#ambitious strategies

[rickybaby]

Laurent Mekies on Daniel’s race in Shanghai via Autosport

[triangle-strategy-notes]

Geela's reference/concept art!

Translation notes under the cut.

I'm really not sure about the "Is she the Minister of Animals!?" caption. The sequence of characters there appear to be "さま大臣動物!?" The first two characters (さま) are the sama- honorific, indicating it's referencing someone of higher status. The last two characters (動物) mean "animal." The middle ones, however, are kinda weird. "大" can be read as "large," or possibly "university," and "臣" means "retainer or attendant." So, taken at face value, this would read something like, "Sir/Ma'am, [are you/am I/is this] the retainer of large animals?!"

However, for what I'm guessing were grammatical reasons, no automatic translator would translate it that way no matter how much I fiddled with things; and would always default back to just spitting the Japanese words back out. However, if two of the characters are switched around (臣大 becoming 大臣), every automatic translator was suddenly able to interpret it, and I could successfully find the characters as words in a dictionary--but it was translated as "Minister of animals" instead of "retainer of large animals." So it would have read more like, "[Are you/am I/is she] the Minister of Animals?!"

Given the sama- prefix and the way the sentence is formed (as well as the fact that "Minister" is the big title we see used in Hyzante), I decided to go with the "minister" translation, but I'm making the assumption that there was a little bit of a typo there. There's a pretty good chance that this is just a grammatically-shorthanded version of "Ma'am, are you the retainer of large animals?!" Or, as always, it's possible there's a completely different potential meaning that I missed.

[kulapti]

Cover construction for The silent isle imbowers, July-Aug 2023.

Finished binding here.

Materials shown: metallic gold and matte black heat transfer vinyl with cricut-cut designs, cricut-cut paper stencil, acrylic paint, bookcloth made of cotton + drawing paper backing + Lineco PVA glue. Calligraphy by quillingwords, flower art and cover construction by me.

————-General tips on how to make smth like this:

Steps in order were (1) have bookcloth, (2) cut and paint stencil, (3) cut and weed both HTV layers, (4) apply black HTV, (5) apply gold HTV, (6) add paint detail with paintbrush over the vinyl, (7) apply bookcloth to cover board.

This is not a beginner-friendly design LOL. Be like me and try most of the steps by themselves on other projects first.

I drew this design knowing how the sections would be layered, and which materials (and therefore colors) would go with each layer. Achieving a similar result with a premade design will likely require editing in a digital art program.

Test how your materials will layer before committing to a complex design. In this case I discovered that the type of bookcloth I made actually helps conceal the adhesive spread under the black HTV.

Layering HTV over small sections of acrylic paint works! Cannot confirm the result if you were to use large painted sections.

PSA This black layer with many very small pointy bits is at the extreme limit of what I think is possible to weed from machine-cut HTV. A different material might work better, and I got a lot faster at weeding the second copy than the first one, but some of this is just a technical limit. The gold section worked great but I would not recommend this for the black.

Layering HTV is much easier to do uniformly with a heat press! Check if your local library or maybe an art class studio has one you can use before doing smth like this with your iron.

Paper stencils are easy to make with the cricut but don’t try to use them for anything with small details. The above example is pushing it despite being very simple shapes. Stick-on stencils are better.

Tiny HTV design tip: designs with jagged sections and very thin lines are hardest to weed successfully. Smooth curves are much easier.

Scale all pieces of a stacked design on the same drawing program and within the same canvas in cricut so they layer precisely.

Cut tiny HTV designs with the washi paper setting on a cricut. I did not find this out myself but I can confirm the results! Using the HTV setting will cause the blade to catch on and pull up small sections of the design while cutting, ruining parts of the design.

—————-Tiny HTV design weeding tips:

For the love of cheese do not try anything this complicated the first time you use a cricut. or the second. you will cry

Seriously consider trying both HTV and cricut stencils before doing anything complicated like this. I wish I had at least attempted the black layer as a stick-on stencil.

This isn't a weeding tip but again you better cut this with a washi setting.

Use a very sharp weeding tool, good lighting, and consider a magnifying glass

Be prepared for this to take several hours, especially if you have never done a tiny piece before.

Important! The cricut does not perfectly cut out designs, leaving very small connected sections around the design at various locations. This is almost unnoticeable on large designs but can ruin tiny designs very easily. Be prepared to hold down the “keep” sections of the design with tweezers or a fingertip while pulling or trimming off some of the “remove” negative space.

Do NOT attempt to pull off all the negative space in a single piece. Either add dividing lines to your design for the machine to cut, or use a sharp tool to scrape them yourself. You are much less likely to accidentally remove part of your design if you weed the design in distinct sections.

[whentherewerebicycles]

okay well we spent two hours doing a small group brainstorming/planning activity using projects from people’s work and that was actually fun—I love doing that kind of ideation and planning work with people. then we had to sit through 30+ min of whole-group debrief where people stood up and monologued breathlessly about feeling held by the collective as we harvested each other’s wisdom which almost ruined the experience. but luckily I came prepared with a challenge to work through in my head lol.

today’s zoning-out project is mapping out the basic research skills class I’ll be teaching in the spring quarter. one of the big problems I’ve identified in my info-gathering interviews is that students can’t do some pretty basic research things (like reading academic articles, evaluating sources, conducting lit reviews on a given topic, etc) and so faculty don’t want to take them on as summer research assistants because it’s a ton of work to train them in those skills AND familiarize them with the faculty member’s questions and methods AND give them a crash-course on the existing scholarship around this topic. so I am trying to pilot a thing where faculty get extra research funds for taking on a small group of summer students… but my office takes them for a quarter first, trains them in those basic skills and helps them build relationships with the librarians, and has them do all their major activities & assignments using real sources/data related to the faculty member’s project. that way students have 10 weeks to practice the skills and learn at least some of the research before we hand them off to the faculty mentors for the summer. I think we will also provide ongoing mentoring + student services-type support throughout the summer so we can continue working on project management and skill-building type stuff with them individually as they are conducting research… but for now I am focusing on drafting a version of the spring course to workshop with the faculty members who have expressed interest in participating. anyway I am at the very earliest stages but today while zoning out I spent some time trying to unbundle some of the skills that go into engaging with academic sources… needs refining (and maybe even some more unbundling?) but here is a first stab at it:

[motivexesmotivational]

Overcoming Little Hurdles: Path to Excellence

Discover the path to excellence in the details! Success isn't a spotlight moment; it's nurtured in the little things. This video explores the essence of managing the small to master the grand Are you ready for what's coming?

🤗💖Thank you for your wonderful time. Please if you like the video, share it

[plutonianeris]

Juno in your birth chart

Juno in the Houses

Juno in the 1st House: You’re drawn to partners who exude independence and assertiveness. These people don’t hesitate to let you know their intentions, and you’ll likely meet them through personal initiatives—whether that’s hitting the gym or taking a leadership role. Conversations with this partner may revolve around ambitious goals or mutual passions. You might bond over stories about how they took charge of a situation, leaving you inspired by their sheer confidence.

Juno in the 2nd House: Security is key for you, both financial and emotional, and you’re likely to find a partner who values these just as much. You may meet them in a bank, an art gallery, or even while shopping for something luxurious. Conversations here would focus on shared visions for building a stable life. You might talk about investment strategies, or share dreams of a beautifully decorated home, with an unspoken understanding of each other’s need for stability and comfort.

Juno in the 3rd House: Intellect and communication are your sweet spots. You’ll likely encounter your future partner in a bookstore, café, or even an online chat. You’ll be drawn to how effortlessly they debate or exchange ideas. Expect conversations that veer into deep, philosophical discussions, playful intellectual banter, or conversations about the latest book you’re both reading. The attraction here is mental as much as it is physical.

Juno in the 4th House:Family and emotional depth play a major role in your relationships. Your lover may appear through family connections or in a cozy, homey setting. You might have long, heartwarming conversations over homemade meals, talking about your dreams of creating a home, or sharing personal family traditions. They make you feel comfortable and secure, and discussions often revolve around building an emotionally supportive environment.

Juno in the 5th House: Fun and creativity are what draw you to a partner. You’re likely to meet them at a party, concert, or while engaging in creative hobbies. Expect exciting, spontaneous conversations—whether it’s discussing a new art project, a recent performance, or an adventure you both want to embark on. Their passion for life is infectious, and you might bond over the joy of living in the moment, with laughter filling the air.

Juno in the 6th House: You are drawn to practical, down-to-earth partners who thrive on routine and service. You may meet them at work, the gym, or even a volunteer event. Conversations here are practical and grounded, revolving around shared daily routines or health goals. You might talk about meal prep ideas, organizational systems, or simply how you can support each other’s growth in everyday life.

Juno in the 7th House: Balance and harmony are central to your relationships. You’re attracted to partners who complement your strengths and weaknesses. You might meet them in social settings or through mutual partnerships. Conversations will flow easily as they seem to intuitively understand your needs. You’ll often discuss how to create a more harmonious life together, how you balance each other out, or even future plans for partnership���be it in love or business.

Juno in the 8th House: Relationships for you are intense and transformative. You’re likely to meet your lover in mysterious, private settings—maybe through financial dealings or in a deep, emotionally charged moment. Expect conversations that dive straight into the core of your being. You’ll talk about your deepest desires, fears, and transformative experiences, feeling a profound connection in their presence. The chemistry will be palpable.

Juno in the 9th House: You crave adventure and intellectual expansion in relationships. You’re likely to meet your partner while traveling, at a lecture, or through a shared spiritual interest. Conversations with them will feel like journeys, exploring everything from philosophy to cultural differences. You’ll bond over debates about the meaning of life, travel stories, or dreams of exploring the world together.

Juno in the 10th House: Ambition and status play a big role in your relationships. You may meet your partner in a professional setting, perhaps through a mentor or an influential figure. Conversations will often revolve around career goals, long-term ambitions, or how you can elevate each other’s status. There will be a mutual respect for each other’s drive, and you’ll feel that you’re both working toward building a life of success and recognition.

Juno in the 11th House: Friendship and shared ideals are the foundation of your partnerships. You’re likely to meet your lover in group settings, through a social cause, or via mutual friends. Your conversations will often center around your shared vision for the future—discussing humanitarian causes, social movements, or innovative ideas for making the world a better place. This relationship is grounded in a shared sense of purpose.

Juno in the 12th House: You seek deep, spiritual connections, often meeting partners in quiet, secluded places like retreats or hospitals, or even during meditative moments. Conversations here will touch on the mystical and the karmic, with both of you feeling like your meeting was destined. You’ll talk about dreams, spirituality, and past life connections, feeling an almost otherworldly bond with each other.

Juno in the Signs

Juno in Aries: You’re drawn to bold, assertive partners who take the lead. Expect conversations full of energy and excitement, talking about their latest daring project or a thrilling experience they had. They’ll likely inspire you to be more adventurous, and together you’ll plan exciting endeavors, sparking each other’s passion.

Juno in Taurus: Your ideal partner is grounded, sensual, and steady. Conversations will focus on life’s simple pleasures—discussing the best wine, the perfect meal, or dreams of a beautiful home. You’ll talk about how to cultivate a luxurious, comfortable life together, with an appreciation for the finer things.

Juno in Gemini: Intellectual compatibility is key for you. You’ll have lively, rapid-fire conversations with a partner who keeps you on your toes. Expect witty exchanges, playful debates, and shared interests in topics like books, current events, or anything that piques both your curiosity.

Juno in Cancer: You’re drawn to nurturing, emotionally available partners. Conversations with them will often feel warm and supportive, revolving around family, home life, or your emotional needs. They’ll make you feel safe, and you’ll often talk about how to create a nurturing environment together.

Juno in Leo: You’re attracted to charismatic, creative partners who light up a room. Expect lively discussions filled with stories of their latest dramatic escapades, creative projects, or how they plan to conquer the world. You’ll enjoy being their audience and cheering them on, as they bring joy and excitement into your life.

Juno in Virgo: Practicality and reliability are what draw you in. Conversations with your partner will likely be about how to improve daily routines, tackle challenges with careful planning, or focus on health and wellbeing. You’ll appreciate their analytical mind and how they pay attention to details that make life smoother.

Juno in Libra:You seek a partner who brings balance and beauty into your life. Conversations will often touch on aesthetics, relationships, or creating a peaceful life together. You’ll find yourself drawn into their graceful way of navigating the world, admiring their ability to harmonize their surroundings.

Juno in Scorpio: You desire deep, intense connections. Conversations with your partner will be passionate and probing, often diving into taboo subjects or discussing transformative life experiences. You’ll both feel the pull of emotional intensity and the magnetism that draws you closer.

Juno in Sagittarius:Your partner will excite you with their adventurous spirit and philosophical mind. Expect conversations about travel plans, cultural explorations, or big-picture philosophies. Together, you’ll explore the world and each other’s minds, always keeping things light-hearted but deeply meaningful.

Juno in Capricorn: You’re attracted to someone responsible, ambitious, and disciplined. Conversations will likely revolve around career goals, long-term plans, and strategies for achieving success. Together, you’ll plan for the future, discussing ways to build a stable, successful life.

Juno in Aquarius: You’re drawn to partners who are unique, innovative, and forward-thinking. Conversations will be about ideas for social change, futuristic visions, or technology’s role in improving life. You’ll both enjoy brainstorming ways to break the mold and create a better future.

Juno in Pisces: A compassionate, dreamy partner is what appeals to you. Conversations will often be about spirituality, creative dreams, or emotional connections. There’s a sense of otherworldly understanding between you, as if you’re both communicating on a deeper, more intuitive level.

[g1rld1ary]

our names in the paper - footballer!james potter x fem!sports journalist!reader

wc: 11,151

cw: swearing, fade to black but suggestive moments?, smoking, slut-shaming, kissing

info: r and james are about 24, set in 2007ish solely for the romcom vibes. james is the equivalent of like David Beckham in his prime, all pics are for vibes only, not reflective of r's appearance etc

me: i've been working on this for soooo long i am so happy it's finally done!! if u couldn't tell it's very inspired by early 2000s romcoms and i am honestly so proud of it so praying it doesn't flop LOL

════ ⋆★⋆ ════

"James, James! Over here! What's the defence strategy this season?"

If you had to hear James' name one more time you might scream. Unfortunately, you were locked in a room with nothing but that. Worse, you were part of the problem.

"Mister Potter, what do you think about your striker's goal-to-game ratio falling rapidly this season?" You called, begrudgingly hoping for a moment of the soccer star's attention. Fortunately (or unfortunately), his glittering eyes settled on you, singling you out from the room of hungry journalists.

"I think that you miss one hundred per cent of the shots you don't take," He said, smirk turning to something challenging, "And as long as my team is training and working together, I'm not gonna cry over a bit of spilt milk or missed goals. And, as far as I'm concerned we're still winning games, aren't we?" You rolled your eyes, scribbling down his answer nonetheless.

You continued the catfight of trying to get answers for your newest article, keeping the balance of vying for James' attention and showing him you didn't care for him personally, unlike the other journalists you were pushing against. The conference room was full of men and women who wanted to be James or be with him. Aside from the professional questions, there were certainly several invitations to the pub thrown around, and you were sure you saw one woman try and give him her cellphone number. You rolled your eyes again at that, James was nothing to fawn over.

He might be a big shot now, but you'd known him almost all your life. The two of you had gone to school together and had bickered through every interaction since then. James had always wanted to be a football star, and you a journalist. You'd never believed in him and vice versa, both of you taking every opportunity to tease the other or cut each other down. Maybe it was just clashing personalities, two people too ambitious to be friends. The rivalry had lasted past school, and unfortunately, the two of you often crossed paths in your respective careers.

The press conference wrapped up soon after your question, and you ended up lingering in the room trying to finish your notes. James was still over at his podium next to his coach, drinking out of a plastic water bottle and arduously texting on his flip phone. Seeing you hovering by the door he called your last name, sauntering up behind you. You rolled your eyes and braced yourself for the encounter.

"Potter." You smiled curtly, moving to leave.

"You don't have to call me 'Mr Potter' during the conferences, you know. James is perfectly fine, everyone else calls me that."

"Just trying to stay professional," You said through gritted teeth, aware his coach and a few others were still around you. It could cost you your job to snap at him.

"Was it professional when I was your first kiss?" He stepped closer and you instinctively stepped back, feeling the plaster wall graze your back through your work blazer.

"It was spin the bottle and we were twelve, it's ancient history. And do you mind? I know you're some kind of god around here but I have a reputation to uphold," You whispered, glancing around anxiously. James laughed at your distress which only annoyed you further. Maybe he could get away with anything, but you had to fight for your place in your field as a female sports journalist, you couldn't afford to take it lightly.

You couldn't help the physical reaction to being trapped between James and the wall though, your breathing shallow and quick, face tilted up slightly to look at him. You felt a bit like prey, caught in the predator's territory and resigned to imminent death.

"Let her go, will you? She's just doing her job," Remus Lupin said, entering the conference room with his nose crinkled from the smell. You couldn't blame him, sweaty players and hungry journalists didn't make any kind of utopia together.

"I wasn't doing anything!" James cried, hands up in surrender, "Come on love, I was just giving you the scoop, right?"

"First of all, if you were giving me 'the scoop' right now I'd certainly be accused of sleeping to the top by all the blokes waiting out there," You gestured to the group of other reporters still lingering in the hall waiting for any scraps of information, "And secondly, I work for the bloody Sunday People, not the BBC. I honestly think they'd rather I just write about your 'dashing good looks' or a drug scandal than your games," You complained, falling back into the ease of conversation now that Remus was there. He'd been at school with the both of you, growing up to be a physiotherapist, but was always much more palatable than James.

Both men laughed at your plight.

"If you ever need a more detailed look at my dashing good looks just ask, sweetheart. I'd be glad to show you, you know, for your articles." You rolled your eyes at James' attempt to be charming, snapping your notebook shut.

"Alright, I think that's my cue to go," You said curtly, smoothing out your work trousers. "Remus, I'll return Dracula next time I see you; I'm almost finished." You remembered you'd had his novel for quite a while, sparing him a smile on the way out.

"You lend her books?" James asked incredulously, hazel eyes curiously following your figure down the hall. Remus just shrugged, patting James on the shoulder and attending to his actual job, checking up on the players after the match.

James was still hung up on the fact when he returned to the apartment he shared with Remus and Sirius, flabbergasted as he hung his coat on the rack.

"Since when are you two close enough to be sharing books?" He cried as he paced through the kitchen, "Have we not all been in agreement that she is stubborn and hard-headed and annoying and has been since school?"

"No," Remus shook his head, "You decided that, and I daresay she feels the same about you. I've always rather liked her."

James was unexpectedly dumbfounded at the realisation that you weren’t the common enemy he thought you were. Even Sirius didn’t seem to dislike you, always stopping for a chat when you were around the stadium and giving you extra comments with a flirty wink.

James didn’t need to think about you for another few weeks; his team hadn’t played one week and you’d been assigned other matches for the others — he read your very amusing pieces on lawn bowls and chess-boxing, partly because he knew you’d hate the assignment.

You were blissfully apart until one Saturday night. You were out with your friends and a few coworkers and James was out with his. He’d started in the local pub while you were at a fancy cocktail restaurant for Lily’s bachelorette party, however, your groups crossed paths in the depths of a nightclub.

Maybe you were getting too old for them, waking up with sore backs and knees after nights of dancing, but it didn’t mean you wouldn’t give it a red hot go. And with a few cocktails in your system, nobody could convince you it wasn’t a good idea.

You'd been shaking what your mother gave you for the better part of an hour before it was your turn to get another round, telling the girls you'd be back before stumbling through a sea of sweaty bodies.

Some gross man who was definitely too old for you obstructed your path, grabbing your arms to make you dance with him. Your face crinkled in disgust of its own accord, trying to wiggle yourself free. He continued to encroach on your space, forcing you around despite your persistence. Finally, a man's hands landed on his shoulders, yanking him away and subsequently freeing you from his grasp. The momentum sent you tumbling in your strappy heels, right into something warm and solid. You cringed, having been there before. You turned slowly to meet your unwitting saviour, huffing when you realised it was James.

"Oh, fuck off," You grumbled, mostly to yourself, producing a quick apology to not seem totally impolite.

"Alright?" Sirius asked, revealing himself as the one who'd gotten you away from the creep. You shrugged, fixing your hair.

"Been better," You told him, preparing to leave before seemingly their whole team had surrounded you, all greeting you loudly. You weakly waved at them, feeling dreadfully underdressed and professional. You were used to seeing them in the stadium and press conferences where you were much more modestly dressed. The strapless mini dress wasn't giving you the same layer of protection.

"Right," You said when there didn't seem to be any more productive conversation happening, "I'm off to the bar then."

"Let me buy you a drink, to make up for the freak," One of the players, Frank, said. You smiled but shook your head.

"I'm buying for several, it wouldn't be fair. It's Lily's bachelorette." You directed the last sentence to those who knew her, the football and journalism professions having considerable overlap due to events and the never-ending scandals and interviews. James covered his face in mock-devastation.

"Not Lily! Have I missed my chance forever?" He moaned, earning some shoves from the rest of the group. You and Lily had been friends since uni, and you'd introduced her to the boys at one of the terrible house parties you'd endured over your three years studying. James had developed a thing for her right away (no one knew how much of it was serious and how much was for comedic value) and had been loudly pining for her ever since, despite her long-term relationship with Dirk Cresswell, an economist who worked in the building down the block from your office.

