#between the ethereal harmonics

[yume-x-hanabi]

LMAO I was watching this short and this comment under it is killing me 😂

I recently started learning harmonics and... I feel u, random youtube commenter 😌

[irllyroundballs]

Genshin men with a hot ass reader?!

Scaramouche, Kazuha, Childe, Al-Haitham, Cyno x Reader

I’m so sorry for the wait, and this isn’t as long, but regardless I hope you enjoy<33 @alizaneth (I can’t find your other @ 😨)

Scaramouche

He never thought he would be defiled by the shackles of beauty and romanticism but fuck, you were really hot, so fucking hot. He really wanted to look away but he just-- he just couldn't! Everything about you was so alluring, everything you did made him want to watch more. And just calling you hot would be an utterly impudent way to describe someone like you.

"Need something?" You smiled, he almost melted on the spot. Your smile was so pretty.

"Huh? No. I didn't need anything." Youd be a liar if you said you didnt notice his little blush.

You tilt your head, a hand moving to your hip, "Is that so? You were staring." You tried to bite back a laugh from the way he shriveled.

"You're pretty.." he mumbled.

"What was that?" You couldn't help but tease, he's too cute!

He walked closer to you, snaking an arm your waist, taking another hand and holding yours, then snuggling his head into your neck, "I said, you're really pretty, I like everything about you. I like your eyes and the way they sparkle, I like your cute hands, and I like your smile, I want to have them forever."

"Someone sentimental.”

“Shut up.”

Kazuha

To my dearest,

I'm sorry for my prolonged absence, I truly do wish to bask in your presence once more. But this journey is long, and taking lots longer than anticipated, I too-- had hoped to be in your arms by now. I miss your sweet scent, your loving embrace, your warm touch, the glisten in your star struck eyes. I wish for every second I have to be with you, if you long for more stars in the sky and I will shoot them for you, I would stare into your eyes everyday in hopes I go blind so you may be the last thing I see, I wish to breath nothing but you-- for you are my air. I hope to be home soon, please wait a little longer my love.

Forever missing you, your beloved husband

Childe

See, this was his first time, seeing someone so pretty-- I mean, he's most definitely very attractive people in his life, but by the gods, you were quite literally too hot to handle. After every encounter he was close to fainting, once, he got a nosebleed after you had snuck up on him! Your harmonic voice ringing in his ears.. oh gods, he was simping. But a poor soul he was, he had zero rizz.

"Hello there pretty thing." He smirked, attempting to lean against a wall, little did he know he was just a tad too far away which resulted in him almost falling, stumbling he manages to lean against the wall wiggling his eyebrows.

You laughed, shit, your laugh was really cute, "Hello, Childe. What brings around here?"

"I just wanted too see the PretTiest person eVer." His voice cracking in-between, fuck, has he always been this nervous around you?

You only laughed, walking forward, "Come, let's go for a stroll."

Thank god you had a thing for losers.

Al-Haitham

Al-Haitham is not one easily swayed by second class, biased, standards of beauty, except you, fucking hell, you defied all known logic of beauty and standards, you were the essence of ethereality, built by the most generous of god's, handpicked to be their hidden most precious gem.

The way the golden sun hit your skin the exact same one you always seemed to be glowing in, the way your voice was basically etched into his brain, the way it felt as though he constantly wanted to be in your embrace, always wanting you-- wanting to be nothing but yours.

So when the faithful day he finally had a chance to converse with you he knew he couldn't fail.

"Hello, you are.. er.. looking nice today." He was awkward about it, and so was his "smile"-- to be honest, you couldn't even consider it that, it's was more like his face was contoreted by a child, you weren't sure whether to run away and cry or ask him if his face is ok, never once had you seen the man smile.

"Oh! Uh.. Thank you, Grand Sage (?)." You looked down, picking at your hands.

Damnit, why did you react like that? He complimented you, just like the book told him to do (The book: how to rizz them up), was that you being embarrassed? No way, it didn't look like it, was his smile weird? You looked back at him up it took a few moments for you to actually say something.

Swallowing your saliva you spoke, "Uhm.. Mr Grand Sage, why are you staring at me like that..? It's a bit scary, Sir.." It was so hard to say that, that was your boss for goodness sake, he could fire you for anything if you did anything wrong, though, he doesn't seem like the type.

"Oh."

.

.

.

You think you’re about to faint, "Oh"?!

"I see, my apologies. I was trying to smile. I truly don't doubt my sincerity, you truly do look so uhm.. attractive (?)." He clears his throat, "I'm sorry, I'm not that best with this romantic predicaments. I would like you to dinner, would you like that?"

Cyno

Cyno has always found it easy to tell people "no", it was never a hard word for him. On a constant basis would be be using the word. But why, why is it though he simply cannot bring himself to say it to you?

Perhaps it was the thought he couldn't stand the thought of you being upset with him, your tears, or even perhaps your indifference.

This time, you need help with some commissions, but it was finally his off, he wanted to play TGC, could you blame him for his reluctance?

Your eyes soften, "Please Cyno? I can't do it without you."

Fuckfuckfuckfuckfuck, fuck it all, shit. He froze, I think his pulse stopped, tighnari running up to him and playfully checking his pulse, "Uh-oh, we're loosing him!" He teased hitting cyno's shoulder.

How could he resist you? Fuck it all, "I- uh.." he signed, "fine."

"Ohh! Thank you, Cyno! You're the best! I'll pay you back promise!"

He only wanted you.

[mrsfancyferrari]

Start Something

Summary: GR63 + "Don't start something you can't finish." 🥧🏈

Song: Gigi Perez - Sailor Song

Author’s note: First time writing George and it's with a black Queen! aka Lewis' sister! Please like, reblog and share this! 🫶

Word count: 16.8k

MASTERLIST - F1

In the dazzling world of Formula 1, where speed and fierce competition ruled, George Russell had always thought that nothing could distract him from his relentless pursuit of victory.

Raised amidst the roar of engines and the cheers of euphoric fans, he had turned a passion nurtured in go-karting into a career in racing. Joining Mercedes was a dream come true, a feather in his cap, and the stepping stone to establishing himself amongst the giants of the sport.

Yet, as George settled into his role alongside the legendary Lewis Hamilton, fate decided to introduce a new element—a distraction that made his heart race in ways no car ever could.

That distraction stood at the heart of the Mercedes garage, your laughter intertwining with the mechanical precision of pit stops, your presence an ethereal glow that drew every eye.

Y/N Hamilton, Lewis’s younger sister, with your long, flowing black braids and captivating smile, had transformed George’s world.

From the first moment he saw you, casually leaning against the garage wall and teasing your brother about his tire choices, George felt something shift within him.

You had a spark, a vivacity that permeated through every conversation. Every playful banter between you and Lewis made his heart flutter.

Unlike the calculated strategies and adrenaline-soaked races he were used to, you were uncharted territory, an alluring enigma that he found impossible to resist.

There were something intoxicating yet daunting about you—you were Lewis’s sister, a protector of the family name, and that made George hesitate. In a sport where boundaries was often blurred, this one felt resolute.

When the races ended and the teams dissipated back to their homes, George's thoughts lingered on Y/N like a lingering tune.

He would catch glimpses of you in the paddock, joking with mechanics, stealing the occasional insightful chat with engineers, and even cheering from the pit wall.

