of TLJ’s supposed failure, on opening night. But at the time, when the movie ended, he said, “that’s what The Force Awakens should’ve been! That was so great.”

Then he went home and watched EFAP and came back and said, “yeah I liked it at first but that’s because I was stupid and didn’t know any better. Now I know it’s terrible.”

What? No, you’re not stupid! It was a good movie. It said exactly what it wanted to say, and it had your attention and your emotions the whole time. It even set up the next film for great, new, unexpected success (regardless of how ROS squandered that opportunity.)

But this is how a lot of fans are.

They have pre-set expectations of what they want. Or they don’t have any expectations and they wait for their favorite influencer to tell them what to think. And then, even when a movie is good, they change their own minds about it later to line up with what they thought they wanted.

Not what made the most sense. Not what made the best story. Not what could be an enduring classic. Not what grabbed the emotions most effectively. Just “I want what I want.”

Guess what, at the end of Casablanca, the hero doesn’t get the girl. He loses her. But he becomes a man who takes risks and goes back to living life because of his experience, as sad as it may have been. If audiences back then could complain loudly enough on the internet and get what they want, Casablanca would have had a crappy sequel where the guy gets the girl, and the whole first movie is ruined. Or the filmmakers wouldn’t have been brave enough to do what the story needed in the first place.

TLJ is the perfect example of a good movie ruined by it’s own supposed fandom, who just want what they want, and can’t admit when a movie was good, or even that it moved them, because it’s not what they wanted, in hindsight.

[meret118]

"Ever since I got elected, Republicans have attacked me by saying I should go back to bartending," she said. "But let me tell you, I'm happy to, any day of the week, because there is nothing wrong with working for a living. Imagine having leaders in the White House who understand that, leaders like Kamala and Tim."

Ocasio-Cortez called Harris someone who "understands the urgency of rent checks and groceries and prescriptions." "I am here tonight because America has before us a rare and precious opportunity," Ocasio-Cortez said. "In Kamala Harris, we have a chance to elect a president who is for the middle class because she is from the middle class."

Ocasio-Cortez also took swipes at former President Donald Trump, getting thunderous applause as she called him a "two-bit union buster" and said he would "sell this country for a dollar if it meant lining his own pockets and greasing the palms of his Wall Street friends." 

"The truth is Don, you cannot love your country if you only fight for the wealthy and big business," she said. "To love this country is to fight for its people, all people, working people, everyday Americans like bartenders and factory workers and fast-food cashiers who punch a clock and are on their feet all day in some of the toughest jobs out there."

[twstinginthewind]

“Happy Birthday Joker! And you too Punch!” Said Molly. “I hope today is most wonderful! I’ve gotten your gift right here! I do hope you enjoy them.”

Insides the personalized gift bags were embroidery designs for each of the siblings all neatly arranged in the little embroidery hoops. Bows, sweets, poker cards, and an accordion were embroidered for Joker and for Punch, there was a hockey stick, a ukulele, and a computer. “I worked rather hard on them, I do hope they’re to your liking.”

“HAPPY HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO YOU!” Astrid was practically singing at the two. The light brown haired girl placed a golden paper crown on the twin’s head. “Back home, if it’s your birthday, you’re considered royalty for the day! So here’s your crowns!” Astrid then hugged Joker, and planted a little kiss on Punch’s cheek that smelled of her sugar cookie chapstick

“Before I forget! I got you guys something!” The gift ended up being a large box of chocolates and some ultra-soft blankets straight from the Aneira Kingdom.

“WE’RE NOT DONE YET, I’d like to dedicate this performance….to the birthday boy and girl” Ellis said as she took a microphone and a pair of heart shaped sunglasses. Ellis then gave her gift, a full on performance for the two of them! Featuring their favorite songs! With help from others, Ellis was able to serenade the two with thunderous applause at the end.

hopefully this isn’t too many ocs! And I hope you don’t mind the little astridxpunch mention! AND HAPPY BIRTHDAY NETTE!

It was Joker & Punch's birthday yesterday, but the party goes on!

"See, Punchy? I told ya it'd be fun for us both to hang at both of our parties," Joker said, nudging her brother with her elbow. "Besides, you know you like the tea party crowd. Now smile, here come my dormmates, and the Ramshackle prefect."

"I'm already smiling, chucklehead," Punch murmured in reply, giving a polite bow as one of their upperclassmen approached with gifts. "Good afternoon, Molly!! I'm glad we can all be here today; the weather turned out splendid for a garden party, hasn't it?"

"It really has," Joker agreed, peeking into the gift bag. "Oooooh, is that needlework art? Tell me you didn't design theeeese, OM7."

Punch turned his gently in his hands. "It's really, really cute! I have a space on my corkboard where this'll look perfect."

"Thank you!" the twins chorused, and gave Molly a proper and polite matched Queendom curtsey and bow, respectively. Joker smiled fondly at her senior as she rejoined the party, but Punch's attention was grabbed by the next in line to greet them. His cheeks went a bit pink as the freckled princess approached them singing.

"We better not let Riddle see these crowns," Joker giggled as she returned Astrid's embrace. "He's gonna think we're competing for his position, sweetie. But thank you so much!"

"It's an honor, though," Punch said, pressing his hand to his reddened cheek. "If you want to call me a prince for a day, Astrid? I'm not gonna argue..." He hugged the blanket to his chest dreamily for a moment as the chatter continued around them. "Hey, Jo? What's going on at the gazebo...?"

Joker turned her head and laughed. "That's a whole stage setup in there. Are we getting a live show?"

As if to answer, the speakers hummed to life, and Ellis's voice cheerfully broadcast her announcement. The twins looked at each other, grinning, then focused on the stage. Grim, snacking on a cupcake, pressed the play button on a boombox, and the performance began! Punch and Joker cheered along with the others (laughing merrily at the backup dancer antics of Ace, Deuce, and Epel) as the show went on, and singing along.

"Now, THAT'S a party," Joker cheered as the show wound down. "Thank you all so much!"

"It's always a blast with our friends," Punch added. "Everyone, you're amazing. Thank you!"