"I think you missed your chance the first time," You retorted with a snort, a little drunk to have any ferocity in your tone. You both made a face at each other, ignoring the laughter of those around you. You dismissed the group and danced away, shaking your arse over to the bar.

A few rounds later and you were not in your best shape. The girls had been absolute menaces, feeding you shots and deceiving colourful cocktails that actually held like seven standards in them, and you were certainly feeling the effects. You excused yourself from the group to find a loo, bile rising in your throat as you pushed past dancers, not even sparing a comment for James as you saw him.

That confused both James and his friends, becoming used to your insistent teasing over the years. He exchanged a look with Sirius, following you through the crowd and to the bathrooms.

He figured something was wrong when you burst into the gender-neutral bathrooms, not bothering to lock the door behind you. James and Sirius silently fought about who was going to follow you in and check on you; James found you insufferable, Sirius had severe emetophobia and would probably throw up himself if he had to be close to you vomiting. James rolled his eyes, it was his responsibility. Sirius clapped him on the back gratefully, leaving him to return to the others. James sighed, reciting some affirmations before he cracked the door open, calling out to you.

When you responded with a disgusting wretch, James slipped inside, gagging a little as he saw you leant over the toilet bowl, bare knees on the grimy tile floor.

"Alright?" He asked for lack of anything better, unsurprised when you replied with another gag.

"I feel ill," You said pathetically, head hung low in the bowl which James knew you would resent tomorrow. He laughed quietly, getting closer to you.

"No shit, idiot," His tone was light as he began to rub your back softly, making sure your hair was away from your mouth. You vomited a few more times, your body reacting in violent hurls as James tried to be both soothing and as far away as possible.

When your stomach was finally empty you slumped against the toilet, cheek pressed against the cool porcelain.

"Woah," James pulled you up to a sitting position, "That cannot be good for your skin. Let's get you home, okay?" You nodded petulantly, letting yourself be led out through the club, James telling Lily he'd make sure you got home (and congratulated her on the upcoming wedding).

"Can we get some gum or something? My throat tastes like vom." James looked down at you from where you were lodged into his side, legs shaky as you wobbled down the street. He sighed and steered you in the direction of a convenience store, picking out strawberry gum for you since it tasted better than mint, your words. Good you thought when he paid for it, the football star can shell out 2 pounds, makes more than you anyhow.

You chewed happily, stumbling down the pavement as James held onto you, keeping you upright.

"You're so muscly," You said, somewhat in a drunken haze.

"Thank you?" James laughed, patting you softly on the forearm he was holding. To be fair, you weren't quite sure if it was a compliment either. Your words were admittedly oddly nice but your tone made it confusing, drunk thoughts not completely translating to sober dynamics.

You meandered for a few oddly peaceful minutes, neither of you starting an argument or picking a fight. It was a nice break from normal, the two of you even sharing some peaceful small talk -- discussing a movie you'd both seen recently.

Of course, nothing good lasts.

"James!" A voice yelled from the other side of the street, a short man with mousy mannerisms. James groaned beside you.

"Peter Pettigrew," He whispered to you, trying to pull you along faster, "We used to be mates but turns out he was just using me to get team secrets out into the papers." You whipped your head around to look at him. Oh! You knew Pettigrew, unsurprising given you both reported on essentially the same topics, but he had a bad name even in your circles. He was closer to a paparazzi than a journalist, going for the cheap stories and ad hominem approaches rather than searching for any meaningful insights. Simply put, in an already sleazy career, Peter Pettigrew was the bottom of the barrel.

"Later, mate. I'm in the middle of something right now." James put his arm around your shoulder, better shielding you as he tried to make a getaway. The telltale flash of a camera reflected off the grey pavement, making both you and James whip your heads around to face Peter, looking hardly ashamed of himself. After a moment of shock, you both covered your faces, stumbling down the street as fast as you could manage. The damage was already done.

Suddenly you didn't feel as drunk, navigating the cobblestone streets with unanticipated nimbleness. James might've had the athlete's advantage but you were on home turf, leading him through local shortcuts and to the front door of your apartment building.

On the journey over you'd attracted a few more photographers all fiending for a scandalous picture of James, a small mob forming as you tried to punch in the door code despite your shaking hands. James was right behind you, front pressed to your back, holding his Adidas windbreaker out in a position to shield your face from the prying eyes.

You slammed the door shut, the nosy questions and camera clicks immediately muffled. James let out a long sigh, running a hand through his already tousled hair. Neither of you spoke for a while, processing what had happened.

"Make yourself at home then." You cringed as you surveyed the state of your flat; clothes flung over chairs and dishes still in the sink. Your only option for living alone was cramming all your stuff into what was essentially a shoebox, so any amount of mess made the place look chaotic.

"Nice place," James said and you immediately rolled your eyes, snatching up a stray bra strewn across an armchair. "No, I mean it! It's cozy. Very you." He gestured up at the colourful, mismatched glassware in a kitchen cabinet and the beaded curtain separating your bedroom. You blushed slightly; you didn't often take men home, your flat staying a girly paradise just for you.

You put on the kettle, comforted by the familiar sounds of water beginning to boil. James sat awkwardly on an armchair near the window, anxiously peeking out from behind the curtain every few minutes. His reactions told you the paparazzi were still loitering outside.

James took his tea gratefully, surprisingly still agreeable despite all the terrible things that had happened in the course of a few hours.

"Do you have a back exit or something? Somewhere I can slip out and get home?" You shook your head with a grimace.

"Only the fire exit, but that still goes out near the front. Otherwise we're surrounded by other buildings."

"You must be exhausted after everything. Head off to bed, I'll wait until the gits outside fuck off then lock the door behind me. We don't have to ever mention this again if you don't want." The orange lamp light made James' eyes look unfairly soft, highlighting the golden flecks amongst the brown. You steeled your nerve and shook your head.

"I'm not that bad of a host," You tried to joke, "Besides, don't you have training tomorrow? You're already up later than I'm sure you intended to be. I couldn't live with myself if I ruined England's star player by making him stay up all night, you take my bed and go to sleep." You were both very carefully trying to keep things light, not wanting to spend any more of the night miserable and fighting.

"Well, I'm not taking your bed, that's just impolite. I'll take the couch, if you're being so generous as to let me stay." He had a cheeky smile on his lips as he said it, both of you dancing around the fact that in any other circumstance James wouldn't have been allowed within fifteen feet of your flat.

"That couch? No way." You pointed at the teensy vintage sofa sitting in front of the boxy television. It had space for maybe two and a half arses to sit on it, maybe horizontally extended legs if you were short-ish, but there was no way the goliath James Potter was getting any decent sleep on it. "You take the bed. I'll survive the couch tonight."

"Don't be stupid, I can't sleep in your bed. If not the couch I'll take the floor."

"Speaking from a purely medical standpoint, I haven't cleaned these floors recently enough for it to be safe to have your face in such close proximity. Take the bed, Potter."

You bickered for a few long minutes, both of you trying to outdo each other's respect as host and guest, respectively. You didn't miss the irony that even when you and James were getting along you were fighting.

"I'm not letting you go without, that's final." You turned away to go fetch a pillow for your night on the couch when James said something you never ever thought you'd hear from him.

"Then sleep with me."

"Excuse me?" You all but shrieked, immediately cringing as you thought about your poor neighbours.

"Look, it's basically morning, we're both shattered and I'm sure your bed is much comfier than whatever alternative you're planning. We can even go full pillow-wall if it'll make you feel better." You stared at him for several moments, lips actually agape. Never in your life did you think James Potter would be asking you to share a bed with him, and never in your life did you think you'd be considering it.

"Fine."

Twenty minutes later and you were both ready for bed. You'd found James an old pair of an ex-boyfriend's long abandoned pyjamas, stuffed in a bottom drawer. They were slightly too small to accommodate all his muscles, the t-shirt sitting a few inches above the pants' waistband, giving him a very '90s crop top and exposing his happy trail.

You were almost definitely more embarrassed than James. You were in a similarly aged pair of pyjamas, a cartoon of Spongebob over your chest. You couldn't tell if you'd prefer to be in the lame pair that you were wearing or a cute pair -- no, it would probably look like you were trying too hard. Which you weren't. You didn't care about looking cute in front of James Potter, why would you?

He was already in bed when you'd returned from your skincare routine, face fresh and moisturised, and though you knew he was going to be there, nothing could have prepared you for the sight of James Potter in your bed. Tucked up to the chin under your frilly floral grandma sheets, he looked the picture of cozy.

"Don't bloody touch me, I mean it. I want to feel alone in my own bed," You snapped, sliding under the covers, pulling the doona similarly high up to your chin. You turned over to the centre of the bed to find James already on his side looking at you. You let it be for a moment, surprisingly enjoying the sleepover vibes you'd created.

"Okay this is weird now, the pillow's going up." You slammed a long decorative cushion in between the both of you, secretly smiling at the sleepy giggle James let out.

The first time you awoke it was hazy, still early in the morning with golden sunbeams streaming through your curtains. Warmth enveloped you, keeping you cozy despite the winter morning outside. You shifted to burrow deeper into your blankets when a groan came from behind you, startling you more awake as you recognised the feeling of muscular arms wrapped around your middle. It suddenly all came back to you, James walking you home, the paparazzi, you making an absolute fool of yourself. However, James was a portable heat source and extremely comfortable so you let yourself ignore everything that had led up to it, allowing yourself another few hours of blissful sleep.

The second time you woke up James was gone. That wasn't surprising given he definitely had early morning training, but you would reluctantly admit that it was a little lonelier in your bed than it usually was.

You didn't leave the house for the rest of the day, finally cleaning your apartment after much too long. Turns out all you needed was to be embarrassed in front of a guest to get you motivated.

Monday morning you weren't hungover anymore, but you were mourning the weekend that had passed much too quickly. Still, things were running smoothly enough; you didn't miss the tube and had snagged a seat, and your makeup was looking absolutely grand. You were absolutely thriving.

That was, until you crossed the threshold of the Sunday People offices and the jerks from the politics columns started bothering you, as if a Monday morning wasn't punishment enough.

"Meet anyone nice over the weekend, sweetheart?" One crowed from his desk chair, looking positively dickhead-ish in his too-small button-up.

"Or still on the clock maybe? We know you're always hunting for a good story." The combination of both remarks confused you, but you strutted past them with a quick glare in their general direction, your clicking heels producing enough attitude that you didn't need to say anything.

As you approached your own desk area, you had the distinct and uncomfortable feeling that everyone was looking at you. You couldn't think of why, but subtly wiped the edge of your lips in case it was foolishly smudged lipstick.

You even swore you heard one of the royal writers -- an awful woman maybe twenty years older than you -- say something about your 'promiscuity' and 'unprofessionalism'. You didn't know where it was coming from. You weren't friends by any means but you usually just stayed out of each other's way, you didn't throw around insults at your workplace. You glanced down at your outfit but nothing seemed especially revealing, the same button-up and pencil skirt you always wore if you weren't doing field work.

You were really starting to wonder why everyone was looking at you when even Lily was sending you pitiful glances. You had just made up your mind to say something about it when your boss came striding towards you, anger emanating in a way which only middle-aged men can do.

"What is this?" He slammed a Daily Mail tabloid down on your desk. The office was dead silent. You looked down at it, wholly confused as to what it could be -- your last article was approved without any troubles.

THE 'INSIDE' SCOOP? POTTER GETS COZY WITH REPORTER ON NIGHT OUT

And there, right under the brazen headline, was the stupid picture that Peter Pettigrew took. The two of you out on the street, you tucked into James' side with his arm around you. Your face wasn't totally visible, but anyone who already knew you would recognise the figure and fashion.

You could feel your face drop as you read the article, a barrage of slut-shamey insults and reports of how intimate you and James were out on the streets of London -- all entirely false, of course. When you'd finished reading the piece the whole office was staring at you, waiting to see how you'd react.

"It's a lie," You said quietly, trying to stop your hands from shaking as they rested on your lap. There was a pregnant pause as your boss processed what you were saying, clearly confused. None of your coworkers dared to speak.

"Bullshit," He replied, face blooming red as he decided you weren't being truthful. "That's you and that's James, there's no denying that. The whole bloody country will be able to see you two getting cozy on the street. How do you reckon this reflects on me, having your name and workplace published alongside your completely unprofessional affair?"

"I understand that it looks bad, but it's not what you think at all. J- uh, Potter was just helping me get home after a chance encounter because I wasn't feeling well, then he hid at my place because of all the paparazzi. Nothing happened." It was a weak explanation, even you could tell, even though it was completely true.

The arseholes over in Politics were already sniggering to themselves and you wished you could have ripped them a new one. Instead, you were cowering underneath your brutish boss.

"It's your word against Pettigrew's, and only one of you's been printed. You've been publicly humiliated and we're getting bad press for it."

Your boss had left you with the threatening promise that the issue would be brought up with your superiors and the whispered opinions of every single person you worked with. You choked out an excuse to get out of the office, taking the lift up to the rooftop to cry.

You had peace for a few minutes, getting the most embarrassing of the sobs out alone.

"Did you actually sleep with him?" If it was anyone else you probably would have snapped, yelling at them for being so insensitive. Marlene said it with such earnest curiosity and sympathy that you turned to face her instead. You were met with her and Lily, your very best friends who you were feeling especially lucky to work with at that moment.

"No!" You told them the full story, about getting sick at the club, James just being polite and walking you home, and Peter Pettigrew's terrible betrayal. Both women listened attentively, taking it all in.

"I thought you hated Potter," Lily said finally, "How'd it get that far in the first place? Usually you'd have ditched him in the first five minutes of being in his presence."

"I don't hate him." You studied your hands intently, observing the peeling red nail polish you should have reapplied yesterday. "I think he's annoying and obnoxious and I've always hated that he's never believed I could be a serious writer, but I don't hate him. He has his moments. Besides, why would I waste energy on hating Potter when I could hate Pettigrew with all my heart?"

"What a snake," Marlene spat, lighting a cigarette as she got comfy next to you. You and Lily both nodded. Peter was not only now a backstabber, but he'd been becoming increasingly insufferable over the years you'd all been writing.

He started out quite nice and was in your periphery of friends in the same way Remus and even James were, but as he'd gotten the job at his shitty tabloid magazine he'd become downright intolerable, always twisting what you'd said both in official articles and when gossiping with other friends. You had all had enough a few years ago and stopped inviting him places. Clearly, he'd held onto the grudge.

At his own work, James was facing the same rumours, though not nearly to the same peril. As he rocked up to his home pitch for the morning training session he was received with catcalls and high fives which made him nervous. No one was ever that happy to be working out on a Monday morning.

"Thought you hated her, mate."

"Maybe all she needed was a good shag to get the stick out of her arse."

"Woah! Can we take it back a few steps and not talk about women that way?" James sent a look over to one of his teammates.

"Sorry bud," He held his hands up in surrender, "Thought you wouldn't mind since you're always moaning about her." James' eyebrows knit together as he tried to piece together what the men were talking about, finally giving up and asking for a plain explanation.

He was met with a copy of Peter's article, outlining the flirty touches and 'electric chemistry' the two of you shared. Scanning it quickly James felt his face screwing up in disgust. Never mind that it obviously wasn't true, what a disgusting violation of privacy. He'd only recently launched into the spotlight, working his way up into the Premier League and then team captain in the last few years. He still didn't know how to handle the fame, especially invasive press like this.

His first priority was setting the ruth straight for his team, explaining exactly what happened and outlining strict instructions not to bring it up the next time they saw you.

"This is going to be a lot worse for her than me," He said, ending the conversation there.

He was correct. Rumours only spiralled from Peter's article. You'd stupidly created Google Alerts for your name; as a journalist, it made sense to keep track of where your writing was being shared. One day of this nonsense and you had all alerts silenced, not wanting to ever visit the internet ever again.

Apparently, this alleged affair was the most interesting thing young British people had ever experienced. The football star and the sports journalist. As you packed up to leave at the end of the day you were feeling sick to your stomach, already overwhelmed by the attention you never wanted on you.

Your face blanched as you approached the dizzying glass windows, a mass of reporters swarming the door. You didn't have to think hard to know they were waiting for you. You retreated to the restroom where they couldn't see you to rearrange your exit appearance. Pulling your coat tight against you and scarf up to cover the bottom half of your face, you plugged your iPod nano in to appear busy (and touched up your eye makeup for the inevitable photos that would make it back into the news cycle).

Physically and emotionally prepared you braved the crowd again, moving through with a polite but firm shove, making yourself a path down to the tube. You only snapped at one particularly rude paparazzi, giving him an instruction of where to 'stick it' as you hopped down the stairs to your station.

You ate a haphazard dinner by your computer, obsessively clicking through the various articles (and now personal blog posts) that had mentioned you. Every link made you feel worse about yourself.

The articles themselves were bad, most of them degrading you and congratulating James. Some had even produced old school photos of the both of you, even a few from your uni days when James was just starting out professionally and you were attending similar parties.

The articles were one thing, at least they usually had to be somewhat impartial. The blog posts by James' fangirls were downright cruel, calling you a slag based on a singular photograph and dragging your name through the mud.

You were drawn from your doom-scrolling by your cellphone ringing, Britney ringtone at least drawing a smile from you.

"Hello?"

"Get off the internet," Sirius Black said from the other end of the line.

"How'd you know?" You exited the webpage dutifully, already feeling the weight of the world's ugly words lifting from your shoulders.

"I figured. First time being written about isn't easy."

"It's certainly making me grateful I've never been so bitchy in my articles," You produced a hollow laugh, "I don't know how people can say these things about someone they've never met."

"That's why we like you," He said, "Mostly, at least. You stick to the sport and not our personal lives."

"Don't inflate my ego, Black, it's just because I don't like you guys," You joked, your mood already blooming back to somewhat more chipper.

"That's what I've been telling him!" You heard Remus call from further away, probably the other side of their living room. Sirius made an offended noise.

"Is Potter there?" You changed the topic, swirling your mouse around the window aimlessly, too afraid to check your work or personal notifications.

"He's out right now, calling someone official -- a publicist or lawyer friend. He's tearing his hair out about this, he feels awful for you." Both men explained, bickering about who exactly he was talking to.

"Yeah, I'm noticing only one of us is getting called a slut." You rolled your eyes even though they couldn't see you, balancing your cell between your shoulder and ear as you made a cup of tea. Sirius' barking laughter crackled through the speaker.

"Don't worry about it, love, everyone knows The Daily Mail is full of shite. Besides, I got that all the time."

"Yeah, in school! Not when you have a grown-up job to save face at!" Sirius conceded, apologising lightly. You shrugged him off; he was not the target of your anger at all.

"James'll be back soon, do you want to stay on the phone?" Remus asked and you answered without hesitation.

"No. I don't want to talk to him right now. We'll just find something to fight about, it's not worth it."

"He wants to make things better," Sirius offered, "He feels terrible."

"Maybe when I'm not so angry at the world." You left them with the offered compromise, hanging up to pity yourself for a few more hours before bed.

You didn't end up being fired over the incident, your bosses couldn't find a good reason to cite, but everyone in the office knew you were on thin ice. Most weren't afraid to highlight that fact. You were really starting to hate the Politics guys.

You just tried to keep your head down, diving into your articles and trying to keep in the higher-ups good graces. Amidst the drama though you'd been taken off all football coverage for the time being, banished to the irrelevant 'sports' you never even knew existed.

The week had taken you out of London to cover bizarre rural events like cheese rolling and bog snorkelling; not uninteresting but a big change of pace to the Premier League drama you were used to.

It did take your mind off of James and the media shitstorm for a day or two though. Being in a small town was much preferable to London, at least for the moment. The paparazzi weren't going to make the drive to find you for a single day when there were plenty more interesting figures to find in the city.

Plus, you were meeting the most interesting people. Though it was no Premier League final, everyone around was so wholly invested and excited by the competition that you couldn't help feeling the same, despite your initial hesitation.

Throughout the day it was just you, your notepad, your camera and the few thousand people who came to participate and observe. You'd already met and interviewed the woman who made the cheese, the previous year's winner and you were waiting impatiently to see who'd prevail now.

The paper was paying for you to stay overnight so you could chronicle the post-event celebrations, and you'd never been so glad to be working late. The key players in the day, organisers and competitors had all convened in the town's old pub, basically heaving under the weight of you all.

You held up your beer with the others despite hating the taste, grateful to be included in their toast to the day. You laughed as you tried to down it quickly, wanting the taste out of your mouth as soon as possible without refusing such a kind gift. Holding the pint up in the air victoriously you accepted the cheers of those around you, including the lovely middle-aged lady who made the ceremonial cheese and the man only a year or two older than you who'd won earlier.

"Finally letting your hair down!" He laughed and you smiled back, trying to remember his name. A glance down at your notepad said Drew. "Can I get you another?" You hoped he didn't notice your eyes widen, not expecting attention like that, not when you were allegedly working no less. You opened your mouth to agree when someone else answered for you.

"She doesn't like beer, thinks it tastes like piss." You whipped your neck around at the familiar voice, mouth dropping open at the sight of James Potter.

"What the hell are you doing here?" You asked, jovial politeness abandoned.

"You didn't remember that my family comes to watch every year?"