Everything about your captivated him—the way your laughter harmonized with the thundering engines, how your eyes sparkled when you spoke about racing, and the warmth of your presence that pulled everyone in closer.

George tried to tell himself that he had experience with women, with dating, and that he could easily approach you. But as he watched you from afar, the typical confidence he exuded on the track melted away.

You were untouchable, wrapped in the aura of familial loyalty; your brother was a legend in the sport.

Asking you out felt like challenging a titan.

You were the sister of Lewis Hamilton, a seven-time world champion, and that distinction brought its own kind of attention. People flocked to you, drawn in by your radiant smile and laughter.

Yet, amid the glamorous chaos surrounding you, there was George Russell, the promising young driver from Mercedes.

His piercing blue eyes often met yours in fleeting glances, a moment of light amidst the sea of noise, but when they did, his usual bravado seemed to dissipate, leaving behind a shy, vulnerable side of him that was rarely seen.

As you took your place near the track—the energy of excited fans thrumming in rhythm with your heartbeat—Lewis nudged you gently.

“Look at George over there,” he said, pointing to where George stood in his paddock, fiddling nervously with his cap. There he was, the confident driver to the world, yet utterly bashful in your presence.

You chuckled softly, unable to suppress the warmth blooming in your chest. “What’s he doing?” you mused, tilting your head to get a better look.

“Probably trying to figure out how to say hello to you without blushing,” Lewis teased, a grin stretching across his face. “It’s hilarious, really. I’ve never seen him shy around anyone else.”

“Maybe I should go say hi,” you suggested playfully, feeling a small thrill at the thought.

You had developed a mutual admiration with George over the months—not just for his driving skills but the warmth behind his reserved demeanor. Their playful banter only added to the chemistry you felt building with him.

“Go for it. But prepare for him to fumble like a rookie at the last corner,” Lewis chuckled, his eyes sparkling with mischief.

Bracing yourself, you made your way through the throng of team members and media personnel, your confidence buoying you along.

As you approached George, he looked up, and his handsome face fell into a genuine smile, although the faintest blush tinted his cheeks.

“Hey, George,” you greeted, injecting cheerfulness into your voice.

“Uh, hey! I—um... hi!” His words tumbled out like loose marbles as he fumbled with his helmet.

You couldn’t help but laugh. “Lewis says you’re a little shy around me. Is that true?”

“Shy? Me?” He pretended to scoff, but his shy smile betrayed him. “Nah, just... focused on the race. Really important stuff, you know?”

You leaned a bit closer, observing how unlike his usual self he was around you. “Sure, Mr. Focused. But the race isn’t happening for a while. Don’t you have time to chat?”

His gaze softened, his nervousness dwindling as he began to relax. “Right! Of course. What do you want to talk about?”

“How about you tell me what this weekend means to you,” you suggested, curious to know more about his passion.

George’s eyes lit up, and for a moment, the world around you faded. “It’s everything. The adrenaline, the competition—it’s like... like dancing on the edge. When I’m out there, nothing else matters; it’s just the track and me.”

You watched him talk, captivated by the passion in his voice. “That sounds exhilarating. I can’t imagine how it feels.”

“It’s—” he paused, catching himself, “It’s even better knowing you’re here. Really.”

Your heart skipped a beat as you searched his blue eyes for sincerity. “Why’s that?”

He dropped his gaze, appearing bashful once more. “I don’t know. You just bring a different kind of energy. It’s nice.”

Before you could respond, Lewis appeared, draping an arm around George’s shoulder. “Look at you two! I knew you’d scare him out of his shell,” he laughed. “Do you need a tutor in flirting, George?”

George shot him a mock glare. “I don’t need a tutor. I’m just... um, focused.”

“Sure, focused,” you interjected, suppressing laughter. “Give it time, Lewis. Maybe he’ll crack.”

“Oh, he will. Just wait until he gets back from the race and needs someone to celebrate with,” Lewis smirked before giving George a friendly nudge. “Break a leg out there! But not literally. We still need you alive for the after-party.”

With a final flip of his cap, George knew it was time to shift his focus. “Catch you after the race?” he asked, his tone growing a little more assured.

“Definitely,” you replied, giving him a smile that felt like a secret promise.

You stood beside the barriers, a proud family member soaking in the electric atmosphere that only race day could provide. George, Lewis's teammate at Mercedes and an up-and-coming star in his own right, had just come off the track after a hard-fought race.

As the cars roared by in a cloud of tires and adrenaline, your heart raced—not from the high speeds, but from the anticipation of welcoming George back.

“Georgie! You did so well!” you yelled, waving your arms as he approached the garage, beads of sweat glistening on his forehead.

George's expression softened, and a weary smile tugged at his lips. He was exhausted, but your encouragement infused him with energy.

“Thanks! It was a tough one out there,” he replied, shaking his head as if trying to clear the dizzying effects of the race.

As he drew closer, you could see the way his hair clung to his forehead, the remnants of the incredible effort he had just put forth.

Your heart fluttered, and as you often did, you reverted to that endearing nickname. “You’re such a little champion, Georgie! I’m so proud of you!”

George blushed, a swath of crimson spreading across his cheeks. “I’m not that little,” he protested weakly, trying to play off the nickname, but the smile on his face betrayed him.

You laughed and stepped closer, an undeniable warmth spreading through you. It was a little game you played, this teasing; you loved seeing him squirm, and you loved even more how he would pretend to be annoyed while secretly reveling in the attention.

George took a step forward and embraced you tightly. The warmth of his sweat-soaked suit pressed against you, the mingling scents of adrenaline and engine oil surrounding you both.

The hug was a blend of camaraderie and something deeper, something you both tried hard to ignore yet felt every time you were together.

“What a race! I thought I was going to lose it at that corner,” he said, pulling back from the hug but not entirely letting go of your hands.

“Corner ten, right? I was holding my breath! But you kept your cool,” you grinned, feeling the intensity in his eyes as he recounted his experience.

“I tried to channel my inner Lewis,” he joked, but there was a flicker of sincerity in his tone. It turned into a soft admiration that you couldn’t help but notice.

George had an undeniable respect for your brother, but was he beginning to look up to you too?

“You should!” you teased, playfully bumping your shoulder against his. “Just don’t forget who’s been cheering the loudest for you!”

George chuckled, a playful glint in his eyes. “You’ve made that very clear, y’know. I can hear you through my helmet.”

“Oh, you think I’ll mute myself because you’re a big-shot F1 driver now? Not a chance!”

The banter was light, but beneath the surface, there was a palpable tension, an unspoken bond that lingered in the air like the scent of burnt rubber.

Excitement crackled in the air as fans buzzed around the barriers, their cheers mingling with the distant roar of engines. Amidst the whirlwind of team activity, George Russell leaned against the open door of the Mercedes garage, his arms crossed as he watched the sea of enthusiastic supporters.

"Hey, try and shoot your shot with my little sis, even though she will reject you," came the teasing voice of Lewis Hamilton, who had just stepped out of the hospitality suite, an amused smirk dancing on his lips.

George’s eyes darted to where you stood, chatting amiably with a group of fans. With your effortless grace and radiant smile, it was difficult to imagine anyone being brave—or foolish—enough to approach you.

Lewis shrugged lightly, as if he had just made a casual comment about the weather.

What he didn’t know was that George had been harboring a significant crush on you for longer than he cared to admit.