"Respectfully, why the fuck would I remember something like that?" You snapped, moving to leave and follow the much nicer Drew to the bar. James grabbed your hand lightly, stopping you from leaving.

"Wait, can we talk please?" You just looked at him for a long time, considering how much patience you had after a full day of work, then shrugged half-heartedly.

He led you outside and away from the crowd, both of you letting out a huff as you noticed the change in temperature.

"I liked your story on the bog snorkelling -- interesting stuff," James broke the awkward silence and you rolled your eyes aggressively.

"As if you read my pieces."

"I do!" He insisted, silently refusing the cigarette you offered. "I've read all your pieces, honest."

"But... huh? You're the one who always said I'd be a shit writer, I've spent years trying to get the negative internal James out of my head! You absolute dickhead!" You shoved his chest, turning back towards the door to return inside.

"Are you thick? I only said that because I fancied you!"

James' words rang heavy in the air, the street otherwise silent. You stared straight ahead of you for a moment, his words settling on top of you as you focused on the orange street lamp.

This whole time, this whole time, you'd been fighting the image you believed James had of you, striving to be better, never being satisfied, for nothing. This whole time you and James had been bickering and trading insults for nothing? And all his flirting... James' annoying charm and ironic compliments and innuendo-filled teasing were all genuine, after all this time? Suddenly your whole world had turned on its axis.

"What do you mean you said it because you fancied me? That is not normal!" You whirled around, accusatory finger pointed his way.

"I don't know! I thought I was supposed to! It wasn't cool to be a sap!" James argued back, running a hand through his already tousled curls.

"Jesus Christ," You muttered, "So what, you thought all my arguing back was just flirting?" James' silence told you all you needed to know.

"Come on, don't act like you didn't like it a little bit! As I recall you were always up for the fight, weren't you? You never avoided me or ignored me. Let's face it, you enjoyed it as much as I did." He stepped closer to you, breath visible in the cool air.

"I didn't enjoy it, what the hell are you talking about? Why would I enjoy trading schoolyard insults with some arrogant, idiotic football player who discredited the one thing I wanted most in my life?" Suddenly you were inches apart, heat emanating from both of you as you fought.

"Like you never said I was stupid for wanting to be a footballer? Face it, love, you're just as bad as me."

And suddenly, despite all your better judgement and every bit of sense in your head, you were kissing him. You didn't know exactly how it had happened, and if anyone were to ever ask you you would absolutely pin the blame on James but there you were, out in the middle of the street without a care in the world.

Every one of your senses was on fire, the smell of his cologne, the taste of his lips, the feeling of his soft curls under your fingers. Everything about James felt like he was made for you, like all the years of you revolving around each other, playing off the other's insult was just a lead-up, preparation for the very moment you kissed for the first time.

James' arms around you were warm, strong from years of working out and protective like a weighted blanket. One hand wrapped around your midsection and the other firmly on your neck you felt wholly surrounded by him, isolated in your own bubble of James.

It was probably a bad idea, but you weren't overly concerned with addressing that fact in any rush. It didn't come as you tilted your head to bring him even closer, it didn't come as you said hurried goodbyes in the pub and collected your coat, it didn't even come as you closed the door to your hotel room, undoing the buttons to James' shirt like they had a personal vendetta against you.

The admittance only came as you lay entangled with him, faces millimetres apart.

"Was that a bad idea?" You asked, genuine self-consciousness mixing with pragmatic anxiety.

"I mean, I quite enjoyed myself, love. Did you not?" James' cheeky smile made you snort out a giggle but you sobered up quickly, hitting him lightly on his toned chest.

"Don't turn this into a joke!" You ordered, "Have we just fucked everything up?" James just looked at you for a minute, taking in the sincerity in your voice and the depth of your eyes.

"Of course we haven't," He assured you. "Do you like me?"

"But--"

"Ah! Do you like me?" He reiterated and you paused, nodding shyly. "See? You like me and I like you. We'll figure everything else out. Start slow; baby steps."

"Baby steps," You agreed, sharing his smile. It really only hit you how much you actually liked James once you'd said it, finally noticing how he might've been looking at you the whole time.

You sent James off early in the morning, both of you needing to make it back to London quickly. You had to get your article written up and James had training. Thankfully there was no awkwardness in your goodbye; James had to rush to meet his parents to drive back by car and you had a train to catch. The only moment of hesitance came as you said goodbye, waving at each other with a giggle as James hopped down the steps. He hesitated halfway, turning to look at you with the glint of mischief in his eye that you'd become very well acquainted with.

In a moment he was at the top of the steps again, swooping in to steal another kiss. You rolled your eyes to hide an embarrassing smile, pushing him back in the direction he came.

"Haven't you got somewhere to be?" You asked, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. James mimed twisting a knife in his chest but continued down the stairs nonetheless, giving you one last smile before he turned a corner and disappeared from your sight. You sighed like a schoolgirl then laughed at yourself, packing the last of your things to get home.

As you sat on the train, green landscapes passed you through the window and you felt your cell phone buzz from the minuscule pocket of your work trousers.

thinking of u :P <3

You grinned, looking out at the scenery so the people around you wouldn't be able to figure out your embarrassing secret. You felt like a teenage girl again, blushing over a text from the guy you had a crush on.

Everything turned to shit in a matter of hours after returning to London.

First, James' publicist made his statement. It wasn't necessarily terrible, but it really had no regard for you. No statement declaring you both on good terms, no coming to your defence or asking for the press to respect you. James looked like the hero saving a stupid drunk girl, and you still looked desperate for the most popular footballer in the country. You were decently sure it wasn't James' fault, but it did significantly dampen your lovesick giddiness.

The office was half-empty when you arrived, kitten heels clicking against the ground. You said a quick hello to Lily, still dutifully typing away at her computer. You followed her lead, exporting your notes to your desktop computer, formatting the piece and going through edits to have it ready for the next paper.

The sun was setting, sending orange and pink streaks through the sky when the door to your boss' office slammed open, echoing above the cubicles.

"You kissed him?" He yelled and you paled, knowing exactly what he was talking about but not how he knew. That problem was solved when he slammed the magazine down in front of you, no doubt just delivered by the skittery young receptionist running back to the elevator.

FACT OR FICTION? POTTER AND REPORTER CAUGHT SNOGGING AMIDST PUBLIC DENIAL

Fuck. That could not be worse.

The whole piece was essentially dragging your name through the absolute mud now that they had the confirmation there was something going on between you and James. The whole world thought you were sleeping to the top, or for the best scoop, and everyone hated you for it.

You looked up at your boss, words dying on your tongue.

"Please tell me that's not you," He said, grasping at the thinning hair on his head. You couldn't deny it.

"I..." You trailed off, searching for anything you could say to make it better. "I didn't mean to. And I'm being completely honest when I say that the first article was all bullshit. Things have... happened since then." You were already on the verge of tears. Even on an optimistic day, you couldn't have denied that this was utterly shit.

"Jesus." Your boss muttered, beginning to pace. "Look, I like you, you know? You do good work and you're never outta line, but I reckon the higher-ups are gonna be done with you. They wanted you out over the first article but I convinced them it was all speculation. This is proof and makes us all look bad that you're sleeping with someone you interview every other bloody week. Look, I'll do what I can in damage control, but I'd be bringing your stuff home tonight. I'm sorry."

How could he have just left you with that absolute bombshell? Effectively firing you, just like that? The tears had made their way up to your waterline, sitting there mocking you as you refused to let them fall. You submitted your piece and shut off your laptop, angrily stuffing your sparse personal decorations into your shoulder bag to get the fuck out of the building as fast as possible.

The paparazzi were waiting again, of course, like that was what you really needed. You pushed past them, making sure to land an extra hard stomp on Peter's foot, lips twitching into the beginnings of a smile as you heard him curse.

You sat on the tube, staring intently at your feet and trying desperately to think of anything but your current situation. You'd already been approached by someone who'd coughed out "Skank," which really hadn't done anything for your sour mood. All you wanted was to crawl into your bed and never emerge.

You wandered down the street between the metro station and your flat, hands shoved deep in your coat pockets.

"Hey!" Someone called and you glanced over on instinct, senses drawn by the interruption of an otherwise quiet evening. "You're the girl who kissed James Potter, yeah?" It was a girl still in her school uniform, probably sixteen or seventeen. You thought through your options quickly and shrugged.

"Yeah, I guess."

"Wicked. How was it?" She asked, chewing on pink gum. There was an aura about her that you liked, not judgemental like everyone else you'd met. If you were still in school you thought you might've been friends with her.

"Pretty good, I'd do it again." A cheeky almost-joke between the two of you, ironic given the shit that it had caused for you.

"We were talking about it at school. Pretty shit how they've treated you. Like they all wouldn't jump at a chance to get close to 'im." You liked the way that she didn't get any closer. Just the two of you standing face to face, divided by the empty road.

"Exactly what I've been saying," You agreed, tucking your hair behind your ears.

"If it was the other way around, if you were the famous one, James would be getting congratulated for getting with you, not ridiculed by the mindless gossip columns. All my friends think it's utter bullshit, stopped buyin' 'em and everything." You could have kissed her if that wasn't tremendously creepy. In five minutes, this schoolgirl had vindicated everything you'd been saying for the past week in a way no one else had.

"Thank you," You said, with more sincerity than you probably should have had for a complete stranger. The girl just shrugged with a smile, nodding before continuing down the street, the sound of her leather school shoes growing quieter with every step.

You felt it in your whole body every time you thought of the interaction for the next few hours, warmth spreading through your chest as you were reminded there were still good people around.

Your other reminder of that fact came with the sound of your buzzer, the laughing of Lily and Marlene echoing off the stone of your building. As you let them in curiously they presented armfuls of takeout, the smell of Chinese food immediately floating through your flat.

Lily took the responsibility of setting out the food while Marlene took control of your little television, flipping between channels until she found a suitable romcom starting.

You didn't speak about what had happened, no one mentioned James Potter or the bloody Sunday People. Yet, there was an air of tenderness that let you know the girls knew exactly what was happening and how you were feeling about it.

Still, there was something bothering you. You couldn't give it a name immediately, only a tugging in your stomach while the girls were entertaining you, but persistent nonetheless.

It wasn't until you were all crammed into your bed, the other two peacefully asleep, that you could identify the sensation. It was an overwhelming desire, a need to write that you hadn't felt in ages. It was the same feeling that had pushed you to be a journalist in the first place, an inspiration you typically only felt watching a magical soccer final.

You crept out of your bedroom, switching on your computer at the kitchen table, squinting at the aggressive blue light. And when a blank Word document appeared before you, you started writing. Obsessively, feverishly, words poured out of you at a rate that hadn't happened since you'd started at Sunday People.

The words of the school girl fresh in your mind, you started an article vastly different from your usual kind. Instead of strategies and highlights you dissected your own experience of the past week, saying everything you hadn't let yourself unload to the paparazzi outside your office (though with fewer curse words than they would have received). It could have been minutes or hours that you were writing and you wouldn't have noticed, eyes glued on the screen in front of you.

You didn't realise you'd fallen asleep until Lily woke you gently with a hand on your shoulder, offering a steaming mug of tea. It was light outside, the world already up and awake. You were glad it was a weekend as the girls didn't need to rush off to work, cooking a simple breakfast for you all to share.

"What've you written?" Marlene asked, the second part of her sentence unnecessary: since you don't have a job to write for. You shrugged, taking a bite of some eggs.

"Just something I had to get off my chest. Might see if I can sell it to someone to tide me over 'til I figure out what I'm doing with my life."

"Can we read?" You made a 'go ahead' gesture, the computer already open to the screen.

A WOMAN'S UNWILLING WEEK IN THE PUBLIC EYE:

How a woman always loses.

You sat in mild discomfort as Lily and Marlene read your piece in silence, anxiously awaiting their reactions. They weren't what you were expecting.

When they turned back to face you, Lily had tears in her eyes, red tones brought out in her skin. Even Marlene looked uncharacteristically moved, not at all the reaction you were expecting. Firstly, it was completely unedited so you suspected it was somewhat of a mess from your midnight haze. Secondly, it was more of a vent than anything, getting your hatred for invasive paparazzi off your chest. You thought you'd all laugh about it then move on with your days.

"Lils, what's wrong?" You didn't mean to laugh, it was more out of surprise than anything else.

"It's just, it's so raw and real. It's so unfair," She sniffled, wiping her eyes with the sleeves of her sweater.

"Jesus, you don't have to cry," You said lightly, "I'm fine! I hated that bloody place anyway."

"That's not the point," Marlene pointed out, "And Lily's right, this is really confronting stuff. It's great."

"Thanks," You mumbled, studying a lamp for something to do.

"Can we talk about James?" Your head snapped back to look at her.

"What about him?"

"Clearly there's been some... developments in your relationship, which we don't have to talk about--"

"Yet," Marlene interrupted.

"The point is that it looks like there's feelings involved now. What are you doing about them? Because if you publish that, it's putting everything out there, and even I can't tell how you feel about James right now," Lily finished.

"I don't want to talk to him," You said quickly, "I know it's not his fault but I can't think about him without getting mad. It's like I wrote; he ends up fine while I lose my job over one kiss."

"Understandable," Marlene nodded, "But if I know James at all, he'll be going crazy every minute that you ignore him."

You had much to consider when the girls left. The state of your career, your feelings for James, everything felt too big and overwhelming to make any decisions about. So, you took a nap.

The rest of your weekend was spent sending your then-edited article to as many newspapers and blogs as you could and hiding out in your flat, dodging James' calls.

Unfortunately, you liked him. You'd figured out that much. More unfortunately, he hadn't done anything to help you out in all this mess, benefiting from the press in a way that only England's favourite footballer could.

On Monday morning your piece was published. Not the biggest or most reputable newspaper, if your name hadn't still been trending it probably would have gone largely noticed. Instead, it blew up.

It had mixed reviews, of course, a tell-all so blatantly feminist would always attract its haters, but you were floored by the support it was receiving. Women were validating your experiences in a way you hadn't expected even a few days ago. It made you not so scared to leave the house anymore.

On Tuesday morning, Remus called you. You had the thought that it might have been James calling to grovel on Remus' phone, but you thought it was a smart enough idea you'd indulge anyway. If it was Sirius you wouldn't have picked up.

Instead, it was actually Remus.

"Come to the media room this afternoon," He said, evidently not wasting time with pleasantries.

"What?" You asked, caught off-guard.

"Just do it. Two o'clock."

"Remus, you know I don't have a job anymore, right?"

"Come off it, you know anyone on the team would let you in. You've got quite a name for yourself," He chanced a joke and you rolled your eyes.

"What, whore?" You retorted, only a little worried it would be true.

"I'm hanging up," Was all he said before the line went dead. You huffed, snapping your phone closed with all the attitude of a spoiled private schoolgirl.

Yet, at two o'clock you were standing in front of the media room at James' team's stadium, questioning all of your life choices.

The room seemingly went silent when you entered, dozens of pairs of eyes staring you down as you nervously stuck to the wall. You felt the derogatory, leering stares from all the sleazy men who'd been accusing you of sleeping with players since you first started in the field. It made you want to drop dead.

James made his way to the lectern up the front of the room with a cough, quieting down the chaos.

"Afternoon, everyone. I'm sure you're all wondering why I've called you here, I've got some things I'd like to address.

"As you all well know, I've been a frequent face in the papers lately, and not for my brilliant playing as it usually is. I recently got followed down a street after a night out looking after an old friend who happened to be a colleague of yours. Now I know that my godly good looks lead you to believe that I don't feel the same as all of you, but I do. And I'd like you all to consider how you'd feel if a man with a camera followed you all the way home after you'd been out for a night with your friends and a few cheeky drinks. It's pretty invasive if you can't imagine.

"Now, all this press hasn't really affected me. However, my dear friend has been subject to misogynistic articles, slut-shaming and harassment all because we were seen out together and a few hateful words from someone I used to consider a mate." You had no idea where this was going, but you were absolutely fascinated. James was more well-spoken, more mature and solemn than you'd ever seen him, though he still had his audience in the palm of his hand with his casual jokes. It was a masterclass in public speaking.

"If you haven't read any of my friend's pieces I would highly recommend them; she's got a brilliant voice and I personally read everything she publishes. However, I'm not here to talk about her work; I'd actually like to talk about her if you all don't mind."

What the hell was happening?

"In the midst of all these articles over the last week, I know you've all seen various pictures of us, including from secondary school. A few come to my mind, our graduation picture is a highlight, but I'd really like to talk about this one." James brandished a printed-out photo you recognised instantly.

"This photo was taken when we were twelve or thirteen years old at someone's party. That night, as you tend to do when you're young and bored, we played spin the bottle and ended up being each other's first kiss. I'm sure you're all wondering why I'm telling this story now, and it's because ever since that night as I have recently realised, almost a decade later, I have been embarrassingly, stupidly in love with her."

Your life wasn't real, it absolutely could not be.

"And though I've done some incredibly dumb things over the years, somehow she's managed to like me back -- at least a little. So I'm setting the record straight right now, she is not 'sleeping to the top' or trying to get a secret scoop out of me because I'm the one who's been chasing after her for twelve years.

"I know I've been rambling on for far too long so I'll wrap it up here, but I just wanted to end this little conference with a warning that if I see any more disgusting, hateful articles about her, you won't be getting another comment from me again. So nice to see you all!"

The room started to trickle out but you were stuck to your spot against the wall, frozen in absolute shock. You hardly even noticed the dirty looks you got from some of the people you'd been working alongside for years.

You spotted James in another corner, drinking out of a plastic water bottle and messing with his hair. A nervous tell.

The room was almost completely empty when you approached him, heels muffled by the carpeted floor.

"Hey stranger," You said softly, feeling way out of your depth. He turned in an instant, smile lighting up his face then melting away as it was replaced with an insecure frown.

"Was that okay? I didn't want to embarrass you but I wanted to step up and do something and protect you and--"

"Have you really loved me since we were twelve?" You cut him off bluntly.

"Every day since, as I've figured out," He agreed with a slight nod, glasses slipping down his nose slightly.

"What about all the flirting with Lily? The other girls over the years?"

"So obviously fake. Distractions. It's never been anyone but you, love."

You could only stare at him for a moment, your whole world shifting beneath your feet. James' face became increasingly worried, brow furrowing more the longer you remained unresponsive.

"If you don't feel the same that's totally alright, I still stand by what I did and I don't want you being harassed for--"

You'd always thought that cutting someone off with a kiss was ridiculously cheesy, reserved for shitty Hallmark movies with grown-up child actors who never got their big break. Turns out though, when you realise that your girlish crush on the star footballer has actually been a complicated love of twelve years, you don't really want to waste any more time.

When you woke up on Wednesday morning with James next to you, body heat keeping you cozy, you were convinced you had to be dreaming. When you eventually got up to check your emails and start your day the hypothesis was only solidified by the impossible email waiting in your inbox.

The fucking BBC wanted to hire you as a football commentator and sports writer. Your dream job at your dream company. If you let out an embarrassing squeal then that was none of your business.

You were still convinced you were hallucinating the whole thing until James came in with his biggest smile and that look in his eyes that told you he probably had a hand in getting your name on the BBC desks.

Even a few weeks ago you would have been mad at him, assuming it was mocking or he had ulterior motives. But it wasn't a few weeks ago anymore, and James Potter's whole, endless heart belonged to you. You weren't letting that go anytime soon.

[pucksandpower]

Lover

Charles Leclerc x Reader

Summary: the little (and not so little) ways that you and Charles show your love for each other

You’re in the kitchen, phone pressed to your ear as you listen intently to Charles’ mother give you her famous tiramisu recipe step-by-step. “Now, this next part is very important,” she stresses. “You’ll need one cup of granulated sugar to add to the mascarpone filling.”

“Got it, one cup sugar for the filling,” you confirm.

Pascale chuckles warmly. “I’m so glad Charles has found such a lovely girl who wants to learn my recipes. He’s always loved my tiramisu since he was a little boy.”

You smile, touched by her kind words. You and Charles have been together for a year now, but it still makes your heart flutter to be so accepted into his close-knit family.

“It means so much to me that you’re sharing this recipe with me,” you tell Pascale sincerely.

You chat with her a while longer, going over some of the trickier steps and getting tips on how to best soak the ladyfingers. Finally, you have the full recipe memorized and are ready to give it a try.

“Okay, I think I’ve got it now. Thank you so much again, Pascale! I really appreciate you taking the time to walk me through this.”

“Of course, chère! Let me know how it turns out. Charles is a lucky man to have such a thoughtful girlfriend,” Pascale says warmly before hanging up.

You grin, eager to get started. You know tiramisu is Charles’ absolute favorite dessert and you want to surprise him with a homemade version tonight after he finally comes back from his latest race.

Humming to yourself, you gather the ingredients — mascarpone, eggs, espresso, cocoa powder, and of course, the sugar. You double check you have everything and preheat the oven so the ladyfingers will be perfect.

As you start the recipe, you feel a rush of excitement. You follow each step meticulously, Pascale’s voice guiding you in your mind. You carefully separate the eggs and beat the whites to stiff peaks. When it’s time to add the sugar to the mascarpone filling, you pause.

Now, which one was the sugar again? You look between the two identical jars of white powder, second-guessing yourself.

Shoot, you should have labeled them.

After a moment of hesitation, you decide on the bowl on the left. Yes, that must be sugar, you reassure yourself. You mix it into the silky mascarpone filling until it’s perfectly combined. Once assembled, you spread the filling over the ladyfingers and cover it with a final dusting of cocoa powder.

It looks absolutely beautiful. You did it! You made Charles’ favorite dessert completely from scratch. You can’t wait to see the look on his face when he takes the first delicious bite.

You glance at the clock as you clean up. Charles will be home soon. You carefully store the tiramisu in the fridge to chill until after dinner.

Right on time, you hear Charles’ keys in the lock. You hurry to greet him, throwing your arms around him in a tight hug. “I missed you!”

He grins and nuzzles your neck. “And I missed you, ma belle.”

Over dinner on the balcony, Charles tells you all about the race and his ambitious one-stop strategy under the Suzuka cherry blossoms. You listen attentively, asking questions and laughing at his dramatic reenactments.

Finally, it’s time for dessert. “I have a surprise for you,” you say with a playful smile.

Charles’ eyes light up. “Oh really? Do tell!”

You bring the chilled tiramisu to the table, along with two small plates and forks. “Ta-da! I made your favorite, with your mom’s secret recipe.”

“No way, you’re kidding!” Charles exclaims. He takes in the layered dessert with delight. “It looks incredible, mon cœur. I can’t believe you did this for me.”

You blush happily as you dish out servings for both of you. “I hope I did it justice. Your mom walked me through the whole thing over the phone.”

Charles takes a big eager bite, closing his eyes as he savors it. “Mmm … it’s absolutely delicious,” he declares after swallowing. “Seriously, this is amazing. Here, you have to try it!”

He holds out a forkful toward you. You accept it into your mouth, immediately bursting into incredulous laughter. “Oh my god, this is so salty! I definitely screwed up somewhere. You don’t have to eat it!”

But Charles just grins and takes another hearty bite. “What do you mean? It tastes perfect to me.”

You stare at him in confusion. “You can’t actually like this, Charles. It’s like I poured the entire salt shaker in by accident.”

“No no, it’s great! The best tiramisu I’ve ever had,” he insists. Seeing your disbelief, he takes your hand from across the table. “Really, Y/N. I love it because you made it just for me. With love. That’s what makes it so special.”

You feel your insides turn soft and melty at his words. “You’re just saying that to be nice,” you protest weakly.

He shakes his head. “I’m saying it because it’s true. Because ...” He pauses, looking into your eyes sincerely. “Because I’m completely in love with you, mon amour. I’d eat a thousand salty tiramisus if it made you smile like this.”

You can’t help the joyful laugh that escapes you. “You’re such a hopeless romantic, you know that?” You tease him.

“Only for you,” he flirts back with a playful wink.

You lean across the table to kiss him tenderly. When you pull back, the adoration shining in his green eyes leaves you breathless.

Maybe he’s right. It doesn’t matter that the tiramisu is an utter fail. All that matters is that you made it with love.

And that’s the sweetest taste of all.

***

It’s been a few weeks since your salty tiramisu mishap. You and Charles laughed about it afterwards, but you were still determined to make him something special with your own two hands.

So you decided to take up crocheting. It was trickier than you expected, but you persevered, watching YouTube tutorials and getting tangled in yarn for hours.

Finally, after a month of work, you’ve produced your first wearable creation — a sweater for Charles.

It’s an oversized style, cream colored with red racing stripes across the chest. You did your best to evenly stitch the rows, but there are gaps in some places that cause the stripes to waver drunkenly.

The sleeves are several inches too long, dangling adorably over Charles’ hands when he tries it on. And the neckline gapes open no matter how he tugs it.

But none of the flaws matter to Charles. His face lights up like a kid on Christmas morning when you present it to him.

“You made this? For me?” He asks as he eagerly pulls it on.

You nod, suddenly shy. “I wanted to make something special for you, even if my skills are still .... developing,” you admit with an embarrassed chuckle.

But Charles is beaming, admiring himself in the mirror. “It’s perfect! Seriously, I love it. This is the best gift ever!”

He engulfs you in a big hug, sleeves flopping over you. You hug him back, relieved and happy he appreciates your efforts.

From that day on, Charles insists on wearing the sweater constantly, even styling it with whatever eclectic pants he decides to wear on race weekends.

You try to discourage him — the holes along the hem are getting bigger from snagging and the neckline is truly unsalvageable.

But Charles won’t hear it. “Are you kidding? This is my new lucky charm!” He declares. “I have to wear it for every race now.”

Sure enough, he starts a winning streak whenever he dons your handmade sweater, even though it’s quite a departure from the fitted shirts and designer hoodies he previously favored, leaving his fans scratching their heads at the sudden change.

You watch in amused endearment as he proudly wears your gift for candid pre-race interviews and photo-ops. The overlong sleeves just make his exuberant gestures even more adorable.

Finally, a reporter works up the courage to ask him about the quirky sweater. “That’s quite a statement piece you have been arriving in each Sunday,” the reporter comments during a press conference. “What made you decide to wear it?”

Charles’ face lights up even more. “My sweater? It was handmade for me by my incredible girlfriend,” he announces, making you blush furiously from the audience.

“She worked so hard on it, even though crocheting is totally new to her. So I wear it to show how much I appreciate her and how talented she is,” he continues sincerely.

The reporters “aww” as Charles shows off the uneven stitches like they’re couture. “It’s my good luck charm now too! She put so much love into making it that I feel like I can’t lose whenever I have it on.”

He looks directly at you, eyes shining. “It’s the best gift I’ve ever received, because she made it just for me. I’m the luckiest man in the world to be with someone so thoughtful and caring.”

You have to wipe away joyful tears at his heartfelt words. You never imagined your clumsy crocheting would come to mean so much to him.

But Charles wears that sweater for every race, no matter how tattered it gets. Because for him, it represents something priceless — your love.

***

You hum along to the radio as you stir the melted chocolate in a bowl. The rich aroma fills the air of your shared apartment. Today is Valentine’s Day and you want to surprise your boyfriend with homemade chocolate-covered strawberries when he gets home from training.

You dip the first plump, red strawberry into the silky chocolate, letting the excess drip off before placing it gently onto a baking sheet lined with parchment paper. One by one, you coat each strawberry, taking care to fully submerge them.

When the tray is full, you quickly pop one glistening strawberry into your mouth and slide the rest into the fridge to let the chocolate harden. As you wait, you tidy up the kitchen, washing the bowls and utensils used to make the treat. A glance at the clock on the microwave tells you Charles will be home soon.

The sound of the front door opening makes you grin. “Mon amour, I’m back!” Charles calls out.

You grab the tray of chocolate-covered strawberries and head towards his voice. “Welcome home! I have a surprise for y-”

You stop short, your throat suddenly feeling scratchy and tight. Your lips tingle oddly.

Confused, you lift a hand to your neck. Is this just excitement to see Charles? But no, your tongue is starting to swell now too. Your breathing becomes labored.

Charles rounds the corner. “Mon ange, what’s wro-” His eyes widen as he takes in your distress. In a few quick strides he is by your side, the tray clattering forgotten to the floor. “What’s happening?”

You wheeze, barely able to force out words. “Can’t … breathe …”

Charles sweeps you into his arms and runs for the front door. “Hospital. Now.”

You cling to him, each ragged breath a struggle. The world seems to blur and tilt alarmingly.

Then somehow you’re in Charles’ car, speeding down the street. One of his hands grips the wheel while the other clutches yours tightly. “Just hold on, stay with me. We’re almost there.”

You try to respond but only manage a choked gurgle. Black spots swim across your vision. A feeling of detachment steals over you.

The car screeches to a stop outside the emergency department entrance. Charles lifts you from the passenger seat, calling for help. There is a flurry of activity as a team of doctors and nurses rushes over with a gurney.

You are barely aware of being wheeled into an exam room, too focused on trying to pull air into your lungs. A mask is fitted over your face, dispensing blessed oxygen. An IV is inserted into your arm.

The medical staff works quickly, asking Charles questions as they begin treatment. Antihistamines. Steroids. Epinephrine. The medications slowly start to counteract your reaction. The vice-like tightness in your chest and throat gradually lessens.

After what feels like an eternity, you are able to take full breaths again. The room comes back into focus, no longer spinning. Charles sits at your bedside, clutching your hand, his handsome face creased with worry.

The doctor examines you, nodding with satisfaction as your symptoms continue to improve. “It appears you had a severe allergic reaction. We’ll run some tests to determine the cause.”

Charles looks stricken. “But how? What could have possibly …” His gaze falls on your swollen lips. “The strawberries,” he whispers.

You nod weakly. It had to have been. You’ve never reacted to them before, but an allergy can develop at any time.

Charles smoothes back your hair, distress pouring off of him. “I’m so sorry, mon cœur. I should have been there with you.”

You squeeze his hand. “You couldn’t have known. I’m okay now thanks to you.”

He just shakes his head, unconvinced.

The testing confirms it — you are now mysteriously allergic to strawberries. The doctor gives you an EpiPen prescription and strict instructions to the fruit in the future.

After several more hours of observation, you are finally discharged from the hospital with an exhausted Charles supporting you.

The sun has long since set on what was supposed to have been a romantic Valentine’s Day. Instead, you spent it swollen and terrified in the ER.

Back home, Charles tucks you into bed, insisting you rest. You catch a glimpse of yourself in the mirror — puffy-faced and red-eyed — and cringe. Some Valentine you turned out to be.

You reach for Charles’ hand again. “I’m so sorry I ruined our evening. I wanted it to be perfect but instead I ended up scaring you half to death and forcing you to rush me to the hospital.”

Charles silences you with a gentle kiss. “Not another word, mon amour. You have nothing to apologize for. All that matters is that you are safe.”

He caresses your cheek, looking at you with such love and tenderness it makes your heart ache. “You could never ruin anything. You are the light of my life — my everything. No Valentine’s Day is complete without you.”

You feel yourself tearing up. Even after the ordeal of this evening, he still looks at you like you hung the moon.

“You’re still the most beautiful Valentine I’ve ever had, you know that? A little swelling can’t hide that.” Charles brushes away your tears and pulls you close. “Rest now. I’ll be right here when you wake up.”

You nestle into his embrace, letting his warmth and steady heartbeat soothe you. As you drift off, you can’t help but marvel at how lucky you are to have this man. Even at your puffiest and most distressed, he thinks you’re beautiful.

No matter what surprises life throws at you, with Charles by your side you know everything will be okay. He loves you unconditionally — swollen lips, hospital visits, and all.

***

“Close your eyes,” you say to Charles as you lead him into the living room.

He laughs and covers his eyes with his hands. “What are you up to, mon amour?”

You grin, though he cannot see it. “You’ll have to wait and see.”

You guide him across the room, hands on his shoulders. He shuffles along, peeking through his fingers.

“No peeking!” You scold, and he squeezes his eyes shut again, smiling.

You position him in front of the coffee table. “Okay,” you say. “You can open your eyes now.”

Charles drops his hands. On the table sits a large gift-wrapped box with a massive red bow on top. His eyes go wide with surprise and delight.

“For me?”

You nod, bouncing on your toes excitedly. “Happy birthday!”

He pulls you into a tight hug. “You are too good to me, ma belle. Thank you.” Leaning down, he captures your lips in a sweet kiss.

You swat his shoulder playfully. “You don’t even know what it is yet! Open it.”

Charles grins and turns his attention to the present. He carefully unties the bow and lifts the lid on the box. Inside sits a sleek red bomber jacket with the Ferrari logo embroidered on the chest. He runs his fingers over the leather appreciatively.

“This is beautiful,” he murmurs.

“Look on the back,” you prompt.

Charles turns the jacket over. Across the back, in bold white letters, it reads: DADDY.

His eyes go wide again, and for a moment he just stands there gaping at the jacket. Then his eyes roll back in his head and he collapses to the floor in a dead faint.

“Charles!” You rush to his side, kneeling next to him on the plush carpet. Gently you pat his cheek, trying to rouse him. “Charles, wake up!”

After a few tense moments, his eyelashes begin to flutter. You breathe a sigh of relief as he opens his eyes.

“Wha … what happened?” He mumbles.

“You fainted, silly.”

You help him sit up slowly. He puts a hand to his head, still looking dazed.

“I had the strangest dream …” He trails off, glancing around the room. His gaze lands on the jacket lying nearby, and his eyes widen again.

“It wasn’t a dream,” you say softly.

Charles looks at you, lips parted in shock. “Then you … you’re …”

You furrow your brow in confusion. “I’m what?”

“Pregnant!” He exclaims. “We’re having a baby!”

Now it’s your turn for your eyes to go wide. “What? No! I’m not pregnant!”

Charles frowns, thoroughly bewildered. “But the jacket said … I thought it was your way of telling me we’re expecting.”

You can’t help but laugh. “Oh my goodness, no. The jacket is for a very different reason.”

He looks almost disappointed. “It is?”

You take his hands in yours. “I know you’ve been talking about getting a dog for months now, ever since you met Mimi.”

Comprehension begins to dawn on Charles’s face. “So the jacket …”

“Is for our new puppy!” You finish excitedly.

Charles’ face lights up. “You got me a dog? Really?”

You nod, grinning. “Really! I picked him up yesterday from the shelter. He’s the cutest little dachshund, white with brown spots. I’ve been keeping him at your brother’s so I could surprise you today.”

Charles whoops and tackles you in another ecstatic hug. You laugh as he covers your face in rapid, smacking kisses.

“This is the best birthday surprise ever!” He crows. “I can’t believe we’re finally getting a dog. And the jacket — it’s perfect!”

He grabs the bomber and shrugs it on over his t-shirt. It fits him flawlessly, the white lettering bold against the red.

Charles scrambles to his feet and rushes to the nearest mirror, twisting this way and that to admire himself. “I love it! Thank you, thank you!”

You stand and wrap your arms around him from behind, resting your chin on his shoulder. “I’m so glad. But you should really be thanking your new baby boy.”

Charles turns in your arms and cups your face in his hands. “Have I told you lately that you’re the best girlfriend in the world?”

You grin up at him. “Hmm, I don’t recall. Feel free to remind me.”

“You …” He punctuates each word with a kiss. “Are …” kiss “The …” kiss “Most …” kiss “Thoughtful …” kiss “Loving …” kiss “Girlfriend …” kiss “In …” kiss “The …” kiss “World.”

You pretend to swoon. “My, what a sweet talker you are.”

He chuckles and kisses you tenderly. When you break apart, his eyes are shining.

“So when do I get to meet our new baby?” He asks eagerly.

“Right now, if you want,” you say. “We can go pick him up from Lorenzo.”

Charles pumps a fist in the air. “Yes! I’m going to be the best dog dad ever, just you wait and see.” He crouches down and coos, “Who’s a good boy? Who’s a good boy?”

You pat his head playfully. “You’re a good boy.”

Taking your hand, he practically drags you out the door, babbling excitedly about names, beds, toys, and treats for the puppy the whole way to the car. Your heart swells watching his enthusiasm. You know that dog is going to be the most loved and cared for pup in the world.

When you arrive at his brother’s apartment, Charles bounds up to the front door ahead of you, unable to contain his excitement. Lorenzo opens it laughing, the wiggling brown and white puppy in his arms.

“Someone’s here to see you!” He says, handing the squirming bundle of fluff to Charles.

“Hello, hello!” Charles cuddles the puppy to his chest, his whole face alight with pure joy. The pup responds by licking every inch of Charles’ face he can reach.

Charles laughs delightedly. “Aren’t you just the sweetest boy? Yes you are!”

He looks up at you, eyes shining. “Thank you, mon cœur. This is the best gift I could have asked for.”

You lean in and scratch the puppy behind his silky ears. “Of course. Happy birthday, my love.”

As you walk back to the car, Charles cradling the puppy like a newborn, you know in your heart that your little family is one step closer to completion.

***

The race weekend after Charles’ birthday feels strange. As you wander through the Ferrari garage during free practice, Fred rushes over looking concerned.

“Here, take a seat,” the team principal says, grabbing a folding chair and positioning it behind you. “You should not be on your feet so much in your condition.”

You frown in confusion. “What condition?”

But the French man has already hurried away. Shaking your head, you continue walking. It’s a few minutes later that you spot Pierre.

“Hey!” He says, jogging up to you. Before you can react, he places both hands on your stomach and smiles brightly. “Wow, it’s hard to believe that little baby Leclerc is in there! I can’t wait to meet my niece or nephew.”

Now you’re really bewildered. You take a small step back from Pierre’s wandering hands. “What are you talking about? I’m not pregnant!”

Pierre laughs. “Very funny. You don’t have to hide it from me.” He winks and walks away.

When Charles finds you later, you’re still puzzling over the strange encounter.

“Everyone is acting so weird,” you tell him, explaining what’s been happening all day. "It’s like they all think I’m pregnant or something."

Charles frowns. “That is odd. Where would they get that idea?”

You shake your head. “I have no idea …”

Later, after the last practice session of the day, you wander into Ferrari hospitality for a quick cup of coffee. Carlos quickly spots you and makes a beeline over, cheeks flushed with excitement.

“I just saw the photos of Charles wearing his new jacket.” He says. “A mini Leclerc on the way, how wonderful! Congratulations to you both.”

“What? No, there’s no …” you start to protest, but Carlos is already walking away.

Charles comes up beside you, having overheard. “This is getting out of hand,” he mutters. “We need to clear this up.”

“I know!” You say. “I feel bad, they all seem so excited. They must think we’re hiding a pregnancy from them.”

An idea comes to you then. Turning to Charles, you say loudly, “Honey, why don’t we go introduce the baby to everyone? I know they’re all just dying to meet him!”

Charles catches on immediately, smiling slyly. “Of course! Let’s go get our little one right now.”

You nod, linking your arm through his. As you walk away, you hear gasps and murmurs behind you.

“They already had the baby? When did this happen?”

“I can’t believe they’ve been hiding it all this time!”

You have to stifle a laugh. Charles grins and squeezes your hand.

In his driver’s room, your puppy is napping contentedly on a plush dog bed. Charles scoops him up gently so as not to wake him. Cradling the pup, you both head back out to the hospitality suite.

Everyone turns to look at you eagerly as you enter. Carlos steps forward, craning his neck to see the bundle in Charles’ arms.

“Here he is!” You announce proudly. “Our baby boy!”

Charles turns so they can see the sleeping dachshund nestled against his bomber jacket. A shocked silence falls over the room.

“Wha … that’s not a baby!” Carlos splutters. “That’s a dog!”

You and Charles just shrug with matching sly smiles. “He’s our baby.”

As the puppy yawns and stretches in Charles’ arms, licking his chin affectionately, you know with certainty that your furry new addition will be showered with just as much love and adoration as you both share for one another.

Who could ask for anything more?

[mv1simp]

You Get Me So High ♥️

Max Verstappen x Strategist!Reader

you get me so high, taking deep deep breaths (speeding up the heartbeat bangin out my chest)

As McLaren’s latest addition to the strategy team, you’ve worked hard to get to where you are, never being one to party too hard in college. But when you’re finally dragged to your first messy house party, you’re curious to get a taste of the drinks and party drugs you’d never tried before. Who better to corrupt your innocence than the F1 driver who hates you, Max Verstappen?

Content includes: 18+ MDNI, smut, dark!max, innocent! Reader, dubcon, explicit drug and illicit substances use, enemies to lovers, somno, 4.1k WC

Looking around the crowded house party, you took in the various Monaco elites and celebrities that laughed in the dim lighting. You hadn’t exactly known what to expect when one of your friends at the sports car company you’d started working for, McLaren, insisted that you finally needed to learn to party hard just as much as you worked. You supposed you had earned your Friday off, having joined the race strategy division 6 months ago and being responsible for numerous winning strategies this year - catching the attention of many annoyed competitions.

But your work in the F1 paddock was the furthest thing on your mind as you finally attended your first Monaco party. You took in the bottles of alcohol, the people passing joints and smoking a hookah by the pool. It wasn’t that you were naturally very naive or innocent. Or that you had some moral high ground that had stopped you from going out to college parties or having one night stands. It was more just that you’d been brought up to have a one track mind, to only focus on your academics and schoolwork only. And it had paid off and rewarded handsomely, with your rising fame as McLaren’s newest strategist at such a young age.

So you’d never quite learnt how to fit in the party scene and shyly stood at your friend’s side as she chatted away to someone else. Even though you’re feeling out of place, you certainly don’t look the part in a tight minidress, long flowy mesh sleeves and white lace giving an almost angelic contrast to the revealing sweetheart neckline. You’d noticed a few eyes wandering over you appreciatively, again making you feel nervous excitement at the chance of having a first hook up tonight. You had years of missed out college experiences to catch up on, and there was no better place than a messy house party filled with endless supply of drinks, illicit substances and attractive guys.

You’re lost in the planning of where exactly you should start when your eyes meet an intense pair of blue eyes that narrow at you. You gasp as you see Max Verstappen across the crowded room, cold expression on his handsome face even in the heat of the summer’s night. It was no secret that the current world champion was not a fan of McLaren this season as they proved to be the biggest contestant to his 4th win. And he especially was not a fan of you, whose strategy had consistently landed Oscar and Lando on the podium…and cost Max the P1.