“I wasn’t planning on it,” George said, trying to sound nonchalant. He could feel his cheeks warming with embarrassment.

The last thing he wanted was to confess to Lewis how he felt about you, especially since Lewis had made it quite clear that you had rejected quite a list of drivers before.

“You sure? I mean, you never know,” Lewis teased, leaning forward with a playful glint in his eyes.

George turned his gaze back toward the fans, pretending to be absorbed in an ongoing autograph session, while internally he sighed.

His heart raced as he watched you bend down to sign a cap for a young girl, the way your laugh rang out like a bell, how genuine and warm you were in your interactions. Truly, anyone would have a hard time coming to you with all that positivity surrounding you.

George sighed, pushing away from the door. "I have to get ready for the next session," he replied, waving a casual hand to dismiss the increasingly tempting idea of approaching you.

"Suit yourself," Lewis said, an amused expression crossing his face as he stepped back inside.

With heavy footsteps, George made his way to his car, but his mind was still fixated on you.

How was it that you could have such an undeniable effect on him?

Just before he climbed in, he glanced back, hoping to steal one more look. The moment he did, he caught your attention; you waved at him, and a smile graced your lips.

He froze, caught between the instinct to wave back and the fear of making a fool of himself.

After what felt like an eternity, he managed to raise his hand in a hesitant wave, heat flooding his face. It was ridiculous—he was a driver in the elite world of Formula 1, yet here he was, acting like a schoolboy with a crush.

Later that evening, during a team dinner, George found himself at a table scattered with familiar faces. Lewis, animatedly recounting a recent on-track incident, commanded attention while George half-listened.

He glanced over his shoulder and caught sight of you again, this time engaging with a couple of other drivers who were undoubtedly vying for your attention.

“God, look at her,” one of the drivers muttered, casting a flirtatious eye your way. "You think she’d notice if I shot my shot?"

“No one’s shooting anywhere, mate,” George snapped, surprising even himself with the sudden flare of jealousy. “She’s Lewis’s sister.”

The driver rolled his eyes. “Doesn’t mean she’s off-limits. She’s not a trophy to be won, you know.”

As the evening wore on, George made a conscious effort to not think about you. He should focus on the upcoming race and the important decisions that needed his complete attention.

Still, the thought of you lingered in the corners of his mind.

Then, as fate would have it, you entered the dining area, searching for a seat. Spotting George at the table, you smiled and made your way over.

“Mind if I join?” you asked, your voice warm and inviting.

“Of course not! I mean—I mean, please!” George stammered, his heart racing again. Mystery of how to act around you descended into chaos in his mind.

You chuckled softly as you settled into the seat opposite him. “What are you talking about? I saw you glancing at me during the signing session today. I thought you were going to knock someone over with how tense you looked!”

He couldn’t help but laugh nervously, the kind of laugh that felt more like a burst of squealing excitement than anything else. “Yeah, well… it’s just, I’m not good at that kind of stuff.”

Your eyebrows arched in surprise. “Not good at handling fans? But you’re a driver! You basically live under a spotlight,” you retorted playfully.

“More like I’m good at racing cars, not at charming beautiful women,” George admitted, taking a sip of his drink.

“Beautiful women? Now I’m curious. Have you been talking to anyone?” You leaned forward, your eyes sparkling with mischief.

George felt himself blush at your inquiry. “Only one, I suppose…but you probably wouldn’t care for that,” he said, trying to deflect.

“Try me,” you said, leaning back in enjoyment of the banter.

Before George could respond, Lewis appeared, swinging a hand around your shoulders. “There’s my sis! I hope you’re not stealing my teammate’s heart!”

George felt his face turn crimson. "That’s— uh, not happening, Lewis.”

“Blushing? Wow, I’ll have to tell the media about that,” Lewis laughed, holding on to your shoulder like a protective brother.

Not wanting to seem awkward, you quickly intervened. “Chill, Lewis! We’re just getting to know each other.”

George stole a glance at you, his heart racing yet again. For the first time, he felt a flicker of hope. Maybe he could open up about his feelings—just maybe.

But then came the reality: fear tightened around him again. What if you rejected him too? Would that ruin everything?

“Anyway,” you said, breaking the momentary silence. “What’s your take on the race tomorrow?”

George plunged into a conversation about strategy and his excitement, but in the back of his mind, the wish that he could simply tell you how he felt hung between you like an unmentioned dart.

As the dinner carried on, with laughter and snippets of conversation bouncing between you and the others, George realized he’d have to take a leap of faith at some point.

“Hey, would you… want to catch up after the race? You know, just us?” He fixed his gaze on you, uncertainty sprinkled with a hint of determination.

Your smile widened, an invitation hanging on the edge of your lips. “I’d love that, George.”

╚═ * . · : · . ✧ ✦ ✧ . · : · . * * . · : · . ✧ ✦ ✧ . · : · . * ═╝

The sun dipped low on the horizon as George paced in the paddock, his heart heavy with disappointment.

It had been a tough season.

He could still hear the cheers from last year, the adrenaline pulsing through him as he crossed the finish line, grinning widely with the trophy held high above his head. But this year was different.

This year, every race felt like a battle against unseen foes, and his performance was slipping.

You hadn't been to any of the races this year, and it gnawed at him. George had always believed in the idea of lucky charms, and you had been his.

The way you would wrap him in a soothing hug after a bad score, whispering encouraging words in his ear. It had brought him a confidence he didn’t even know he needed.

He would always think of those moments, of your laughter echoing in his mind, propelling him forward when he felt like giving up. “Just do it for her smile, Georgie,” he’d remind himself, drawing strength from the bond you shared.

Now, he stood alone on the edge of the pit wall, wind whipping through his hair as he tried to shake off the feeling of dread that hung around his neck.

There was no one here to call him ‘Georgie’ like you used to, no teasing remarks about being a baby even though you were just a year older and a few inches taller.

The void you left felt so immense, filling the space where hope and encouragement had once thrived.

As the cars tore down the track, he struggled to push himself to focus. The roar of the engines was an ominous reminder of the struggles he faced.

Every corner he took felt unmotivated, every lap just a task to be completed rather than a race to be conquered. He could almost see you in the grandstands, waving your hands, your infectious energy lighting up the day.

But all he could see now were empty seats.

During the race, he made a few mistakes, his mind wandering to what you might say if you were there. The frustration built in him until finally, it burst. Ignoring the instructions from the team, he pushed the car harder than ever.

His only thought was “You need to do this for her,” and for a brief moment, it worked, igniting a familiar fire in his chest.

But then, as luck would have it, that very push led him to misjudge a turn, and he felt the tires screech in protest before the world spun around him.

Silence fell in the aftermath of the crash, and as he peeled himself out of the car, the reality hit him. There were no cheers, no warm embraces waiting for him, only the medics’ concerned faces.

Anguish swelled in his chest. All of his efforts to make you proud had culminated in this moment of humiliation.

As he sat on the sidelines, bandaged and dejected, he felt a familiar shiver run down his spine. He suddenly remembered the last race of the previous season, the way you had been waiting for him in the pit after his win, your arms wide, your smile brighter than the sun.

“See, Georgie, I told you it was going to be okay!” you had exclaimed, laughing as you wrapped him in an embrace that made all the struggles worth it.

The thought of that memory stirred something in him. Determination bloomed within his heart. In that moment, he resolved he wouldn’t let year’s disappointing results define him.