Of course, you’d found his entitlement and arrogance extremely rude when he brushed you off anytime you’d been introduced. You were simply just doing a good job and leading your team to a constructor’s cup win - couldn’t he respect that as someone who was ambitious himself? But it didn’t matter how many times the two of you had run into each other on the paddock or when you’d accompanied the McLaren drivers to Monaco events. Max Verstappen only reserved his warm laugh and gentle eyes for Lando and Oscar, acting as if you were an invisible object he couldn’t care less for. It’d hurt your feelings to always be sidelined while he cutely smiled at others but glowered at you, because you’d developed a crush the first time you saw Max. The Dutch Lion’s tall, strong build that towered above you, his intense features and even intenser passion for his sport were all things you’d become enamoured with. But admiration turned to disdain for the driver that had now pointedly turned away from you, clearly offended that someone like you was at the same party as him.

Scoffing, you rolled your eyes at his cockiness. Just because he was a F1 athlete didn’t mean he was any better than anyone else here! Plucking a bottle of wine from a chilled bin, you took annoyed swigs and vowed to not let Max get in the way of enjoying the night.

But a few hours later, when people have dispersed off into little groups scattered throughout the large house, you run into Max. You were wandering around looking for your friend, slightly swaying on your heels, a bit tipsy but still coherent, enjoying the loud catchy music. Hearing a noise from a closed bedroom door along the hallway, you open it without a second thought.

Oh- you say, startled at the scene of a few people dotted along a couple couches in a small room, engaging in low conversation as hazy smoke fills the air. You apologize, thinking you’re interrupting, but a couple of guys have stood up in interest and invite you to come in. You blush, still in the doorway, enjoying the rush at seeing them check you out - but are snapped out of it when a deep voice grumbles for you to get inside or go away, you’re letting all the weed out.

The irritation in the Dutch voice is unmistakable as Max Verstappen tilts his head to the side, meeting your eyes, and you realize with a jolt the broad back you’d seen on one of the sofas belonged to the F1 driver who disliked you the most. You hastily close the door behind you, walking in, the drinks you’d taken having given you the courage to confront the arrogant man instead of letting him be rude to you for once.

He meets your gaze easily, pretty blue eyes shining through even in the dark room that’s only illuminated by a few lamps. In the background you hear music playing over the speaker and one of the guys who’d invited you in offering you a hit. But your attention somehow remains on Max, as he replies for you and says Nah mate, she doesn’t do that stuff. Too much of a good girl to get high.

An indignant expression crossed your pretty face, and you purse your glossed lips at him before you sit down next to him and grab the offered joint. Wanna bet, Verstappen? His friends oohhh at your bratty tone, enjoying the reaction you’re winding up in Max. He narrows his eyes at you, clearly thinking you were bluffing. Go on then, sweetheart he says with a mocking smirk. Here, I’ll even light you up.

Taking a deep breath, you place the unfamiliar joint in between your thick lips, and then Max is suddenly in your space. He leans in close, searching eyes never leaving your wide brown ones as he brings the lighter upto your joint. The small flame illuminates the dim space and for a second it’s like you’re the only two people in the room.

And then you inhale a puff of weed-tinted air and cough at the horrible taste, finding it burns your throat. Max smirks knowingly at your inexperienced technique as his two friends laugh in amusement, telling Max he was so right, you had no idea what you were doing.

You flush in embarrassment, hating how they thought of you as some stupid naive girl. You wanted to prove you were such as capable of enjoying guilty pleasures as them. Determined, you ask Max to show you how then, if he was such a pro at getting stoned himself?

Another glimmer of interest sparks in Max’s eyes at your challenge. You breathe an internal sigh of relief, half convinced that he was just going to kick you out. Instead he murmurs sure, Princess, making you bristle at the condescending nickname. But you obediently let him guide you through another hit, making him chuckle as you cutely try to suppress your cough on the second attempt. To your surprise he patiently talks you through it again, bringing you closer to tuck you against his warm chest so he can demonstrate for you. He looks so good, you think looking up at him a little dazedly, as he easily inhales from the joint, not wasting a single wisp of smoke. The dim light highlights his angular face and attractive lips as he exhales slowly, forming a ring of O smoke with his talented tongue. You gasp in delight, voicing that was so cool, how did he do that?

He chuckles as your enthusiasm, handed it back to you to practise some more. You’re taking more hits, better each time, and his friends wander off now as they grow bored of seeing their mate reel in another pretty girl they’d wanted to ruin themselves. You’re not sure how much time has passed but at some point you realize there’s only a couple others left in the room, off in the corner themselves and giving you and Max your own private bubble. The Dutch champion is watching you intently, looking focused despite the hits he’d smoked and beer he was slowly drinking. Are you feeling anything yet, sweetheart? He murmurs huskily into your ears, sending shivers straight to your pussy. You cutely shake your head no, oblivious to how many hits you’d actually taken.

How are you so good at this, you whine, tongue loosened after the weed, saying it’s so unfair, why are you so good at everything? Rich and a F1 driver and super hot? Max laughs then, and you think you feel your heart race at the sound you’d grown to be secretly obsessed with when you heard it on the paddock. He knew a way to make sure you were getting the weed fully in your system, to make sure you were actually inhaling it, he offers, a devious smirk on his face.

You excitedly jump forward, practically in his lap as you ask how? Show me, please Max! You don’t even notice when he wraps a thick arm around your small waist, bringing your plush ass fully onto thick thighs. Instead you’re fixated on the hit he takes, holding it in - and then he gently tilts your head up, rubbing a large thumb across your pink lips. You gasp at his touch and then he’s exhaling the puff through your lips, sealing it inside your mouth with a chaste kiss.

The fact that you saw nothing scandalous about his actions should have been your first sign that you were well and truly high out of your mind. Instead, you look up at him adoringly when he breaks the soft kiss, telling him that felt so good, Maxie. You definitely got so much more of the weed that time, co-could you please do it again?

The blonde driver smirks, licking his lips like one of his Bengal cats when he has his prey right where he wants it. He doesn’t have to be asked twice, his gaze taking in your heaving, plush tits and the swell of your juicy, caramel ass where your minidress has ridden up. Soon he’s exhaling puff after puff into your willing mouth, sliding his greedy tongue in after each one, every hit resulting in a deeper and sloppier kiss. You’re getting so into it, too, mind addled from the ridiculous amount of weed you’d done. It was making your panties all wet and sticky, you whined, completely disinhibited, as you started desperately grinding on Max’s muscular thighs.

He cooed at you to let him help then, baby, he knew just how to make you feel good. You nod frantically, wanting him to bring you some relief. He was sooo nice to take care of you like this! It’s hard to keep track of what’s going on through your hazy mind and smoke in the air, but you feel something hard and big rubbing against your soaked panties through Max’s jeans. His large hands have slid your dress up around your hips, palming your ass and controlling the pace as he drags your sensitive, swollen clit across his impressive erection. You toss your head back, high on the weed and pleasure Max is giving you, sweat gliding down your neck and dripping down your neckline. You cum like that, riding your orgasm out on his bulging thigh and collapse tiredly against him. You’re content to fall asleep, in his secure embrace that stabilises your body which feels it could collapse any second. But then you hear it - wet, sinful sounds and muffled moans rising up through the rhythmic music in the background.

You lift your head off Max’s broad shoulder, curiosity piqued, and he smiles at your interest. He turns your head as he guides you to look at the freaky couple in the other corner, where a guy has a girl on her knees as he practically fucks her face into the wall behind her. Your jaw drops in astonishment. Looks fun, doesn’t it baby? Max whispers teasingly in your ear. You swallow, panting and nod yes, yes it does, you’d never done that before…

He doesn’t hesitate to whisper a dirty offer by your ears. I’ll have teach you how, then. His ice blue eyes don’t miss the blush on your face as you lower your gaze, suddenly feeling embarrassed as your orgasm high starts to fade. He knows just how to make sure you come crawling back to him again. Or can the sweet McLaren strategist not handle him, hmm? One time was enough to make you tap out?

Predictably, you blush again but with anger, stumbling as you try to climb off him and furiously saying that you could easily keep up with him, you’ll happily prove it again at the next party! Chuckling at your cute indignation, he follows you out, catching your stumbling figure to help guide you into a taxi. There’s no way he’s letting anyone else take advantage of the sweet little treasure he’s discovered tonight. He slides into the backseat with you and drops you home, leaving you wanting more when he gently rubs soothing circles on your bare thighs but you’re prideful to ask for more out of the hazy, seductive room. Yet, you don’t stop thinking about the addictive feeling for days after, almost hoping he’d gotten out of the car with you and come upstairs instead of leaving.

So the next time your friends are heading out to town, mentioning that a bunch of the drivers are going to be there, you can’t wait to go. You make sure you’re dressed in another revealing outfit, makeup done to perfection, looking the very picture of sin as you walk onto the booming dancefloor in strappy heels. Max takes one look at you across the room and is instantly by your side, pulling you into him and well away from the interested stares of other men. He was going to be the only one to lay a hand on you tonight, after all.

He has you coming to the VIP lounge with him, telling you that it was time to up the stakes if you really wanted to prove you weren’t a boring homebody. You confidently accept this challenge, having gotten high with smoking a couple more joints recently, ready to prove Max wrong with your much improved technique. You had no idea that your rival has something very different in mind.

Pulling you down with a squeal onto his lap again, he plies you with a couple of drinks, just enough to make you relaxed and a bit tipsy. You give into the kisses he starts giving you, turning into a deep make out within seconds. You’re glad that you’re in a private booth around the corner, out of sight from the rest of the clubgoers. But still, if anyone came over to greet Max, it would be bad-

You suddenly feel Max’s skillful tongue slip an unfamiliar tablet into your mouth, giving you no choice but to swallow it as he forces himself deep down your throat to sloppily make out. When he finally releases you, you shove his chest angrily, telling him off for being such a sneaky asshole, but don’t move from the comfortable position you’re in, sitting across his lap.

After you demand to know what he’d given you, he shrugs casually, telling you to relax, it was just some molly. At your blank expression, he laughs and says Sorry, maybe someone as nerdy as you knows it as ecstasy? MD?

Your eyes widen as the realisation of just what he’d given you hits. You’re so nervous, never having done anything like that before, but it’s too late because it’s well on its way through your system now. Sensing your anxiety, Max soothes you, coaxing you to relax back against him, whispering that he’ll take really good care of you, the whole trip, I promise, okay baby?

His two faced promises work their magic and you let him glide his tongue into your soft mouth again, exploring it to his liking. Distracted, you barely notice the molly slowly starting to spread like wildfire through you - until it’s peaking, and you feel like you’re burning.

And soon enough you’re humping his lap with pupils the size of the moon, begging him have his way with you in the dark lounge. Whatever you want, baby he cooes at you with a smirk, pleased that you’d reacted to his little pill just as he’d predicted. Nothing beat getting high with you, the pretty, good girl who’d been fucking his wins over for the last 6 months. Now that he has you, he wasn’t going to stop till he ruins you completely.

He unties your slutty top easily, pulling at the string tying it up around your neck, letting it fall off your shoulders so he can get a delicious view of your bare bouncing tits. Fuck yes, all for me, pretty girl? he groans, letting his wicked tongue flick against your cute tanned nipples that had rapidly hardened in the air. You squeal in pleasure, burying your hands in his soft hair as he alternates between your juicy breasts, kissing and licking and biting on the tempting flesh right in front of him.

You swear you’d only closed your eyes for a second but somehow the next time you open them he has your miniskirt off too, and you’re left only in your delicate lace panties. You’re easily lifted and placed onto your back, sinking into the plush sofa as his now shirtless form climbs on top of you, thick arms caging in on either side of your head. You grind against him wantonly, the desire to feel him against you, inside you so much more intense than when you’d been on the weed. But you can barely verbalize your desire, feeling so blissed out all you do is open your drooling mouth and whine his name.

Shhh, I know baby, I know his deep voice rumbles, reassuring you. You’re not sure how exactly things progressed after that. You’re not sure how he went from grinding against you to his thick fingers slipping inside your pussy lips, scissoring you skilfully. You moan his name even louder, begging him for more, more!! and then he’s eating your hypersensitive cunny out. The slurping and dirty kisses he’s leaving down there has your head spinning even more than the molly does and you’re passing in and out of consciousness as you cum repeatedly on his fingers and tongue. The next time you blink your eyes open, you’re being carried out of the club in Max’s arms, redressed in your cute outfit, your heels in his hands.

You don’t remember much of what happened next. Something thick and hard is moving inside your mouth, pressing against the very back, wakes you out of your dazed sleep. You blink your eyes open, your mind trying to process just where you are. It takes a few minutes for you to orient yourself - and then you realize that you’re lying on your back, your whole body sinking into a plush mattress beneath you. Except for your neck, which dangles off the edge of the bed - at the perfect height for Max’s wide cock to slide in and out of your wet mouth, using your passed out body for his pleasure. Your muffled moans as you awake are drowned out by filthy, wet sounds when he noticed your eyes are open and speeds up his pace. His hands play with your large tits and squeeze your nipples meanly, before sliding down your soft tummy and then inside your pussy to finger you some more. He doesn’t stop thrusting roughly inside your already sore throat, bruising the back of it. You cum on his fingers, pussy fluttering and twitching on his digits, and he groans before tensing, emptying his thick load deep inside your mouth. His cum and spit dribble out to your pink lips when he pulls out. He grins wickedly at the sight of the once innocent strategist now looking like the top performer on OnlyFans. Except he’d kill anyone who tried to lay a hand on you now - he’s invested for too much to let anyone take the pretty girl that belongs to him.

And you’re such as eager for it as he is. Flashes of drug addled dreams come to you nightly, and you know you should be worried about the blanks in your memory, about the bruises his strong fingers had left behind but you can’t remember when. But instead you follow him around like a lost puppy, wanting his attention on you again. Your contract didn’t say anything about fucking the enemy, after all.

So the next time he has you lying on your back on his hotel floor, aftermaths of a celebration party littering it. But he’s kicked everyone out so that he can pull out a little baggie of white powder. Your eyes go wide with curiosity as you eagerly ask to try it, but he condescendingly tells you no, baby, this would be too much for a sweet girl like you. You puff up your cheeks cutely, but obediently follow his orders and reveal your top half for him, keeping your miniskirt on. He teasingly pours a straight line of white powder, right in between your plush caramel tits. Kissing up from your sensitive belly button, he keeps his eyes on yours as he snorts the line easily, picking up a tiny dab at the end on his finger and then rubbing it along your gums. You don’t even get a chance to react because his tongue is swirling around your brown nippled, making you arch into his talented mouth as he sucks and bites your sensitive areolas.

If the weed and molly had made you horny, the smidge of coke in your system has you transformed into a desperate slut, dripping and ready to be fucked. Max has you spreading yourself wide open for him, your pink wet pussy exposed for his pleasure without a hint of shyness in your cocaine addled brain. You’re dumbly begging him to fuck you down there, your virginity was all for him to take.

He doesn’t need to be asked twice. The world would go crazy if they knew this was how their beloved Redbull driver liked his girls - completely ruined, high out of their minds, and begging for him. But he knows that you wanted this just as much as he did. He sinks his rock hard shaft into your sweet folds, moaning as you eagerly take him all the way to the base. The coke has done wonders to relax your normally upright self, and he sets a mean pace right from the start, sickly enjoying the tears streaming down your face from the pleasure and bouncing of your tits which each powerful thrust.

You two fuck like bunnies, lost in the sinful pleasure of the highs from the white powder and orgasms mixing together. The cocaine in your system makes your stamina endless, ready for round after round. And considering Max’s already impressive energy levels given his status as a F1 driver, well….let’s just say that by the time he’s fully satisfied you’d passed out long ago, drooling into the sheets. Getting high always made his cum so much more, too, and your abused cunny takes several loads of his hot sticky seed inside its gummy walls, twitching around his length.

When Max finally pulls out, making your shared juices leak out of your overstuffed hole, he can’t resist taking a photo to tease you with later. He’s going to use it to bully you into taking the aphrodisiac he plans on slipping you at the next race weekend, after all. He leans down to deviously whisper in your ear, your sleeping figure oblivious to his mean words. Let’s see how well you strategise when all you’re thinking about is getting fucked by me, princess.

—————————————————————————

A/N: ok realistically this obvi cannot happen for countless reasons INCLUDING the fact that max was like “yeah the FIA randomly banged on my motorhome at 7am and made me do a drug pee test 🙄” but a girl can dream right??

[ghostlyferrettarot]

🛸🖤Midheaven in the signs🖤🛸

❗️All the observations in this post are based on personal experience and research, it's completely fine if it doesn't resonate with everyone❗️

✨️Paid Services ✨️ (Natal charts and tarot readings) Open!

🛸If you like my work you can support me through Ko-fi. Thank you!🛸

🖤Masterlist🖤

🛸Midheaven in Aries: Self-confidence and extroversion are their main tools; self-sufficient, they seek to prove themselves at all levels. Professional careers that involve movement, individual action and proving their leadership abilities are favorable to them.

🛸Midheaven in Taurus: Their perseverance and determination help them achieve their goals. They take into account their gifts, resources and abilities and how to exploit them. Professional careers that allow them to manifest beauty and practicality are favorable to them, such as agriculture, sculpture, architecture, agronomy, painting and finance.

🛸Midheaven in Gemini: Great communication skills. Flexible, analytical, receptive, agile, versatile, adaptable, with great observational capacity, they can carry out several tasks at once without problems. Professional careers linked to the processes of communication and contact with society are favorable to them, such as journalism, commerce, diplomacy and education.

🛸Midheaven in Cancer: Planners and protectors; Individualistic, sensitive, firm and intuitive. Another point to keep in mind is to practice fluidity in your daily life. Professional careers that help channel assistance to others are favorable for you, such as psychology, gynecology, cooking and psychotherapy.

🛸Midheaven in Leo: You pursue success relentlessly, and sometimes you do not allow yourself to enjoy it. You have clear objectives and the perseverance and tenacity necessary to achieve them. Noble, generous, motivating, trustworthy, with leadership skills; you must learn to control arrogance. Professional careers with great autonomy are favorable for you, such as political positions, business management and dramaturgy.

🛸Midheaven in Virgo: You maintain a constant and methodical effort to achieve your objectives; critical, detail-oriented, positive, organized, innovative and with a great willingness to learn. You must avoid neuroses and the accumulation of objects. Professional careers oriented towards collaboration and with an appreciation of details, such as mechanics, languages, nutrition and crafts, are favorable for you.

🛸Midheaven in Libra: They plan and execute their strategy calmly, taking care of the details and feasibility. They are sociable, adaptable and diplomatic, and they like harmony. Professional careers that offer variety and where they can comfortably develop their sense of justice and balance are favorable to them. A classic example is the study of law, diplomacy, public relations and the arts.

🛸Midheaven in Scorpio: They have a tendency to manipulate others to achieve their interests. Ambitious, determined, direct, brave, skillful and capable of facing difficult transformation processes. Professional careers that privilege research and strategy are favorable to them, such as psychoanalyst, psychiatrist, private investigator, chemist and anthropologist.

🛸Midheaven in Sagittarius: They are constantly moving. Intuitive, open, creative, with strong convictions and ideals. They are favourable to professional careers that work directly by appealing to the philosophy of life of individuals, such as religion, philosophy, or spiritual guidance. They also excel in astronomy, ecology and sports.

🛸Midheaven in Capricorn: Ambitious, practical, predictable and modest. Protective, efficient, serious, concentrated, focused, they can fall into nonconformity and obstinacy, in relation to the results they obtain. They are favourable to professional careers that require their knowledge of administration and organization, such as architecture, politics, administration of companies or public institutions, and geology.

🛸Midheaven in Aquarius: They wish to build a better world for everyone, but they feel the need to constantly test the scope of their knowledge. This position indicates a constant search for wisdom. Cooperators, avant-garde, they must cultivate the freedom of spirit to achieve the awakening of consciousness they long for. They are favourable to professional careers that promote the use of technologies and the mass dissemination of ideas, such as journalist, writer, community manager, publicist and others.

🛸Midheaven in Pisces: Patient, sensitive, simple and compassionate, they seek to understand the meaning of life, so they have philosophical and religious concerns, as well as a deep desire to live with simplicity. They must learn that spirituality is not a concept at odds with success. Professional careers related to the management and expression of feelings, such as the arts, psychology, research and public relations, are favorable to them.

[venusbyline]

Prince ࿐ྂ Kinktober. 08, oct.

— pairing: Aemond Targaryen x aunt!reader

— type: smut, dark, Kinktober (House of the Dragon Edition)

— kink: somnophilia

— summary: Aemond needs an heir if Aegon finally dies. Gwayne Hightower's wife is too drunk to notice his manipulation.

— word count: 1.7k

— tags/warnings: kinktober 8th day, Targcest (aunt/nephew), female!reader, Gwayne Hightower's wife!reader, dark!Aemond, somnophilia, dubcon/non-con, age gap (older woman/younger man), breeding kink, drunk sex, creampie, sexism, manipulation, fingering, infidelity & mistaken infidelity, curse words, marriage issues, dom!Aemond, sub!reader, baby fever, Aegon II Targaryen mentioned, Helaena Targaryen mentioned, Alicent Hightower mentioned, mentioned Jaehaera Targaryen, minor Gwayne Hightower x reader, porn with plot. no use of y/n. english is not my first language.

— tagging list: @baybaybear1 @blessedbymoon @p45510n4f4shi0n @lina-lovebug @moonnicole

— crossposting: AO3

At the moment, Aemond Targaryen possessed everything he desires. All the power he had envied his entire childhood was now no longer just a pure stupid illusion and becoming reality. With each passing hour, he became more powerful and also more ambitious.

The hunger for power was consuming him from head to toe.

As the Prince Regent, he practically had the throne to himself. He commanded and dismantled whoever he wanted. He made the main decisions. He could demand anything, and no matter how much the Small Council questioned and irritated him, it was Aemond who had the last word. He was running the war now.

Aemond had the commoners and Lords at his feet and was also and the fear that his family felt of him. Nothing was missing in his life for now. But his brilliant mind thought far ahead of the present time. Aemond Targaryen was not just cunning and greedy. He had an incredible sense of strategy and an incredible ability to manipulate all situations.

Now that part of his revenge against Aegon was already done, he needed to focus on the present and the future, leaving the outrages of his childhood aside for a few moments.

He was the Prince Regent, perhaps the future Lord of the Seven Kingdoms if Aegon's body finally decided to give in to suffering after the severe burns.

Aemond could be the new successor to the Iron Throne very soon. And a King was nothing without an heir.

Aemond had not known you for a long time. When his uncle, Gwayne Hightower, came to King's Landing to join Aegon's army in battle, you came along with him. Aemond did not like the idea of having another noble Lady in the castle. Alicent was already a pain in the ass since he kicked her out of the Council, Helaena was being useless since Jaehaerys' murder and little Jaehaera was just a silly child. He was afraid that you would irritate his patience just like his family's women did.

However, you were too focused on worrying about your husband's safety and praying for him in the Sept along with Alicent. Aemond often found himself thinking about you more than he wanted to. The way you sighed by frustration every time Gwayne left to solve some problem with the Royal Guard... Aemond could barely hide his smirk when he realized how neglected you felt.

If it was about someone else, Aemond would say that you were just spoiled needy whore and that his uncle was right to put the safety of his family first. If it was about anyone else, Aemond would never consider giving you what you seemed to want so much when you looked at Helaena playing with Jaehaera.

He needed an heir and you wanted a child to distract yourself from the neglected marriage. There would be no better deal than that.

That night, when Ser Gwayne Hightower left your chambers early because of a random emergency, the Prince Regent could not miss the opportunity to offer you a glass of wine to drown your suffering. At first, he started a brief and respectful conversation with you, noticing how your cheeks flushed as you drank the wine.

You were not used to drinking with any man other than Gwayne, much less your own nephew. Making criticisms about Gwayne to Aemond seemed too bitter and cruel. Gwayne did not deserve all that. He was a good husband, even if the focus of his life was not on your marriage.

When Aemond brought up the conversation about the absence of children in your lives, you immediately tried to change the subject, just saying that Gwayne did not want to have babies.

Aemond noticed how the subject bothered you. He noticed the way you curled up on the edge of the bed and tightened your grip on the glass. Before you could think of something less uncomfortable to talk about, Aemond took control of the situation, lying about Gwayne meeting a prostitute in one of the brothels on Street of Silk.

At first, you thought he was just joking. Afterwards, you thought the Prince was lying to mock you. But when Aemond kept coming up with false explanations, you finally gave in and believed what he was saying.

He served you another five glasses of wine, putting up with your crying and drunken outbursts. Until your body finally gives up and you fall asleep.

Aemond checked more than three times to see if your chamber's door was indeed locked. When he was sure that no one would come to interrupt anytime soon, Aemond moved to the edge of his bed, kneeling down and observing your drunk and sleepy figure. He looked at your rosy face from so much wine, as well as your reddish burgundy-stained lips.

He smirked as he ran his thumb over your cheek, the soft texture of your skin being one of the most delicious things his calloused fingers had the pleasure of touching. It was so different from the brothels prostitutes. It felt innocent and pure, even though you were married and no longer a maiden.

You still had enough innocence to be worthy of carrying the possible heir to the Iron Throne.

Aemond lifted your nightgown, hearing your confused and sleepy whimper as the soft satin fabric came off and exposed your skin to the light night breeze that came through the windows.

Your face moved to the side, your sleep becoming disturbed when Aemond ripped off your underwear. The sight of your bare thighs made him growl lowly, placing his large palms around your legs, spreading them apart so he could get a better look at your cunt, already so wet that it made your pubic hairs gleam even in the dark room, lit only by the candle flames.

The prince ran his thumb between your folds to collect your essence that was leaking from the little hole, moving his hand up so he could rub your bud. You contorted your body, your drunken state preventing you from waking up for now, but your legs still shook as Aemond's finger increased the pressure applied to your clit.

When your cunt was prepared enough to at least avoid so much pain, Aemond allowed himself to waste considerable time so he could take off all the pieces of clothing he was wearing, his cock already well marked in his braies. He swallowed hard for a moment, undoing the tie and lowering the fabric. After throwing it in any corner of the room, Aemond brought his hand to his mouth to spit on the palm and rub it on his own cock, sighing at the sensation and paying special attention to the pink glans.

He rubbed himself a few times until he was hard enough, then used his free hand to spread your legs even wider. His thumb made gentle circles on your clit again, as he slowly leaned in, entering your tight cunt and letting out a growl at the overwhelming sensation.

"Fuck..." He bit his lip, arching his head up and with his eye closed, resting one hand on your waist and the other remaining caressing your bud.

It took his thick cock a few seconds to fully enter your tight walls, blood dripping from his bottom lip as he bit down to avoid too many sounds, even though your confused whimpers were starting to fill the chambers. “A-Aemond…” You opened your eyes, your vision blurred when you tried to sit up, but too weak to do anything as he thrust into you.

"Shhh, dear aunt..." He opened his one eye, giving you a breathless smirk, rubbing your pearl roughly enough to make you moan with a mixture of fear and pleasure. Gwayne had not given you enough attention during the past months, your body was desperate for any good feeling now. "Am I not making you feel good?"

You fell silent, pathetic whimpers escaping your mouth. You wanted to lie that it was not good, that you were hating it and feeling violated. That he should not do these things. That you loved your husband more than anything in the world. But what would be the point? Aemond had given you absolute certainty that Gwayne was having affairs with random women. That would explain a lot of things, including the lack of sex in your marriage since then.

Your brain was too drunk to reason what made sense and what did not, so you just nodded, affirming the pleasure he was giving you.

"Good girl... Tightening my cock with that pretty tight cunt of yours." The prince smiled with an almost sweet and affectionate way and you blushed innocently, vulnerable from the alcohol. "Do you want to continue, darling?"

You should say no. You should scream with panic for the guards to come and save you, even if no one would go against the Prince Regent's wishes. However, you should try anything to get him out of you, try anything to stop him from contaminating you. You should try to say no, but you don't want to.

"Please, nephew. Keep going..." You whimpered, your hands shaking from the drink going to his muscular shoulders and bringing him closer to you, the head of his cock hitting you deep.

Aemond chuckled at how easily you gave in, every glass of wine being worth it. You moaned beneath him like a dirty whore, but you were still as beautiful and pure like a Goddess, your cheeks flushed, your eyes rolling back in pleasure, your legs shaking... "Oh, my dear... It looks like you really want to keep going." He scoffed and you nodded silently, closing your eyes as the rhythm of his hips began to become more violent. "How about if I give you a little baby? Did you want that, aunt? To carry my heir? To finally be a mother?"

Watching you nodding with confusion and moaning his name was all Aemond needed to fill you with his seed, his cum staining your thighs as he continued fucking you even after his orgasm. He would deal with Gwayne Hightower's fate later. He was the Prince Regent, he could fake an accidental death for his uncle and marry his wife before your belly started to get big and swollen with his baby. Aemond had time to think about what to do. At the moment, all he needed was to make sure your cunt did not waste a single drop of his seed. All he needed was to make sure you were pregnant that night.

HOTD Edition - Masterlist

Criminal Minds Edition - Masterlist

Venusbyline's Kinktober 2024 - Masterlist

[worldsover]

Iff ft. Yujin

length ✦ 10.9k

genres ✧ breeding, as in breeding breeding, as in actual pregnancy kink; degrading petplay; NEVER underestimate my lack of sanity; super subby puppy gf with baby fever!Yujin

✦✧✦✧✦✧

It is necessarily true that there exists an ideal number of offspring for each human female from a purely genetic standpoint. Our distant ancestors who survived countless millennia of famine, warfare, and disease were those whose genomes encoded a certain target number for offspring; this number was close enough to just above two children that random fluctuations in fertility could never deviate much below or above that figure. For these women, at least, natural selection would penalize having either fewer or more children than their genes desired, as this would diminish the proportion of their offspring in subsequent generations. This principle extends even today: A 2021 study by Hutchings revealed significant variability in the number and size of offspring among species, driven by genetic and developmental factors. This suggests a non-fixed ideal number of offspring, adapting to societal changes and living conditions.

Even after tens of thousands of years, we are still these animals. That is, Homo sapiens sapiens does not differ greatly from its parent species Homo sapiens when it comes to such biological imperatives as sex and reproduction. Yet only a fraction of people maintain a lifestyle that mirrors contingent strategies favored by evolution, resulting in a massive imbalance between evolved psychology and modern life. Although humans may no longer face the constant threat of starvation posed by an unforgiving wilderness, problems evolve in the same way—we do not have nearly enough children to replace the adult population, at least in many developed countries. The United States, Canada, Australia, and many European countries are experiencing population decline, but nowhere is this phenomenon more exacerbated than in East Asia, with particularly acute examples in China, Japan, and South Korea. Our subject for examination lies within the context of the latter nation, wherein perhaps a solution may be found through the example of Ahn Yujin.

You and Yujin are going to work toward fixing this new, evolved problem by starting a family. With her fervor and your virility, you just might do this single-handedly—if not, at least you two will leave that target number in the dust. The world will thank you, and you, the world, for yielding you Yujin. The future is assured, so long as you can satisfy your breeding needs.

Yujin fits the archetype for having large numbers of offspring: there must have existed designs for Yujin's body as the template for prolific breeders. Even the most conservative anthropologist would admit Yujin's hips are ideal for childbearing, especially in proportion to her height. Her breasts are not the largest, but they are certainly sufficient enough for breastfeeding—and if not that, at least your own tit-sucking pleasures. Her lithe body was built to breed, and above any physical attributes, the mind within only confirms that impression.

She is eager, insatiable, and obedient. You tell her to strip, and she is naked in seconds. You tell her to go on all fours, and she is on all fours. You tell her to put her lips around your cock, and she is deepthroating you in an instant. And when you tell Yujin that she's now your little puppy to train and use as you please, she follows your command gladly.

Her greatest fantasy is being bred hard and often, and this is the fantasy most oft fulfilled by you, her master. It starts with the collar around her neck: an innocuous thing, leather and black, with a silver buckle in the front, and a ring in the back through which you put a leash. When she has that collar on, she is not the confident, witty, ambitious woman who commands everyone's attention—she is your pet, "Puppy", as so engraved in delicate silver script on the black leather.

The collar rarely leaves her neck at this point, a couple of years into your relationship. By now, she's your live-in pet.

You don't even remember the last time you used a condom. That was months ago, at least—a year? Ever since she moved in, you've been savoring Yujin's raw, slick walls on your cock, and she gets off on the all-filling feeling of your semen seeping into her fertile womb. If it weren't for the pill, Yujin would have been knocked up long ago. Despite that, each time you make love, you talk about breeding, playing at dreams of impregnating her with plenty of pups. She moans "please" on each thrust, and you know exactly what she's begging for when she whispers that "Master's cum is gonna be Daddy cum any day now." When the two of you are ready, there is no doubt that Yujin will become the mother of your children.

You and Yujin have many ways of making love, ranging from rough hair-pulling to gentle adoration. But one element always remains the same: the collar that transforms her into a wild, lustful creature, erasing all thoughts as soon as it's clasped around her slender neck. Her urgent pleas for you to release your load deep inside her are often met with little resistance, but occasionally you like to make her work for it—teasing and edging her until she whines and begs, this desperate bitch in heat. Then, you offer her a choice: continue being edged for another hour or allow yourself to impregnate her with your potent seed, guaranteed to result in triplets. Which will it be?

The answer, of course, is that both are correct. Why should we deprive ourselves of what nature gave us? If one woman loves being bred, why not breed her constantly? If another wants to be edged, why deny her? False dichotomies like these remain pervasive. Be sexually dominant or submissive; enjoy sex or romance; fuck like rabbits or make love tenderly—these can all exist together, if we so allow them to.

For example, there are always two women at play with your girlfriend: the Yujin who is a vibrant social butterfly, curious and never satisfied with sitting still; and the Yujin who lives and breathes your cock in daily routine, the Yujin who will happily let you lock her away in a dark room if you promised to give her your cum. You love both Yujins: a charming conversationalist, always cool and collected; a horny, obedient slut, who you train to do tricks in exchange for cum, who will only bark if her master so demands. There is no need to choose between these two Yujins, and you would not dream of doing so.

Or, consider the most misleading of dilemmas, being a young couple with kids, or being a young couple that stays together. Humans have grown rich enough and powerful enough to craft a society where the worst thing that could happen to a young couple—pregnancy at an inconvenient time—no longer threatens them in the same way. Now that people no longer have to marry their first stable match or die alone, now that everyone has gotten a little bit smarter and more independent, the universe is filled with possibilities for love and affection. This future child you make with Yujin could grow up in an environment where they would want for nothing, especially not siblings, for you'll give them plenty to spare. Thus, to knock Yujin up is hardly the disaster it would have been in our primitive past. Rather, you both should celebrate it.

This is not to say that every single person is the same. Not many women are as dedicated to the goal of impregnation as Yujin, and not many men are as driven to fill a receptive body with their progeny as you are. The series of coin flips and card draws that led to your personalities, to this relationship that binds you, is quite unlikely to repeat itself.

Yujin recognizes the rarity of the match. Even in the first meeting, she was as astute as a hunter dog, scenting prey, noting all the signs in the forest that you were the one. That night, after your friend invited Yujin to the bar, small talk quickly became deep conversation. Yujin asked your opinion on something. You gave it. Yujin replied, "Oh, I like a guy who takes charge." A few minutes later, she said she had to use the bathroom. She left her purse with you. Yujin did not return for another ten minutes, and when she did, it was with flushed cheeks and sweat on her brow. You asked her what took so long, and she answered, "You're so hot. I might have… been doing something naughty."

"Bad girl," you said.

At this point, your friend knew to leave.

You understand that Yujin is still the same girl, only with more of herself exposed to you—not just literally. She's been hinting at the concept of properly mating for weeks now, but she needed you to make the first move. It's a bit like old times, the nights after you met, the weeks you danced around each other's desires. Whenever she hinted at her interest, you weren't stupid enough to be oblivious—every word dripped with innuendo, every glance a flirt, every movement an invitation. But you built tension with purpose. She was too special to sleep with on the first date. In much the same way, what was once mere fantasy, empty talk of impregnating Yujin during sex, is starting to take on the shape of reality. In this sense, here returns Yujin the hunter dog, searching for a new quarry: your future family.

However, this is not lust alone. The chemicals that control desire can't do all the work in this relationship. When Yujin asks you more frequently about your opinion on having kids, you don't ignore it as simple pillow talk; she is gauging your willingness to commit. Because you love her, because she's right for you, past the sex and the fantasies, you take her seriously. Yujin speaks with infectious enthusiasm about her friends who have recently become mothers, all of whom are convinced that you two would make fantastic parents. Casually, she mentions she's not taking birth control anymore.

"I might be ovulating soon." "The doctor said I'm in my prime right now." "Do you think I'd be a good mother? You'll be a good daddy, for sure."

To that last question, you assure her, over and over, with the certainty that Yujin deserves. "The best mommy. I promise."

You find her researching baby names. Starts looking up parenting tips and ideas for nursery decorations. She's even helped you plan out your dream family home. There's something different about how Yujin looks at you. She's thinking about pregnancy, not just as a topic of conversation, not just as a fetish, but as a goal.

Concerns and fears, worries and hopes, you discuss them thoroughly, sometimes after sex, when Yujin is too tired to move and she lies in bed with your cock still inside her, cum on her lips, your hands around her belly feeling her body and dreaming of what it might become. Talks of plans become more and more serious as you set aside money and time for this future family, thinking about moving out from this modest apartment to a proper house. But ultimately, here is Yujin, in your arms, by your side, an angel's face, eyes stolen from the stars as they twinkle.

Like when you first fell in love, everything lovely about Yujin becomes magnified, so how could you deny her? You hold her close and promise that you'll do anything to make her happy, to make her dreams come true. She whispers back, "I know. I've never felt so loved."

It isn't long before Yujin becomes more brazen. As you try to fall asleep, you hear wet sounds next to you as Yujin's fingers dive in her pussy, presumably to the idea of you impregnating her. The next morning, she confirms your suspicions, this time sending you a video from the bathtub as she masturbates and talks dirty about how much she worships your cum. She sends you amateur porn of women taking three creampies three times in a row, or pregnant women squirting milk onto the camera lens while riding a man.

Then, there's the actual sex between the two of you. "Do you want to knock me up? Come on, let's just do it now. Please? Can't you tell I need it?"

You're glad to continue teasing and edging Yujin until her desire is too much to bear, her eyes watering and face contorted with desperation. Her raw pussy tightens around you even more, begging for release. You tell her it's up to Master before pulling out and spraying cum over her stomach. Obedient as ever, she cleans it up and swallows it down but her frustration is clear—she wants to be filled completely. You're truthfully equally as ready to impregnate Yujin, sooner rather than later; you want to watch your seed blossom within her, want to see her stomach swell, her tits fill up with delicious milk, and her nipples grow fat with lust. The smell of her slick sex is intoxicating whenever you slip a hand down her pants, or spread her pussy wide open to taste.

After settling all the necessary financial and personal matters, Yujin stays busy with buying pregnancy tests, making lists, and studying every bit of advice on how to conceive. You each tell your families that you're trying, which is a funny way of saying "I'm going to fuck enough sperm into your fertile daughter that she's guaranteed to bear our children, and we're going to do it so often that she might as well never leave my cock," but you suppose that "trying" is the more polite way of putting it. Yujin's mother has already started preparing the nursery, and your parents are talking about visiting to help watch over her when she gets farther along in the pregnancy. You're ready to move into your new place, but not before this apartment where you first made love has its proper send-off.

You thought you'd witnessed the limits of Yujin's vulnerability. However, you've never seen your girlfriend quite as desperate, needy, and pathetic as you do on the morning you decide it's time to breed Yujin.

For days, you've teased her relentlessly—marked her bare neck with bruises and bite marks, denied Yujin her collar until she's earned it, edged her with your fingers and mouth, fucked her fast and rough, used her as a living fleshlight, edged her more with toys. Made her watch as you jacked off onto her abs, fed her a throatful, or plugged up her ass with a thick load.

"Master, please," she begged, over and over, as her pussy clenched on nothing. With her body painted abstract expressionist—soaked in cum like you're marking territory—you needed multiple towels to clean the slumberous Yujin so that the sheets weren't too sticky. Left one towel under her legs to catch her dripping arousal. By the time she went to sleep last night, her guts were full of your cum, while her mind was void of all thoughts except for one: the place your seed had yet to reach, aching to be fulfilled like the rest of her body.

When you wake early and find Yujin's body pressed against yours in bed, her sleep is fitful, due to this very lack of semen inside her womb. She tosses, turns, her body hot. You touch her forehead with your hand to check for a fever, but it's just the heat of her arousal making her sweat. You run your fingers down her spine. Her skin feels flushed. Looks it too, how red her cheeks are. The sun has barely begun its ascent, so its color makes her glow further. Your fingertips reach her tailbone, then slip lower, where you press against her clit. Her breathing quickens as she rouses awake, and you pull your hand back.

With each breath, her tits rise and fall; they feel heavier than usual in your hands. The mingled scents of sweat and sex surround you, but beneath it all is an added note that stirs your arousal. It's a familiar smell, one that always drives you wild. You recognize the telltale signs of Yujin's hormones going into overdrive, intensifying her already insatiable desires. Her nipples, already normally sensitive, become almost painfully hypersensitive to every touch. She can't get enough of your scent, pressing her nose against your chest, armpit, neck, and groin—anywhere she can inhale your intoxicating musk.

It's time. Yujin is ovulating today.

Yesterday, you checked the calendar and the apps and the notes; however, none of the charts factor the most important variable: your instincts. Yujin looks so damn adorable when she wakes up, eyes bleary, hair disheveled, mouth still sticky with drool, legs spread, and a wet spot in the towel from where her pussy has been leaking—this was always going to be the day.

You gently stroke behind your puppy's ear, brushing her cheek with affection. "Morning, my love" comes out as your softest whisper.

Yujin stirs in response, nuzzling her head against your shoulder as she slowly wakes from her slumber. She yawns and blinks several times before finally locking eyes with you, a sleepy smile spreading across her face. "Good morning, Master," she says, shifting closer to give you a gentle kiss on the lips. Then another ten kisses. Twenty. "I had the weirdest dream."

You smile against her lips as you run your fingers through her tousled hair. "Do tell."