He would find a way to get back on track. He had to, if only to find a way to bring you back to the races to see him rise again.

As the team carried the wrecked car away, George stood up, swaying slightly but determined to shake off the remnants of defeat.

One thing was clear: he needed you, his lucky charm, back by his side. The next race was just around the corner, and he would make sure you would be there—no matter what it took.

The sun peeked out from behind the clouds, casting a warm glow on him as if signaling the start of something new.

Just as he was about to turn and walk away, he felt an inexplicable warmth, a flicker of your spirit. He smiled softly to himself. “Next time, I’ll make you proud, I promise.”

George took a deep breath as he watched Lewis scroll through his phone, the bright screen illuminating his relaxed expression. His heart raced slightly—today felt different.

He had been trying to find the right moment to ask Lewis about you, the woman who had captured his thoughts regularly since he joined Mercedes.

“Hey, George! Do you need something?” Lewis looked up just as George was approaching, his face lighting up with casual interest.

“Uh, yeah…” George hesitated, his mind racing. “I was just wondering where Y/N has been these days,” he managed, trying to sound as casual as possible.

The words came out more like stutters than coherent speech.

Lewis raised an eyebrow, a grin breaking out on his face. “My sis, huh? Do you miss her that much?”

George felt the heat rise to his face, and he was sure he resembled a well-cooked lobster. “I was just wondering,” he said defensively. “That’s all.”

“Well, apparently she found something she wants to do and set off doing it. She didn’t give any details, though,” Lewis replied, an amused sparkle in his eyes.

“Oh, okay,” George replied, disappointment seeping into his voice. He had hoped for more, some hint of where you might be or when you might come back. “That’s...uh, good for her.”

“Should I call her for you?” Lewis teased, leaning back in his chair with a smug smile.

“No! I mean, no thanks, Lewis! That’s all I needed to know. See you!” George replied quickly, his nerves overtaking him as he turned to leave.

As he walked away, he could hear Lewis chuckling behind him, which only made his face feel hotter. George couldn’t shake the feeling of wanting to know more about you.

You two had developed a close friendship through Lewis, sharing countless late-night conversations in the garage and daring adventures that seemed to bind your souls together.

The soft rays of the autumn sun filtered through the white curtains of your new apartment, casting a warm glow on the walls. You sank deeper into the plush couch, pulling a cozy blanket around you as you surrendered to the soothing embrace of a nap.

The chirping of birds outside formed a gentle background melody, lulling you further into restful oblivion.

Just as you began to drift off, the shrill ring of your phone broke the serene silence. Groggily, you fumbled to grab it from the coffee table, squinting at the screen. It was Lewis. You rubbed the sleep from your eyes and answered.

“Hey Lewis! Is something wrong?” you asked, concern lacing your voice, knowing that he was supposed to be at a big race in just a few hours.

“Yeah, I’m okay,” Lewis replied, his tone light and cheerful. “I’ve gotten a sick teammate.”

You shot straight up, your heart racing. “Oh no! What happened to Georgie?” you asked, brain already filling with worst-case scenarios.

“It’s not that kind of sickness,” Lewis laughed, a laugh that felt like a warm embrace over the phone. “I mean lovesick.”

You couldn’t help but laugh too, but also felt a knot form in your stomach. “Oh, you shouldn't scare me like that!” you said, half relieved, half annoyed.

“Sorry, sis, but I couldn’t help it!” Lewis chuckled. “He looked so sad when I told him you were on an ‘adventure’ and didn’t know when you were coming back. You really did a number on the kid.”

Heat crept to your cheeks. Georgie had been such a sweet boy, a devoted fan of Lewis and his racing, but more so of you, it seemed. “Did he ask where I was?” you inquired, feeling strangely shy.

“Oh, definitely. He practically pouted when I told him,” Lewis laughed again, the sound brightening your mood even more. “I mean, he is missing his number one fan, I get it.”

You smirked, feeling a flutter of happiness at the thought. “Well, who wouldn’t miss me? I’m pretty amazing,” you jested, tossing your hair back dramatically for effect.

“Yes, yes, the most amazing person on the planet. All hail the fearless adventurer!” Lewis replied, his tone mock-heroic, making you giggle at the absurdity of it.

“I wish I had my cape,” you grinned, “but really, what’s this about him being lovesick?”

“He’s been moping around like a puppy who lost its favorite toy,” Lewis explained, his voice turning more serious. “I honestly think you’ve left quite an impression on him, sis.”

Now you felt shy again. “What am I supposed to do about that? I’m off on my own journey, and I didn’t mean to make him feel, you know, this way.”

“I don't know,” Lewis said thoughtfully. “But maybe it’s worth talking to him? Just to clear the air? He thinks you’re out doing some grand adventure, which you are, but he’s worried he’s lost his shot at it.”

You bit your lip, considering. The thought of Georgie missing you tugged at your heartstrings more than you anticipated. “I guess… I could give him a call or something. Maybe a video chat?”

“Definitely! Give the poor kid a break. Plus, I’d love to hear the shenanigans you two would get into,” Lewis encouraged.

You felt a stirring of excitement at the idea. “Okay, I’ll do it! But if I end up causing him to fall head over heels in love with me, I’m blaming you,” you joked back, “It’s all your fault for egging me on!”

“Hey!” Lewis exclaimed, sounding mock-offended. “I’m just a brother trying to save his teammate's spirit here! I’d never want that kind of drama on my hands.”

You could hear the laughter in his voice and it made you feel more at ease. “Alright, I’ll see what I can do. Just keep an eye on Georgie, will you? And make sure he doesn’t drive himself to distraction before our talk.”

“I’ll send him your warmest regards,” Lewis promised, “And I expect full reports of your ‘adventure’ when you get back home.”

“As if I’m not already planning to regale you with tales worthy of royal storytelling!” you declared with mock seriousness.

“Perfect! I can already picture the enthusiastic crowd gathered for your triumphant return!” Lewis teased, and you both burst into laughter.

After the call ended, you put your phone down and stared out the window, contemplating the golden leaves dancing in the mild breeze. Who knew?

Perhaps this adventure was about more than just finding yourself. It might also be the path that led you toward an unexpected connection, one that had stirred beneath the surface, waiting for its moment to bloom.

And Georgie? Maybe he was one of those surprises along the journey.

George sat on the edge of his driver’s room chair, the weight of disappointment pressing down on him like the thick heat of a summer day.

The harsh fluorescent lights buzzed overhead, illuminating a world that felt far too bright and unjust.

He couldn’t shake the image of the checkered flag unfurling just as he crossed the finish line, his heart sinking as he realized he was in 17th place—a rank so low, it felt like a personal failure.

Outside, the celebrations for Lewis echoed through the walls. His teammate had pulled off yet another impressive race, scoring 6th place and basking in the accolades from fans and team members alike.

George could almost hear the cheers and laughter of the other drivers as they recounted their thrilling overtakes and nail-biting moments. But all he could feel was bitterness clinging to him like the stale odor of spilled fuel.

He had let himself down, and in turn, he had let down the team who had worked tirelessly to give him the best chance possible.

His thoughts spiraled into dark territory—if only the car had performed better, if only he had pushed harder, if only he hadn’t made that last-minute decision to take the inside line.

Not that it mattered now; the race was over, and all that remained was the sinking feeling of defeat.

After the debriefing, George had retreated to his room, avoiding the glances of his teammates who knew better than to engage him in conversation. He appreciated their silence, but it added a new layer to his frustration: the isolation.

A part of him longed for the comfort of a familiar voice, someone to tell him it was just a race, that he could come back stronger. But that supportive presence couldn’t arrive soon enough.

Why hadn’t you come?

You’d been a pillar of support, a reminder that racing was about passion, not just the numbers on a scoreboard. But today, you weren’t here, and he felt that absence like a gaping void.

George slumped back onto the couch, the weight of his disappointment crashing down like the checkered flag at the end of a long race. Seventeen place.

It wasn’t where he saw himself landing, not after all the preparation he had gone through for this event. His usual drive was throttled by anger and frustration, and there wasn’t much anyone could say to lift him out of this funk.

He rolled his head to the side, staring at the wall, half-listening to the muted sounds of the race venue still bustling outside. The excitement felt like a distant echo, so far removed from his own bitterness.

His phone sat silently on the desk, an uninvited messenger of expectation. It vibrated quietly, then rang out—it was family, probably. They’d be calling to soothe him, to assure him that he had more races ahead and that this one outcome didn’t define him.

But in that moment, George couldn’t muster the patience. He didn’t want to hear their words, wrapped in kindness, when all he felt was regret. He turned his head back toward the wall, letting the phone ring out.

But seconds later, it rang again—a familiar ringtone that made him sit up. They weren’t giving up easily. Just as he was about to dismiss it again, the third ring pulled him in.

With an exasperated sigh, he pushed himself off the sofa, his feet leading him to the desk. He picked up the phone and glanced at the screen. His heart dropped.

It was you.

The image of your face, lit up by the screen, chased away the haze that had settled over his mind. His stomach twisted as nostalgia teamed up with excitement, and he quickly answered. “Hello?”

“Hey, Georgie!” Your voice danced through the receiver, a melody that tugged at his heartstrings. He couldn’t help but smile at the sound of his nickname escaping your lips. “How are you doing?”

“I got 17th place today,” he muttered, the words leaving a bitter taste in his mouth.

“I know, I watched the race,” you replied, unfazed. “I wish I could give you a hug right now.”

George's heart ached at your words. He wished he could feel your warmth surrounding him, erasing the chill of loneliness that had settled in. “Where did you go?” he said softly, laying down on the sofa, staring at the ceiling. “You've just... disappeared.”

“I've just gone to find my own path, you know?” Your voice was tinged with a weariness he could hear even through the phone. “Did you miss me?”

“Should I lie?” George joked, but the jest had a bittersweet edge.

“Nope, only the truth,” you insisted, making his stomach twist in knots.

“I’ve missed you a lot,” he confessed, his voice barely above a whisper. It had been months since they had last seen each other, months since laughter had filled the gaps between them, and the thrill of their shared dreams had become mere echoes.

As silence settled between them, George could picture you—a smile that could light up any room, laughter that could dissolve his worries.

He missed the way your eyes sparkled when you talked about your passions, how every conversation turned into a palette of colors that painted hope into his often grueling life as an F1 driver.

“Are you still there?” you finally asked, as he remained lost in thought.

“Y-yeah,” he stammered, pulling himself back into the moment. “I was just... thinking about how life is different now that you're not around.”

“I feel the same way,” you admitted, voice softer now. “It’s strange, isn’t it? One moment we were inseparable, and the next, it feels like the world pulled us apart.”

George sat up and ran a hand through his tousled hair. “Do you think it’ll always be like this? Just... drifting apart?”

“I hope not.” Your voice was resolute, but the uncertainty lingered. “I think we’ve both been chasing something, but maybe our paths will overlap again.”

“Maybe,” he echoed, though he felt a pang of doubt. The F1 circuit was ruthless, and the more he advanced, the more it consumed him.

Success came at a price, and that price had meant sacrificing time with you, with the person who had always seen him beyond the flashy cars and the roaring crowds.

“Let me know what I can do to help,” you joked lightly. “Send you good vibes? Or maybe I should crash the race tomorrow and cheer you on?”

He chuckled, grateful for the banter amid his anxieties. “I’d love that. The distraction could help.”

As your laughter echoed through the phone, his heartstrings tugged as they always did.

How could someone so vibrant and full of life care enough to check in on him? In his eyes, you were effortlessly beautiful, with a spirit that could light up even the darkest corners of his fears.

“Alright, I’ve got to go. I need to call Lewis and congratulate him,” you announced, bringing him back to reality.

“Yeah, see you soon?” He tried to keep his voice casual, but the thought of your absence felt like a weight in his chest.

“I hope so. Bye, Georgie!” you sang before hanging up, the sound leaving an aching silence behind.

George tossed his phone onto the desk and took a deep breath, staring at the ceiling.

The vibrations of the engines revving echoed in his mind, but it was your voice—your laughter—that settled in his heart.

“So you talked to my sis then?” Lewis called out, his tone teasing.

George halted mid-stride as he walking past the hospitality room, his confident demeanor faltering for a brief moment.

Heat crept up his cheeks as he glanced back at Lewis. “What? No, I didn’t—”

“Come on, mate. It’s written all over your face!” Lewis laughed, the sound infectious. “I saw you two chatting before on the phone. What’s it got to do with racing, huh?”

George chuckled nervously, an undeniable smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “We were just discussing the dynamics of the track...”

Lewis nodded, the teasing glint in his eyes replaced with genuine warmth. “Just be yourself, mate. If she can see the real you, I think you’ll be just fine.”

As George nodded, ready to head back to his garage, a newfound determination surged within him. . . .

George Russell leaned against the cool metal of his car, the adrenaline still pulsing through his veins like the roaring engines that surrounded him.

He had just experienced a whirlwind of a race, finishing in second place—a personal victory, considering the challenges of the season.

As he peeled his helmet off and wiped the sweat from his brow, he locked eyes with his teammate, Lewis Hamilton, who grinned with pride.

"Not half bad for a young gun, eh?" Lewis teased, clapping George on the shoulder.

The camaraderie they shared gleamed like the trophy that would soon be presented to the race's champion—theirs was a friendship forged in the heat of competition.

"Better than I expected," George replied, his voice laced with uncertainty. While the roar of applause from the crowd filled the air, George could only think of one thing: you.

George had hoped you would be there to witness his triumph, to celebrate the moment that felt like it had been carved out just for him.

Tonight marked a holiday celebration that provided the perfect opportunity for the team to let loose, and Lewis was determined that George would join in the festivities.

"Time to celebrate, mate! You need to unwind."

George sighed, running his fingers through his tousled hair. "I don't know, Lewis. Maybe I should just head home."

Lewis shook his head vigorously, his face alight with mischief. "No way! I’m inviting you to our little soiree. Get ready—you need to dress for the occasion!"

Before George could protest, Lewis dragged him to the team's hotel. A little while later, George found himself staring at the mirror, adjusting a fitted black t-shirt and tailored trousers that felt disconcertingly foreign on him.

It wasn't his usual racing attire, and it certainly didn't feel like something you would want to see him in.

"What if my sister comes and you look like a runaway groom?” Lewis quipped, laughing as he helped George complete his look. “She hates it when guys dress too formally.”