She seems to remember that you've been edging her for days, her thighs rubbing together, the scent of her slick arousal thick in the air. Yujin giggles and buries her face in your chest. When she finally looks up again, her cheeks are tinged red, and Yujin avoids your gaze. "I dreamed… that you were fucking me—"

"Of course," you interject, grinning. You reach down between her legs, returning to her folds, feeling how hot she's gotten overnight. It takes no effort to slide one finger inside your girlfriend.

"—and then you came inside of me, and it was so warm, and I was so full, and…" Yujin trails off as you add another finger. "And then the next day, I felt different. Like something inside of me changed."

"Oh?" Your hand moves steadily in and out of her tightness as she speaks.

"Yes," Yujin murmurs, her breath coming out in short gasps. "It felt like there was a weight in my stomach, but not physically. It was hard to explain, but it just felt off."

You continue to pleasure Yujin with your fingers, watching as she writhes beneath you. She lets out a whimper at the sensation and spreads her thighs wider for you. As her body responds to your touch, she whispers with breathless urgency:

"So I put my hands on my tummy, trying to figure out why things felt so off, and then... Oh! I can't believe I'm telling you this!" she exclaims, hiding her face in your chest again.

"Everything. I want to hear the whole dream." You push deeper, curling your fingers inside her, searching for her G-spot. She moans, and you hear the faint squelching of her slick leaking out.

"Master!" she says, panting, louder, gasping for air. "I—oh god—I just knew it! I had your pups inside me. I knew, because my belly felt heavy, and my body felt strange, and there was a pressure on my chest, and, and my nipples were so, so sensitive, and when I touched them, milk came out, and—" Yujin cuts herself off with another sharp yelp, your fingerfucking reaching a crescendo. "Master! Please!"

You chuckle. "That was quite vivid, puppy." Withdrawing digits from your girlfriend's warmth, you sit up and position yourself behind her, pressing her soft curves into your body—she's always been such a perfect fit, in your lap, in your arms, in your life. On your cock too, as it nestles comfortably between her round, plump buttocks.

She shivers at your touch, and you know from the tremble that Yujin's close to her peak.

"Today."

Yujin's eyes widen in surprise as you utter the single word. It's almost magical, the way that one word can turn a dream into a reality more than any other before it. You understand her desires and share them with equal passion—although, at this moment, could anyone want anything as much as Yujin right now? Her breathing hitches even more as desire floods through every inch of her body. Her glazed eyes stare back at you with pure love, the dilated pupils barely showing any trace of color.

You nod, confirming what she already suspects. "Yes, Yujin, today is the day."

A single tear gathers at the corner of her eye, threatening to spill over. Her voice quivers and trails off as she struggles to speak. "Master..." Her breath catches in her throat. "Are we really... going to—"

You lean in and capture her lips with a deep, passionate kiss. "Yes," you whisper against her skin, sending shivers down her spine. "We are going to have a baby. Babies."

She moans loudly against your lips, unable to contain her excitement, as she grinds her body against yours. "Nngh, oh my god, yes, yes! Yes, I want to have my Master's puppies! Please, please, fuck my pussy, breed me, I love you, make my womb yours, breed me, breed me, breed, m-me, mmmh—" Her babbling dissolves into a series of incoherent noises, her mind lost to the lustful haze of your touch.

You reach up and grasp Yujin's nape firmly but gently, pulling her closer to you. "You'll be a good puppy for Master today, won't you?" You raise an eyebrow expectantly.

Yujin murmurs and whines, sounding like a dog who has been chastised, though she nods quickly.

"Good. We'll have all day today, and the whole weekend to fuck, to fill you with my seed. You can be as loud as you want. I don't want you to restrain anything. I want to see you lose yourself completely, and I don't care who hears. Fuck the neighbors. We'll be leaving soon anyway." Your smirk widens.

Stroke her cheek, then pat her head and point to the floor next to the bed.

"On the ground, puppy."

Yujin slides off the edge of the mattress and kneels, her eyes never straying from your length, soft and hanging between your legs. A small gasp escapes her lips as she leans closer to your cock, her tongue slipping out between her teeth in anticipation. She releases a soft hum, murmuring, "I adore your scent, Master." With reverence, she snuggles against your cock with her cheeks and forehead, inhaling deeply as if testing the notes of a fine wine. Her lips part and her tongue darts out to cover your balls with her saliva. She finds pleasure in drooling on them, feeling their weight, and hearing you moan with enjoyment when she takes both in her mouth. As she feels the tension building between her thighs, she rubs them together for some relief.

She wraps her arms around your thighs and pulls herself closer, burying her nose in your crotch. As Yujin looks up at you, between big and pleading eyes, your shaft lays on her face, covering her mouth and nose. Every expression of submission, lust, and desperation hardens your cock. None match her unflinching smile while she lathers your sack in attention and spit.

Though her voice is muffled by your sack, she whimpers anyway, "Pwease, Master, cahn, I suck yow cock? So… yummy, mmnh." She lets each ball pop out of her mouth slowly, lines of drool connecting them to her glistening lips.

On this small hunt, Yujin's hand snakes towards your groin, but you don't plan on letting Yujin wring your balls dry so easily; you swat her hand away. "Ah-ah. You said you'd be a good girl."

Yujin's head drops in shame, her apology barely audible.

"What was that? Speak up," you demand.

She takes a deep breath before speaking louder. "I'm sorry, sir."

You place your palm gently on top of her head, relishing the softness of her fur beneath your fingertips. "What a good little puppy!" You say it with a hint of scorn, just the way she likes it - you can tell by the way she shivers in anticipation. Your voice turns serious. "If you want a treat, you have to earn it, right?"

Yujin nods eagerly, her eyes still downcast.

"Let's make sure you remember your tricks first."

With hopeful anticipation, she looks back up at you. It has been months since you've gone through this routine, the times the two of you delved deeper into this kink. When you first broached the subject, Yujin had played coy, but she took to it so naturally. And now, she's back in character perfectly. You run your hand through her hair, scratching behind her ear like an indulgent owner would for their well-behaved pet. Yujin leans into your touch, panting softly in contentment as she nuzzles against your hand.

"Sit," you order.

Your obedient pet Yujin complies at once and sits upright on her haunches. Her posture is impeccable, with knees pressed together, hands neatly resting on her thighs, and back straight as a rod. You hold out your hand with the palm facing up, and she eagerly places her chin in it. As she gazes up at you with adoration and trust shining in her eyes, you can't help but feel a sense of pride and ownership over this beautiful creature. It's moments like these that make you believe she was truly made for this canine role.

"Stay," you command, your intense gaze bearing down on Yujin. She fights to remain motionless, every muscle in her body trembling. But she is not a perfectly trained robot; sometimes a bratty, needy side emerges from within her. Rising from the bed, sheets rustling underneath you, you hold out your cock in front of her face. As if to say, look, here's the toy, puppy, as if daring her to lick it. You could thrust it into her mouth like a gloryhole and she wouldn't even flinch. But that's not why you're here. You're testing her. As if sensing your thoughts, she parts her lips slightly and you can practically smell the saliva building up in her mouth. Not good enough. In response, you smack her face with your hard length, the sound reverberating through the room. "Stay means stay," you remind her firmly.

She takes a deep, shuddering breath and squeezes her eyes shut, fighting to regain control over her body. After a few moments, she steadies herself and stares straight ahead, ignoring the throbbing member in front of her with impressive discipline.

You run your fingers through the soft fur of her head and praise her, "Such a good girl." With your other hand, you hold out your palm and command, "Paw." Yujin doesn't hesitate; she places her paw gently in your hand and allows you to shake it. A small smile tugs at the corners of your mouth as you see how easily she follows your commands. "And now, roll over."

Yujin's cheeks flush a bright shade of pink as she gets onto all fours before she rolls onto her back, fully exposing herself to you. The warm morning sunlight streams through the bedroom window, highlighting every curve and dip of her flawless skin. Her wet pussy is on full display, inviting and tempting you further. Every subtle movement of her hips captivates you as she meets your gaze with adoration and devotion shining in her eyes. A shy grin plays on her lips, but there is no doubt: Yujin loves being your devoted puppy, always eager to please and serve you in any way possible.

Yujin lies sprawled out on the cool, hardwood floor of your bedroom, her body aching with desire. Her thighs are parted wide, exposing her glistening, craving pussy to you. The scent of arousal fills the air as she squirms impatiently, her clit protruding from its hood in a swollen and red state. You can see the evidence of hours of teasing and foreplay in the puffy, engorged state of her labia. As you lean down and run your fingertips over the softness of her inner thighs, Yujin shudders under your touch, her muscles tensing and trembling with pleasure.

"Such a good girl. Just a few more, then you get your treat," you whisper, your voice low and seductive. "On your feet, puppy," you say, accompanied by a finger gesture.

Yujin rises gracefully, her arms lifting high above her head and crossing at the wrists. As she arches her back, pushing out her chest, she bites her lip and gazes at you with an intense longing. You come closer. As you cup her breast gently in your hand, Yujin shudders under your touch. To your caress, she arches deeper while she presses herself into your palm. Her body silently pleads for release from the building tension within her—she's not so silent. You continue to massage and explore her soft flesh, feeling the heat radiating from every inch of her skin. When you pinch her nipple between thumb and forefinger or knead the pliant tissue beneath your fingers, Yujin lets out soft whimpers.

Her nipples are hard as diamonds, and a hair's trigger away from causing another orgasm so soon with their sensitivity. They look delectable and you can't resist giving them the attention they deserve. It's also practice for when Yujin is pregnant, as you plan on sucking on them regularly then. Your lips start at her collarbone, eliciting moans from Yujin, before moving down to dive into the valley of her cleavage. You kiss and nip at the pale, sensitive skin of her tits before finally reaching her buds. You lose track of time as you lavish attention on Yujin's breasts, slicking them with your saliva until she looks like she's about to pass out in pleasure—the puppy truly is so sensitive there. But she stands strong for you, eager for more.

"Oh, god," you murmur huskily, your voice dripping with desire as you imagine Yujin's full, milk-filled breasts in your hands. "I can't wait to see them when you're pregnant. So much milk, so juicy and ripe." A smile spreads across Yujin's face at your words, her eyes shimmering with a combination of desire and love for you. You clear your throat. "Now, bow."

With practiced grace, she drops to her knees and bows her head in submission, her forehead touching the ground. Her long hair tumbles around her face, tickling her flushed cheeks. As she lifts her head to peek up at you through her thick lashes, a slight smile plays on her lips. She is proud of herself for remembering all the tricks, but her expression is still pleading for more.

"Mmm, turn around. All fours. One last time."

She complies, getting onto all fours and arching her back to present her ass to you. Her legs spread wider, revealing the slick pink folds of her pussy, glistening with moisture and awaiting your touch. For further measure, with one hand on each cheek, she pulls apart the mounds of her ass to expose her tight puckered asshole. Her juices flow freely down her thighs, leaving a trail on the hardwood floor beneath her as she quivers with anticipation.

"Well done," you praise, lowering yourself to the cool floor to caress Yujin's head, back, and firm ass. You run both your index and middle fingers along her slick slit, feeling the heat emanating from her core. With two fingertips against her entrance, you spread open her folds to inspect how ready she is for you before pushing in. Yujin moans and grinds her hips against your hand, craving more of your touch. You chuckle and withdraw your fingers from your girlfriend's dripping pussy; they glisten with her sweet nectar as you hold them up for her to see, like delicate strands of silk. You'd say she's ready.

She whimpers at the sudden lack of touch and watches intently as you lift your slick-covered digits to her nostrils. She inhales deeply, bites her lower lip, and squirms, her breathing ragged and quick.

"Does my little pup enjoy the scent of her own arousal?" you ask, a smug grin on your face. "That's the smell of a fertile bitch, eager to be bred."

Yujin eagerly nods her head, her eyes shining with desire as she opens her mouth, inviting you to let her lick your fingers clean.

You smirk at the display of submission; it sends a thrill down your spine, a jolt straight to your cock. "Beg like a good dog," you command, "then you can have my fingers to suck on."

After a deep breath, she barks like a loyal canine, then whimpers in need. Her voice is barely audible as she pleads for what she desires. "Please," she begs, her words coming out in soft whines like a dog begging for scraps. "Master, can I please suck on your fingers? I need it so badly." You let out a small chuckle at her plea, knowing that Yujin has been eagerly awaiting this moment. You smear some of her juices onto her cheek, causing her to instinctively try and lick them off but she quickly restrains herself.

You shake your head and tut disapprovingly, making a mental note to be stricter with Yujin during her training sessions. "Not quite good enough," you reprimand her lightly. Tears begin to prick at the corners of Yujin's eyes at your rejection and she sniffs back a sob. "Master..." she starts again, only to have her voice break off into whimpers and heavy breathing. "P-please let me taste myself on your fingers. I know I've been a dirty whore but you take such good care of me and my needy pussy. And I-I'm sorry for making a mess on your fingers but please, please let me clean them." Her words are rushed and desperate as she begs for your approval.

You're amazed at how well Yujin can act in these moments, pulling out all the stops to get what she wants. You suppose the intense teasing and edging you subject her to only adds to the sincerity in her words. Finally, you hold your fingers out to her, tracing teasing circles on her lips. Yujin obediently parts her mouth and takes your digits inside, her tongue swirling and dancing along the surface with eager diligence. She sucks harder, hollowing her cheeks and drawing your fingers deeper, until a low moan escapes from deep within her throat, causing a pleasurable vibration against your skin. Her gag reflex kicks in when the knuckles of your fist brush against the soft palate of her mouth, but she pushes through it, determined to please you.

As you slowly withdraw your fingers from her quivering, red lips, a slick sound echoes throughout the room. Your eyes are dark with hunger as you gaze down at Yujin, who looks up at you with adoration and submission. "How does your sweet pussy taste today, my little puppy?" you ask in a low, commanding voice.

Her breath hitches at your words, her eyes fluttering shut before she responds, "It tastes so good, Master, thank you, thank you. My pussy is always fresh and sweet for you."

You take a moment to taste her yourself and confirm her words—she's right. You continue. "You don't look satisfied. What is it that you really want?"

Her hand trembles as she reaches out to touch yours. "Please, sir," she begs in a hushed tone, "knock me up. I want your cum inside me so badly." Her cheeks flush with arousal as she continues, "I know I can be a naughty puppy sometimes, but my pussy is dripping wet and begging for every drop of your seed. I need to be bred by your big and thick cock... by my perfect Master's cock. It's unmatched and I couldn't even imagine wanting anyone else."

Yujin's grip on your hand tightens and her entire body quivers with anticipation, her eyes widening and mouth slightly agape as she takes deep breaths. She may look like a mess right now, but she's your mess and you love every inch of her in this moment.

Her breath catches in her throat as she confesses, her voice trembling with raw desire. "You're all I ever think about when I touch myself," she admits, the words pouring out of her in a torrent of pure desperation. "And I always pretend it's you who brings me pleasure, not my stupid toys when you're away at work." A deep blush spreads across her cheeks as she continues, "You own me, Master... and you own my pussy. Please cum inside me and make it yours forever."

Yujin falls silent after her confession, her face beet red. But she can't tear her gaze away from yours, as if seeking your approval and permission for her deepest desires.

"Yujin, puppy, are you sure? Once I breed you, I don't think I'll ever be able to stop breeding you." A wicked smile crosses your face as you continue, "I'm going to fuck you raw every single day and make sure to get you pregnant with my pups. It's going to be nonstop baby-making from now on. Do you understand?"

Yujin nods, her messy hair bouncing around as she lets out a small bark of excitement. Her big eyes are wide and pleading, begging for your touch.

You coo softly, a smile playing on your lips as you stroke Yujin's head with affection. You reach over the side of the bed and retrieve the familiar black leather collar, adorned with the word "Puppy." Yujin's eyes light up at the sight of her reward, and she sits patiently as you slip it around her neck, locking it in place.

"From now on, you're not just wearing the collar at home anymore," you explain. "But that doesn't matter right? You're my breedslut, so I might as well keep you leashed to the bed."

Yujin shivers at the idea, and you can feel your desire growing as your fingers brush against her skin. Gripping her hair firmly, you yank her head upward, making sure her gaze remains locked on yours.

"This means you belong to me at all times, Yujin," you growl. "You are mine, and no one else's. Do you understand?"

Release your grip, and Yujin sinks back down to her knees in front of your erection standing tall. You've never seen her so nervous about giving you head, but her determination is evident. She opens her pretty, plump lips to reveal the pink interior of her warm mouth, but all you feel is warm breaths.

Yujin moves closer to you, her body radiating heat and anticipation as she guides your throbbing cock toward her lips with a gentle hand at its base. She gives the head a teasing kiss before taking it into her mouth, eliciting a deep, primal moan from deep within your throat.

As she sucks you off, you can feel her soft, wet tongue swirling and spiraling around your shaft, coaxing every last drop of pleasure from you. Every now and then, she comes up for air with a gasp, before eagerly diving back down to continue pleasuring you. Yujin is a true cocksucker, and she loves every second of it. Her eyes water as she deepthroats your cock with determination, refusing to stop even as it triggers her gag reflex.

"Such a good girl," you say, running your fingers through her hair as you thrust deeper into her throat. "You're my obedient little puppy, aren't you?"

Yujin's eyes roll back in ecstasy as she feels your cock filling her mouth and pushing against the back of her throat. With strings of saliva connecting her lips to your cockhead, she looks up at you with a mix of desire and submission.

"Yes, I'm your good puppy," she says in a raspy voice, still gagging on your cock, a few nervous giggles, a few woofs for good measure, even as tears run down her cheeks. "I'm your slutty little puppy girl, and I love your cock and I need your cock and I'm going to suck it forever." And she's back to work, sucking and licking and gagging on your dick as if this is the only thing that matters to her in life.

Yujin's technique is nothing short of impressive, utilizing all of her skills to bring you closer to the peak. Every move is calculated and precise, expertly designed to pleasure you in ways you've never experienced before. You firmly hold her head down, using her as your own personal fleshlight as you give rough thrusts into her warm, welcoming mouth. Yujin struggles for air but never pulls away, fully submitting to your desires. Her delicate hands reach up to massage your balls, adding an electrifying sensation to the already intense experience.

You can feel yourself getting closer and closer to the brink, ready to explode down her throat at any moment. However, despite your animalistic instincts, every neuron firing within you is focused on breeding rather than covering her face and tongue with your seed. You know that it would be a waste to release such high-quality, potent cum anywhere other than inside her womb. Your rational brain understands this logic, even as your body screams for release.

Yujin will have plenty of time in her life to service you with her mouth; for now, her womb is more valuable in housing your powerful seed. Both your mind and body are in agreement on what they want - and right now, it's nowhere near Yujin's throat. As she continues to suckle on your throbbing member, you pull away from her grasp. Your hips ache with desire and a sense of incompleteness without Yujin's perfect mouth pleasuring you, yet the rush of power coursing through your body is almost intoxicating.

"Puppy, on the bed. Now."

Yujin scrambles to her feet, climbs onto the mattress. "What position, Master? Where do you want me?"

"On your back," you growl, pulling Yujin by her hair onto the bed so that her body is flat against the soft sheets. Her head falls onto the pillows behind her as she looks up at you with wide, waiting eyes."Good girl. Now lift your legs and spread them wide for me."

She immediately obeys, bending her knees and exposing her wet slit to you. You take her ankles and bring them behind her head, folding the girl in half so that you can truly mate-press her, pin her down with your body weight. Her pussy lips are engorged and puffy, and her clitoris protrudes from beneath the hood, throbbing with arousal. She opens her pretty labia wider with two fingers. The pink hole looks small enough that you would be unsure how you'd fit, even though you've fit in there plenty of times, more than you can count.

"L-look, at it, D-Daddy," Yujin stutters. "You're not just my Master, you're gonna be m-my Daddy, too."

With a low growl, you press your aching cock against Yujin's slick entrance. "You want it that bad? Beg for it."

Yujin whimpers and bucks her hips, trying to get more of you inside her. Yujin's voice fills with needy pleading. "Daddy, please, I'll do anything for you. Please, I need your cock more than anything."

"Anything?" you ask, your smirk widening.

Yujin nods eagerly, her hips bucking against yours. "Yes Master, anything! I'll do whatever you want. Just breed me like the slutty little puppy I am."

A wicked thought crosses your mind as you watch her squirm beneath you. "What if I tie you up like this and leave you here, completely at my mercy? You'll be spread open and exposed, unable to move until I decide to fill you."

Yujin gasps and moans at the idea, her body trembling with excitement. "Oh god, yes! Please do that! I'll be your fleshlight, whenever, always, please, just cum in me right now!"

An evil grin spreads across your face as you thrust into her harder, reveling in the power and control you have over her.

You slide your cock into her slowly, savoring every inch of her tightness. Her warmth envelopes you and it feels like heaven subverting God in its perfection.

Yujin's breath catches in her throat as she feels you finally sink deep inside of her, a long, primal moan escaping her lips. Her body trembles with pleasure and relief as she cries out, "Yes Daddy, I need to be bred!" With each thrust, she lifts her hips off the bed in search of more depth.

But you take control, refusing to let her dictate the pace. Your movements are strong and forceful, slamming into her again and again, igniting screams of ecstasy from her throat. "You're a breeding slut," you growl as you continue to drive into her slick heat. "My breeding slut. Mine." Her body quivers with each powerful thrust, unable to resist your dominance.