The playful jab made George forget his reservations momentarily. “Alright, alright. You win. But if she laughs at me, I’m blaming you.”

“Perfect! Let’s bring on the night!” Lewis said, grabbing George's shoulder enthusiastically as they headed toward the club, their laughter echoing down the hallway.

When they entered the venue, the bass from the music thrummed through George’s chest. Familiar faces filled the space—Charles, Lando, Carlos, and other drivers were scattered throughout, already in vibrant spirits.

A few cheers erupted the moment George and Lewis stepped into the atmosphere of celebration.

"George! He finally shows!" Lando shouted, raising a drink in acknowledgment. George waved back, but a piece of him felt distant amidst the noise.

The pounding music blended with raucous laughter, but amidst the revelry, George's thoughts remained fixed on you.

As if sensing George's distraction, Lewis clapped a hand on his back, leaning in closely to shout over the music. “How’s it feel to be a podium finisher?”

“Great! But I don’t know... It would be better if you-know-who were here,” he admitted, keeping his tone light, yet tinged with sincerity.

Lewis raised an eyebrow knowingly. “You’re still hung up on her, huh?”

“C’mon, she should have been here to celebrate.”

“Yeah, but that doesn’t mean you can’t enjoy yourself! Come on, let’s find you someone to cheer you up!”

Before George could respond, a young woman, strikingly beautiful with warm eyes and an inviting smile, approached him. “Hey George! Wanna party with me?” she said, her lips curving in a playful manner.

George hesitated, a knot forming in his chest at the prospect. She was gorgeous, no doubt, but all he could think about was you—how much he missed your laughter, your warmth, and the effortless way you lit up a room.

“Thanks, but I think I’m just going to sit this one out,” he said politely, offering her a smile even if his heart wasn’t in it.

He turned away and made his way to the bar, needing a moment to collect himself. The bartender raised an eyebrow as George ordered a drink, and as he took a sip, he swore he could almost feel the tension release… but it didn’t work.

Instead, all he felt was a longing tugging at his heart, reminding him of the vacant space left by your absence.

George nursed what was supposed to be a single drink. But suddenly, what began with one drink turned into three, and now the room was spinning as he clutched the table for stability.

He chuckled nervously, acknowledging how quick he was to forget the limits he set for himself.

“Just one more sip, and I’ll head out,” he muttered to himself, yet deep down, he felt the pull of the crowd, the booming music, the laughter that was too easy to lose himself in.

But as he stood to leave, the earth shifted beneath him. He wobbled precariously, a laugh escaping his lips when he felt a warm presence wrap around him.

“Woah, Georgie! Let’s not fall now!” The voice was melodic. It sounded like you—the very essence he had been searching for on a night filled with hollow connections.

He turned slowly, squinting against the neon lights, and was met with a face that mirrored yours. Same bright eyes, same hair that danced whimsically with every sway of her body.

Was he delusional?

“You look just like her,” he slurred, momentarily forgetting his desire to escape.

“Let’s get you some fresh air, okay, Georgie?” she said, her hand still clasping his arm with a gentle but firm grip. He couldn’t muster a response; he simply nodded, following her through the throngs of dancing bodies until the blaring music was a distant thrum.

Once outside, the crisp night air hit him, refreshing but still dizzying. She led him to a bench in a shadowed corner, shielded from the rest of the clubgoers.

“Come sit over here so no one sees us,” she said, patting the surface beside her.

George obeyed, sitting down heavily as he released a breath he didn’t know he was holding. He stared at the woman beside him for what felt like minutes, captivated by her resemblance to you—your features, your voice.

Every detail seemed to stitch his heartstrings tighter, tugging at the loneliness that lingered like an unwanted guest.

“Oh Georgie, why are you crying?” she asked, her voice full of concern as she reached out to wipe a tear that had escaped the confines of his drunken haze.

“I miss her,” he muttered, leaning into her soft touch. He couldn’t believe he was pouring his heart out to a stranger, yet it felt inexplicably right and terrifyingly real.

“Who?” she asked gently, coaxing the truth from behind his barriers of inebriation.

“Y/N,” he admitted, not catching the way her breath hitched at the sound of your name.

“Is she that important to you?” Her voice was soft, almost like a whisper engulfed in their little cocoon of semi-darkness.

He nodded quickly, the gesture almost frantic. “She was everything… and I was nothing, I really messed up,” he confessed, tears emerging anew as he dove into memories of laughter, late-night conversations, and the electricity that sparked every time you smiled at him.

Sensing his vulnerability, the woman shifted closer, her hand delicately resting on his forearm.

“Tell me how you messed it up, George. Maybe it’ll help,” she encouraged, her eyes reflecting understanding that was almost uncanny.

“I—” he started, the words fumbling in his mind but finally tumbling out. “I was always too focused on racing. I was so caught up in being this driver that everyone would love and I lost sight of the love I had always wanted. I thought she’d always be there, that I could ask her to be mine one day.”

The woman bit her lip, absorbing his words. “Sometimes we don’t realize what we might have until it’s gone,” she replied softly, a note of sadness tainting her voice.

“I’ve reaching out, but it feels like there’s this wall between us now, one I built up without even knowing,” he continued, his heart racing with equal parts regret and hope.

“I miss her laugh, the way she could find joy in the simplest of things. I miss…” His voice trailed off as he blinked back more tears.

“Love is powerful, Georgie,” she said, her gaze unwavering. “You need to fight for it.”

He turned to face her fully, the realization hitting him like a pit stop at full speed. This woman could not only have been a reflection of his heartache, but perhaps also the voice that pushed him to find clarity.

“But what if she doesn’t want me?”

“Then you’ll have to accept that, but you haven’t even tried yet, have you?” she challenged gently, her expression earnest. “You’ll never know unless you do.”

George inhaled deeply, the words resonating within him. Maybe this stranger—this woman who wore your likeness—was simply a guiding light.

“Georgie, listen to me,” she said, squeezing his arm gently. “You have to reach out before it’s too late. Don’t let fear hold you back.”

As the night wore on, he felt the weight of the world lessen just a tad. The fire in his heart reignited, and he made up his mind. He would call you, declare what he could no longer hide.

“Thank you,” he whispered, looking into her eyes that held so much warmth and wisdom.

"You're welcome Georgie," she said, bringing him into a warm hug which also reminded him of you. . .

George Russell groaned as sunlight streamed through the curtains, each ray piercing into his consciousness like tiny needles. Rubbing his temples, he tried to dispel the pounding headache that greeted him with cold indifference.

He glanced around the room, finding a stark contrast between the chaotic remnants of a night perhaps too wild for a professional Formula 1 driver and the calming colors of his well-organized space.

The clothes he had worn the night before were folded neatly on his desk—a testament to a gradual descent into maturity, or perhaps just a diligent hotel staff.

For a fleeting moment, he contemplated the irony of being a high-speed driver yet feeling this slow and uncoordinated.

Then, his phone buzzed like a mosquito in the dead of night, drawing his attention. A text from Lewis griped his curiosity: "Hey George, apparently Y/N was in town. Did you see her?"

George’s heart dropped into his stomach. Y/N?

The name echoed in his mind, accompanied by fragmented images of the previous night—a soft laugh, the swish of a black dress, and a set of mesmerizing eyes that had entranced him even as the liquor clouded his memories.

He cursed under his breath. She had been delightful company, and it gnawed at him that he couldn’t remember every detail.

He was too drunk. Too engrossed in the moment. Was she the stranger from last night, or just a fleeting wind?

He could almost hear Lewis’ voice in his head: You need to get your act together, George. You’re a professional, remember?

Ignoring the nagging voice, he replied to Lewis, "No, I didn’t see her. Things got a bit out of hand last night."

As he sat up, still groggy from sleep, he stared at the wall, deliberating over how he had ended up in his pajamas, yet again.

“Hangover bunks,” he mumbled to himself. “Last night was intense.”

With a sigh, George tossed his legs over the side of the bed and stood up, stretching as he surveyed the mess around him.

Despite it being a day off, his thoughts were far from the circuit and more focused on the woman he couldn't seem to shake from his mind: you.

“Focus, Russell,” he muttered. “This isn’t about you today.”

He hastily made his way to the bathroom, where he turned on the shower. The hot water felt fantastic against his skin, washing away the remnants of the previous night's events.

He found his mind drifting to the way you had smiled at him, how your expressive eyes sparkled under the sunlight, how the world around you seemed to fade away when you spoke.

George didn’t realize he was smiling in the shower until he caught a glimpse of his reflection. Flushing, he mentally slapped himself.

“There’s enough pressure today without thinking about… her,” he chastised, but in truth, the thoughts wrapped around his mind like a twisted tire, always returning to you.

Rinsing off, he dedicated himself to his skin care routine, that brief moment of self-care morphing into an involuntary meditation over the more meaningful moments shared with you.

As he applied moisturizer, each swipe was a daydream filled with giggles and shared glances, the feelings dancing just beyond his grasp.

Despite military-style discipline on track and media channels, his heart raced more for you than any car he’d ever driven.

George stood before the mirror in his apartment, adjusting the collar of his light blue button-up shirt. The sun streamed through the window, illuminating the polished floor, and as he ran a hand through his hair, he thought about how long it had been since he last saw his family.

The whirlwind of racing circuits, late-night parties, and media commitments had left little room for moments that mattered. Today, however, he decided to change all that.

Breakfast with the family seemed more necessary than ever, so he slipped into a comfortable pair of dark jeans and polished off his look with fresh sneakers.

His family home was situated just outside of town—a charming two-story house filled with memories that flooded back with every step he took toward it.

George felt a familiar buzz in his chest, a blend of excitement and apprehension, as he reached the door and knocked.

“George!” Alison exclaimed as she swung open the door, her face lighting up with warmth and happiness. “Look at you! Come in, come in!”

“Hi Mom!” He embraced her lightly, still cautious after the night before where he had indulged a little too much at a celebratory party. “Is Dad here?”

“He’s in the kitchen with Benji,” she motioned toward the heart of the home, a space filled with the mouthwatering smell of pancakes and crispy bacon. “Cara’s still getting ready.”

As he entered the kitchen, the sight of his father, Steve, flipping pancakes was a comforting reminder of all the mornings spent devouring breakfast together as a family.

Benji, with his youthful enthusiasm, was leaning against the counter, arms crossed and a mischievous smile playing on his lips.

“Look who finally decided to grace us with his presence!” Steve called out teasingly without turning around.

“Very funny, Dad,” George replied, rolling his eyes but unable to suppress a grin. “I was just busy winning races and celebrating my victories, you know?”

“Celebrating a bit too hard, I hear?” Benji raised an eyebrow, smirking knowingly. “You were looking a bit worse for wear yesterday on the media feeds.”

“Oh, come on! I had a couple of drinks,” George shrugged, trying to shrug off the mockery. “It was nothing I couldn’t handle.”

“So you claim.” Benji snickered, settling back down on a stool at the kitchen island as George poured himself a cup of coffee. “But really, man, what’s up with you? You’re more moody than usual—don’t try to say it’s just the fatigue of being an F1 driver. You know we’ve seen a different side of you.”

As they ate breakfast, the laughter and chatter wove seamlessly through the small kitchen. George was content just to be around them; the little quirks and affectionate jabs felt like home.

Jokes were told, stories were shared, and for a moment, everything felt normal again.

“So, what’s the plan for today?” Alison asked with her gentle smile, genuinely curious about his schedule as she placed a fresh stack of pancakes on the table.

“Honestly? I just wanted some family time,” George admitted, a flush tracing his cheeks. “I’m still living out of a suitcase, my schedule is crazy, and I miss you guys. Just needed this.”

The conversations gradually shifted from the racing world to memories of childhood, and George sat back, letting the familiar warmth take over him. Yet, even amidst the laughter, he couldn’t shake the thought of you.

Your smile had become his driving force lately, the light that punctuated the chaos around him. But every time he allowed himself to dwell on you, a layer of embarrassment washed over him.

As if sensing his distraction, Benji slid into the seat next to him, nudging him playfully. “So what lucky lady is running ‘round your mind, mate? Or is it still Y/N stuck in your head?”

George jumped, caught off guard. “What? No way!” His denial came out too sharp, and he immediately regretted it as the teasing glint in Benji's eyes grew brighter.

“Come on, bro, I’ve seen how you look at her,” Benji said with a chuckle. “You’re gonna have to stop denying it sooner or later.”

“Yeah, well, maybe I just…think she’s really cool or something.” George tried to save face but was only met with knowing expressions from the whole table.

“You’re blushing, George,” Cara chimed in as she strolled into the kitchen. Her hair was still damp from the shower, and she carried herself with an unhurried grace. “What did I miss?”

“Nothing much,” Benji replied with a grin that hinted at his amusement. “Just George being shy about his potentially crippling crush.”

“Whatever!” George exclaimed, hiding his face behind his hands as warmth cascaded down his cheeks. “You guys are ridiculous!”

“Hey, it’s just us,” Alison said softly, overjoyed at the candidness, even if it came with a bit of teasing. “If you like her, it’s great! You should tell her how you feel.”

“I don’t even know if she feels the same way,” George replied, desperate now to change the subject. “But we’ve just been…friends, you know?”

“Well, sometimes you have to take risks, son,” Steve chimed in, his voice steady and reassuring. “Life is too short to hold back on what could be something special.”

The conversation changed topics, but George's mind raced back to the allure of what could have been. He felt the weight of his family's expectations and hope.

It was new… this desire to open his heart to someone beyond the racetrack.

As breakfast wrapped up, George found himself distracted again, daydreaming about you, thinking of how he could break the casual barrier between just friends and potentially something more.

The heartfelt banter of family lingered in the air, but as he slipped into the warmth of nostalgia, he realized that in whatever direction life took him—whether he was conquering the circuits or fighting for love—family would always anchor him, grounding his ambitions in the realm of the heart.

With a gentle nudge from Benji, reminding him that life is fleeting, George resolved to take a chance when it came to you.

The sun was low in the sky, casting long shadows over the family home as George finished his late afternoon workout. The aroma of his mother's famous chicken alfredo wafted through the kitchen, mingling with the scents of garlic and herbs.

As he entered the dining room, the laughter of his siblings—Cara and Benji—echoed off the walls. Their noise was a welcome distraction, but today, George could hardly shake the thoughts swarming in his mind, particularly the thought of you.

“So George, what would you want for your birthday?” his mother, Alison, asked as she dished up the alfredo, her eyes bright with excitement.

“I don’t really need anything,” George replied casually, forcing a smile, but his thoughts drifted once more to you.