With a firm grasp on her ankles, you pull Yujin's legs down to either side of your body, opening her up completely for your pleasure. Her tight pussy squeezes around you with each thrust, driving you wild with desire. "When your breasts are swollen and full," you whisper in her ear, "I'll milk them like a cow and make you drink your own cream."

Her mouth falls open in bliss as she listens to your dirty talk. "Oh god yes!" she cries, her eyes rolling back in pure ecstasy. "Master, please breed me! Milk me! N-need it, so, so bad, mmfh, fuck!"

With each forceful thrust, the sound of flesh slapping against flesh echoes throughout the room. Waves of pleasure course through both your bodies as you ravage her cunt without mercy. The sight of her spread open and vulnerable beneath you is almost overwhelming. To distract yourself from the intensity, you roughly slap and squeeze her breasts, relishing in the satisfying jiggles and leaving red marks in their wake. "Puppy loves being punished, doesn't she?" you taunt, reveling in her screams of pleasure mixed with pain.

As her moans crescendo and transform into frenzied screams, you instinctively cover her mouth, despite earlier boasts of being as loud as you both want. Seeing your girlfriend in such a state of ecstasy (eyes rolled back in pleasure or perhaps lack of oxygen) ignites your own desire. Determined to prolong this moment, you abruptly pull out and flip her over onto all fours. For a puppy like Yujin, what other position would be more fitting?

Without hesitation, you plunge back inside her from behind, causing her to cry out in a mixture of pleasure and pain. The new angle allows for deeper penetration, her walls constricting around you in a tight embrace. With one hand gripping her hip and the other tangled in her hair, you claim her as yours by bending over and sinking your teeth into the soft flesh of her neck. Her skin turns from its usual pale hue to a rosy pink or fiery red as you mark her with rough fingers and sharp slaps to her ass. A mixture of sensations floods Yujin's body as she arches against you in submission.

Yujin meets your every movement with equal passion, pushing back against your length, as much as it may split her in half. Her arms give out and she collapses onto the bed as multiple waves of orgasm wash over her, until the metaphor spills out of her pussy in squirts. You have to pause for a moment and pull away from her tight heat to let her fully experience the intense pleasure engulfing her. Her thighs tremble and she struggles for breath, completely undone by your touch. And yet, this surrender to primal desires is nothing short of magic or art or beauty. She falls. Unwound, on her stomach, you give her as many moments as she needs. As she looks back at you through heavy-lidded eyes, a contented smile graces her lips.

It is necessarily true that humans have evolved a set number of genes that govern their physical form, and this number remains fairly consistent across different populations. However, there are exceptions: A 2015 analysis of DNA sequencing data found that the total number of human genes is not fixed, but varies depending on population, age, sex, diet, and other environmental factors. This finding is consistent with recent work that has demonstrated that the genetic code of a given cell is not static—instead, it changes slightly over time, as new mutations occur and older ones fade away. These mutations can affect the expression of certain proteins or alter the structure of certain RNA strands, thereby affecting how the gene is expressed and what function(s) the protein encoded by the gene fulfills. In short, our genomes evolve over time, and the process is not entirely random.

Humans have been around for thousands of generations, and yet they still exist today. Why do we believe that this pattern will continue for the foreseeable future when in reality, nothing is guaranteed? Evolutionary biologists have proposed a number of hypotheses regarding this question, including that humans are uniquely adaptable to environmental challenges and thus able to survive longer than many other species, and that our brains allow us to create tools that protect us from predators and disease. However, it is possible that these explanations are simply wrong. Perhaps humans were always meant to live forever. Maybe evolution made it so that we never grow old and die, and that death itself was merely an illusion created by our minds to keep us focused on surviving rather than procreating. Or maybe we will simply cease to exist someday. As long as chance determines our fate, we may never know for certain. But what remains clear is that relying on natural selection or external forces is not enough—we must actively make decisions in accordance with our individual interests.

This is not just abstract philosophy. This is the mindset you adopt as you forcefully drive your raw cock into Yujin's dripping-wet pussy, her body responding eagerly to your every thrust. With her submissive form lying beneath you, legs wrapped tightly around your waist, you have complete control over the pace and depth of your lovemaking. And as much as you enjoy taking her from behind, this is the best way to ensure the creampie takes. It's in your best interests. For the future's best interest.

We do not dwell on hunger pangs or fatigue, nor do we dwell on the satisfaction of satiation; we do not dwell upon the emptiness we feel after a good orgasm, because we assume that it was merely a temporary state, one which we must return from eventually. This mindset is what allows humans to achieve great feats, but also holds us back from reaching our full potential. When we fail, we often place blame on ourselves and our own perceived inadequacies, rather than acknowledging external factors. And when we succeed, we often underestimate our own abilities and attribute it to mere luck. This is the complex nature of human existence—the ability to push past pain and discomfort, to push ourselves beyond our limits without fear of consequences. It is a gift bestowed upon us by our biology and has enabled countless achievements that would otherwise be deemed impossible.

As you enter Yujin's tight and hot pussy, it feels as though it was custom-made for your cock. The fact that such a small and delicate thing can fit perfectly around you is a gift in itself. And despite having been with many women before, none have been as willing or enthusiastic as Yujin. Her moans fill the room with each thrust, her cries of pleasure echoing off the walls. You no longer care about being discreet. Let them hear. This is your bond, the mother-to-be of your children, irrevocably yours.

Yujin's voice, strained and desperate, begs for you to breed her. Her arousal is evident in the way she teeters on the edge of climax so soon after her last. But you know all the ways to push her over the brink, and this is your favorite. Slowly, deliberately, you draw out each pump of your hips, driving her insane with anticipation. With one hand, you reach between her legs and toy with her clit, rubbing circles over the swollen bud and teasing it relentlessly. Your other hand wraps around her smooth neck, squeezing just enough to restrict her breathing as you pound into her desperately. She whimpers and whines, struggling for air, her wide eyes staring up at you in shock.

"I'm going to knock you up, puppy," you growl into Yujin's ear. Her body trembles with ecstasy as your cock thrusts deep within her, giving no mercy as wave after wave of orgasmic pleasure racks through her, legs kicking wildly.

Humans are social creatures, defined by communication, which most commonly takes the form of exchange: exchange of ideas between individuals—we invented language for it—exchange of goods or resources, even exchange of genetic information through intercourse. This is the fundamental mechanism by which our species has survived and thrived for thousands of generations. Of course, exchange itself begets more exchange. For instance, offering food to someone may result in them giving you food back the next day, while giving advice can earn you gratitude and offers of assistance. In sexual relationships, this reciprocity can take the form of mutual pleasure and sharing intimacy. However, at times, the balance of power can become unequal and one-sided. You tighten your grip around Yujin's neck, cutting off her air supply as she gasps and wheezes beneath you with wild eyes. At that moment, you have complete control over her and plenty of DNA to put inside her. Less girlfriend, more of a mere receptacle, Yujin lays limp in your arms. You feel closer to her than ever before while you build towards your own release.

Releasing your hold on her neck, she takes in deep breaths—her chest heaving with each labored inhale. Yet even these breaths are taken from her as you steal them back with kisses before finally consummating the act. Through it all, Yujin smiles against your lips—the roughness and love intertwining in a beautiful dichotomy that continues to prove false in practice. No need for words as she tells you how much she loves you, how much you love her. It is an unspoken bond between lovers, solidified in moments like these.

As you feel yourself reaching the edge of climax, your body tenses with anticipation. The sweet ache in your loins intensifies as you know that Yujin's womb is aching to be filled with your potent seed, yearning for your offering, your gift to her. The scent of arousal fills the air, mingling with the sound of heavy breathing and skin slapping against skin. You are on the brink of eruption when suddenly, without warning, you feel her body spasm violently beneath you—exchange begets exchange—and her walls clench as though she's out for every last drop of your load. And if she's not out for that, at least she's out—there is not a thought left on Yujin's face, eyes crossed, her lips curled into a blissfully stupid grin as the euphoria of her climax consumes her completely, washing away all rationality and replacing it with pure ecstasy. Try as you may to hold back, there's no stopping the freight train. Your own mind burns with the image of her face, knowing that this is the moment your child will be conceived. With one final thrust, you surrender completely to the waves of pleasure crashing through you both.

Yujin's body continues to ride out the aftershocks, her walls clenching tightly around you as you fill her with your hot load. Your seed coats her insides, painting them with thick jets of sticky white liquid. She milks every last drop from your shaft as you convulse violently, lost in the throes of pure bliss. All other thoughts fade away as her pussy becomes your entire world, drowning out everything else.

In this moment, you imagine a future where Yujin remains your devoted pet forever. The thought fills your heart with joy and you know it will soon become reality. You will breed her until she is heavy with pups, and then do it again and again until… there is no until. This is your destiny, and nothing could make you happier.

As Yujin whimpers and nuzzles against you in post-orgasmic bliss, you cradle her close, stroking her hair and whispering soft words of comfort into her ear. "You're going to be such a good mommy," you groan, a swell of pride washing over you like the sunrise. And in this moment, you imagine a future where you could stay inside Yujin forever.

Before she relaxes, Yujin gestures towards the nightstand drawer and you rummage through it until you find a small dildo. She takes it from you and pushes it into her still-quivering pussy alongside your softening cock. It's a tight and intense sensation, but one that you enjoy knowing that you are still locked inside her. You smile down at Yujin lovingly, pressing a gentle kiss to her forehead.

"Good thinking," you murmur, "we need to keep your pussy plugged tight so my seed can take hold."

This detail may not have been mentioned in any books about conception, but you find yourself laughing and going along with it anyway. As your mind wanders to how important this is for Yujin (and how turned on she must be), you consider taking advantage of her other free hole despite your body tingling from the most intense climax of your life. But you decide to save that for another time.

As your shared exertions begin to subside, your bodies relax against each other. Yujin's breathing slows as she drifts off into exhaustion. You finally pull out, but keep the toy in place to ensure none of your precious semen escapes. Finding a pair of panties nearby, you use them to secure the toy before covering Yujin with the blankets. You slip beneath the covers as well, pulling her close and holding her protectively until she falls asleep.

"I love you so much," you whisper, planting a gentle kiss on Yujin's temple before drifting off beside her, basking in the warm glow of the morning light. In this moment, you feel fulfilled and content in ways that words cannot express. You've never been happier or felt more alive. And wrapped in the arms of your perfect puppy girlfriend, soon to be your wife and the mother of your child, you know that this is where you belong, with many more days like this yet to come.

With that comforting thought in mind, sleep claims you both.

✦✧✦✧✦✧

As consciousness slowly seeps into your mind, you are greeted by the sound of slurping and wet warmth between your legs. Your eyes flutter open to see Yujin kneeling beside the bed, her lips wrapped around your cock. In her hand is the smaller dildo from earlier in the morning; on the floor underneath her is a larger silicone dildo with a suction base, which she's slowly bouncing on. The scent of sex fills the room, accompanied by the soft moans coming from Yujin's lips, received in vibrations by your member.

She sucks back and forth between the smaller dildo in her hand and your cock, as if cleaning both with fervent desire. Her taste buds must be bombarded with the flavors of dried cum and her own nectar, yet she continues to suck on both like candy. Despite having barely been asleep for two hours, your girlfriend seems to possess boundless energy.

"What are you doing?" you murmur groggily, rubbing sleep from your eyes. Glancing at the clock, you realize it's not even noon yet. You must have only drifted off a couple of hours ago—but it seems like Yujin was too aroused to let you get any decent rest. The consequences of keeping her on edge for so long.

Setting aside the smaller dildo, Yujin pulls her lips away from your member momentarily, a strand of saliva connecting her mouth to your glistening cockhead. Her eyes sparkle mischievously as she says in a bratty tone, "Master, you promised me that you were going to breed me!"

A smirk crosses your face as you reply, "I did."

"Nuh-uh," she retorts. "I won't believe it until I feel your baby growing inside my belly." A devilish grin spreads across her face. "So until then, I'm not letting go of your cock!" With a playful giggle, she resumes pleasuring you orally while riding the dildo at the same pace. As her mouth goes down on your cock, she takes the toy deeper into herself.

You can't help but agree with her logic—even with all day and all weekend, breaks for basic needs like eating and using the bathroom are inevitable. Might as well start now. Plus, Yujin looks so damn cute with her mouth full of your meat. It makes you want to cum in her throat just for being so adorable.

Your hand reaches down to stroke her hair, gently guiding her movements. "That feels good, Yujin. But just so you know, I plan on cumming in your pussy again, not your stomach."

She nods with your shaft still between her lips, murmuring, "Yes, Daddy," before returning to fervently sucking and stroking your length.

A content smile spreads across your face as you lean back against the pillows. Watching Yujin pleasure herself on your cock reminds you that this is exactly how things are meant to be between the two of you: Her worshiping your cock with her skilled mouth; you reveling in the sight and sensation. There is, of course, one more hole you'd like to fill while you're still in bed, but it can wait till after breakfast. For now, you're happy to let your girlfriend suck away.

The blowjob feels incredible—her mouth is so soft and hot that you can hardly stand it. Your fingers thread through her hair as you encourage her to bob down further and further onto your length each time. Even with the intensity of your last orgasm, you're renewed by the sheer force of her devotion, ever a smile curling up at the corner of your lips as her eyes water with the effort of taking more of you into her throat. Yujin gags, her body convulsing as the tip of your shaft hits the back of her throat, but she refuses to stop, determined to swallow your entire length into her mouth and beyond—she loves it, craves it, needs it.

In a way, oral sex is evolutionary cheating: A female's reproductive tract is optimized for conception, which requires a relatively high amount of energy to maintain, but oral stimulation doesn't result in pregnancy; it's a waste of energy. Thus, it makes little sense biologically for females to enjoy giving oral sex, but at least in the example on her knees, they love it more than the world. You watch in awe as she sucks you off, her eyes closed in concentration as she focuses all her attention on pleasuring your manhood. She moans softly, her tongue caressing the underside of your shaft while she continues to suckle, licking every inch of you. Her technique is flawless, and she knows it—she knows that every movement, every flick of her tongue sends shivers of pleasure up your spine, and she relishes the fact that you can barely contain yourself from cumming right in her mouth. She wants it badly, too—you can tell by the way she keeps looking up at you with those wide puppy eyes, pleading silently as if to say "please cum in my mouth, Daddy, I want to taste it, to eat it. We can keep breeding later, but I need this right now."

You can tell that she's not going to let up until you finish in her mouth, so there's no point in trying to hold on. You let yourself fall over the precipice, and you groan loudly, your hips jerking forward involuntarily as you erupt, shooting hot jets of your semen straight down into her stomach, as her own orgasm hits her hard—she's already so turned on that the feeling of your seed splattering into her stomach sets off her own climax immediately after yours, and her body shakes and trembles.

You pull out from her mouth with a wet pop, your cock slick with saliva as it slips free—it's hard again already. Yujin is panting heavily, her body flushed pink from arousal and exertion. Her eyes are wide and bright, and they're locked onto you, watching every little motion you make as if afraid to miss a single thing.

"Yujin. We're getting lunch. Then we're fucking in the kitchen." She beams and jumps up, excited to follow your orders. You smile to yourself; she's such a silly girl sometimes. But you wouldn't trade her for anything in the world.

You get out of the bed. "Come on, pup."

Yujin follows after you eagerly, imagine a wagging tail behind her, and you both head downstairs to the kitchen.

✦✧✦✧✦✧

AFF, AO3

This final ending section is incomplete and reasonably should just be cut or completed, but it's what you're getting.

[reasonsforhope]

Article

"2023 was a banner year for the Galapagos Islands: that wondrous archipelago so famous for its giant tortoises and other endemic species.

The long-serving conservation organization the Galapagos Conservancy, also endemic to the islands, recently published its annual report featuring standout figures like over 500 giant tortoises of 5 different species reintroduced to their natural habitat.

Additionally, a critically endangered species of albatross was identified to use giant tortoise feeding sites as take-off and landing areas. This key insight into co-dependency has given the Conservancy confidence that they can restore the populations of both animals to stable, flourishing numbers.

It underscores how far a donation to these endemic wildlife organizations really does go, and these two highlights of a successful year were only possible by the over $6 million in charitable contributions from supporters.

30 Chelonoidis chatamensis tortoises endemic to the smaller island of San Cristobal were repatriated to their natural habitat from the stock of a captive breeding program, while 97 native tortoises were returned to the second-largest island of Santa Cruz.

On the largest island of Isabella, 350 tortoises (214 C. guntheri and 136 C. vicina) were successfully reintroduced to their natural habitat after a survey found their numbers were not rising substantially on their own.

In March, the repatriation of 86 juvenile Chelonoidis hoodensis tortoises significantly contributed to enhancing the species’ distribution across their native habitat. They currently number 3,000 today on Española or Hood Island, a miraculous recovery from the 14 found there in the 1960s.

Also on Española, the endemic waved albatross was found to be taking off and landing on 50 additional parts of the island. These large birds, boasting an 8-foot wingspan, need ample space to get a running start before taking off, and this same principle applies when applying the brakes coming down from the sky.

In the survey, the biologists observed that concentrations of giant tortoises were linked with the usage of areas as runways for the albatross. Because the tortoises are the largest herbivores in the ecosystem, they perform the same acts as bison do in North America and Europe, and elephants in Africa—clear space.

With their herbivorous diet and large bulk, the tortoise’s feeding habits produce cleared areas ideal for albatross use.

“This discovery underscores the interconnectedness of the Galápagos ecosystem,” the authors of the report write. “This newly acquired knowledge allows us to strengthen the synergies between our conservation strategies.”

Of the $6.1 million received from donations and through other activities, the Conservancy was able to spend 77% of that on conservation programs, and that included some ambitious plans for this year—now already half done—which included drafting plans for restoration of the Pinta tortoise to the island of the same name, preparing tortoises for imminent reintroduction to the smaller Floreana island, and completely restoring the habitat for the Galapagos petrels on Santa Cruz.

Operating since 1985, the Galapagos Conservancy has a long track record of restoring these islands to their pre-Colombian glory. Let’s hope 2024 is as successful."

-via Good News Network, July 19, 2024

[opencommunion]

"The Congo’s strategic location in the middle of Africa and its fabulous natural endowment of minerals and other resources have since 1884 ensured that it would serve as a theatre for the playing out of the economic and strategic interests of outsiders: the colonial powers during the scramble for Africa; the superpowers during the Cold War; and neighbouring African states in the post-Cold War era. To prevent a direct confrontation between the United States and the Soviet Union, the Security Council deployed from 1960 to 1964 what was then the largest and most ambitious operation ever undertaken by the UN, with nearly 20,000 troops at its peak strength plus a large contingent of civilian personnel for nation-building tasks.

This latter aspect of the Opération des Nations unies au Congo (ONUC) was a function of the fragile political revolution ... The Congo won its independence from Belgium on 30 June 1960. Patrice Lumumba’s MNC-L and its coalition of radical nationalist parties had captured a majority of seats in the lower house of parliament in the pre-independence elections in May. Lumumba became prime minister and head of government, while the Abako leader Joseph Kasa-Vubu became the ceremonial head of state. The victory of a militantly nationalist leader with a strong national constituency was viewed as a major impediment to the Belgian neocolonialist strategy and a threat to the global interests of the Western alliance.

Within two weeks of the proclamation of independence, Prime Minister Lumumba was faced with both a nationwide mutiny by the army and a secessionist movement in the province of Katanga bankrolled by Western mining interests. Both revolts were instigated by the Belgians, who also intervened militarily on 10 July, a day before the Katanga secession was announced. In the hopes of obtaining the evacuation of Belgian troops and white mercenaries, and thus ending the Katanga secession, Lumumba made a successful appeal to the UN Security Council to send a UN peacekeeping force to the Congo. However, the UN secretary-general, Dag Hammarskjöld, interpreted the UN mandate in accordance with Western neocolonialist interests and the US Cold War imperative of preventing Soviet expansion in the Third World. This led to a bitter dispute between Lumumba and Hammarskjöld, which resulted in the US- and Belgian-led initiative to assassinate the first and democratically elected prime minister of the Congo.

... Brussels’ failure to prevent a radical nationalist such as Lumumba from becoming prime minister created a crisis for the imperialist countries, which were determined to have a decolonization favourable to their economic and strategic interests with the help of more conservative African leaders. With Belgium’s failure to transfer power in an orderly fashion to a well-groomed moderate leadership group that could be expected to advance Western interests in Central and Southern Africa, the crisis of decolonization in the Congo required US and UN interventions. Working hand in hand, Washington, New York and Brussels succeeded in eliminating Lumumba and his radical followers from the political scene."

Georges Nzongola-Ntalaja, The Congo from Leopold to Kabila: A People's History, 2002

[motivexesmotivational]

Embrace Change: Forging Innovation in the Crucible of Transformation!"

🔥 "Change as Crucible: Shaping Innovation for Progress!"

Description: Explore the profound connection between embracing change and fostering innovation. In the crucible of transformation, witness how change becomes the powerful force that shapes, heats, and forges the metal of innovation, propelling us towards progress.

Keywords:

Embrace Change 🔀 Crucible of Transformation 🔥

Shaping Innovation 🚧 Transformative Progress 🌟

Navigating Change 🛤️

Hashtags:

#EmbraceChange 💪#InnovationCrucible 🛠️

#TransformativeProgress 🌐#ChangeLeadership 🔄

#AdaptToThrive 🚀