“Come on, at least think of something,” Cara chimed in, her bright eyes sparkling with mischief. “How about a new racing suit? I hear they could use some updates.”

George chuckled, shaking his head. “I'm fine with what I have. Really, I’m just happy to spend the day with you guys.” Lying was a skill he had mastered well as a race car driver, but today it felt heavier than usual.

Benji, ever the inquisitive one, nudged him playfully. “Really? Not even a new car? You know, maybe this time, something that goes faster than a snail?” He burst into laughter, and soon the others joined in.

Their playful banter felt comforting, a light fabric draped over the layer of tension woven into his heart. George broke bread with his family, occasionally laughing at their jokes.

“Okay, George," Steve finally spoke up, his father’s tone a mix of authority and affection. "If you truly don’t want anything, how about a day at the go-kart track this weekend? Just the family. No fans, no pressure. Just us.”

His father’s eyes were warm, radiating the kind of understanding that came from years of navigating the complexities of family life.

George loved the suggestion—spending time with his family without the trappings of his racing career—but a part of him felt guilty for wanting something more than just this tight-knit gathering.

“Sure, that sounds great! I just need to clear it with my team, but I’d love that.”

Alison smiled and carefully placed a hand on his arm. "You know we’re proud of you, love. Just don’t forget to breathe once in a while. Life’s not just about the fast corners and tight turns.”

He met her gaze, feeling an overwhelming sense of gratitude for her unwavering support. “Thanks, Mum. I appreciate it.”

After dinner, the family split up—Steve and Alison went to the living room to discuss weekend plans while Cara and Benji challenged each other to a board game in the adjoining room.

George found himself standing outside for a moment, the cool evening air bringing him a sense of clarity.

He leaned against the porch railing, staring at the stars emerging against the deepening twilight. The sky, a blanket of possibilities, made him think of you and how special you made him feel.

Just as he opened his phone, eager to see if you had messaged him since they last spoke, his thoughts were interrupted by Cara’s voice calling out.

“Hey, George! Come play!” She tugged at him, not realizing he was lost in thought.

He smiled and gave a small wave, reluctantly putting his phone away.

It was easy to get immersed in the game, to enjoy the competitive spirit that thrummed through their laughter—yet, every moment seemed to pale in comparison to the connection he felt with you. . . .

The air was thick with the smell of burnt rubber and gasoline, a sensation that George Russell had long ago come to associate with the thrill of racing.

The vibrant colors of the paddock seemed to pulse under the Mediterranean sun as he wandered through the area, lingering a bit too long at the sight of the cars glinting under the sun.

He had just returned from a brief holiday with his family – an exhilarating few days spent go-karting at a private circuit that had reminded him of his roots.

He could still hear the laughter of his siblings, Cara and Benji, and his parents, Alison and Steve, echoing in his ears.

George, ever the competitive spirit, zoomed past his family members, reveling in the thrill of victory as he crossed the finish line.

“First place, as usual!” he declared with a playful smirk painted on his face, lifting his helmet to the cheers from his family.

“The only reason you win is because you’re the only one who takes it seriously!” Cara laughed, tossing her hair in a mock gesture of frustration. “How convenient that the racing driver is racing!”

“Someone has to keep this family in line. Besides, I’m just showing you guys how it’s done!” he shot back, ruffling Benji’s hair as he walked by, eliciting a squeal of protest.

As their laughter echoed around the circuit, George felt a rare lightness.

It reminded him of carefree days before the bright lights of the paddock overshadowed everything; days filled with family and simplicity.

But the holiday had waned quickly, and soon, the thrill of Formula 1 would call him back.

It was Thursday, the day of calm before the storm of race week. George meandered through the complex, past various teams—crewmembers bustling about, preparing for another race.

The atmosphere felt electric, but his mind drifted back to the previous week's bliss with his family.

As he sauntered, he overheard the voices of two men, each seemingly oblivious to the world around them. Curiosity piqued, George positioned himself closer, intending only to eavesdrop briefly.

“I remember when Y/N came over to me and showed me around. I swear Mercedes uses her to get more fans. She’s so pretty for a whore!” one of them laughed, the words dripping with contempt.

“Yeah, she did the same with me. To be honest, I only came to see her, but she hasn’t been here in months. I wish she gave me a performance, that slut.” The other man joined in, his tone equally disdainful.

He felt a swell of anger—with no outlet in sight, anger was all the more potent. He clenched his fists, the muscles in his arms tightening as he fought back the urge to confront them, the response simmering just below the surface.

He could visualize the headlines in his mind already: “George Russell Loses His Cool!” and he couldn’t allow that. Not here.

“Is that why you left?” he thought sadly, memories of you stinging his heart involuntarily.

“Hey, you guys want to keep it to yourselves?” George said, stepping forward, his voice cool but eyes blazing.

The two celebrities turned, surprise washing over their faces, and then derision. “What’s the matter, George? Can't handle a little talk?” One of them sneered, crossing his arms as if to project power.

“I just think it’s pathetic,” he replied, his anger simmering, careful not to escalate the situation while still making his point. “You’re just proving how small you really are, talking about someone who’s so much better than you’ll ever be.”

With that, he turned sharply on his heel and walked away, the adrenaline pumping through him, the conversations of others muffled by the growing storm in his mind.

He didn’t want to feel possessive over you, but that was almost impossible when he witnessed so many men trivializing your worth.

He would make sure that those two were banned from the paddock by the time you came back.

The rest of the day wore on, yet George felt the tension deep inside him.

By that evening, he found himself sitting in a quiet corner of the paddock, contemplating his next few days, trying to push away the bitterness of the day.

George’s phone buzzed unexpectedly in the pocket of his racing suit. He hesitated for a moment, torn between professionalism and curiosity.

He finally glanced at the screen; it was you. Your name lit up like a beacon of hope amidst the pre-race chaos.

“Hey, Georgie!” you said cheerfully when he answered, your voice cutting through his anxiety.

“Hey Y/N,” George replied, his brow furrowing slightly at the unexpected call. “What’s up? Watching the race?”

“I just wanted to tell you that on live television, you look like you’re about to beat someone up. So cheer up before there’s another rumor,” you teased, laughter dancing in your tone.

George looked up instinctively, eyes darting to the camera that had been trained on him moments before. He quickly realized that the camera was still aimed at him, trapping him in his moment of serious concentration.

He instinctively smiled, waving at the camera, which quickly shifted to another driver.

“Thanks, Y/N. Are you really watching the race now?” he asked, curiosity swirling in his chest.

“Of course! I’ve always been watching the races, Georgie. I have to support my favorite driver one way or another,” you replied, the sincerity in your voice unmistakable.

His heart raced faster, not just from the anticipation of the race ahead, but from the warmth of your words.

Your voice lingered in his thoughts, making him feel lighter and more buoyant. “Do you have your lucky charm with you?” he asked, shifting the conversation.

“Of course! I still have the tiny figurine of you from the last race at Silverstone. It brought you good luck, didn’t it?” you wittily remarked.

He chuckled, “Well, let’s hope it works its magic again. The last one wasn’t so bad, thanks to you,”

As he navigated through the twists and turns of the race, George couldn’t help but imagine you cheering from the stands. He could almost picture you, hair blowing in the wind, laughing and shouting for him.

It fueled him, a burst of energy propelling him forward through the tight corners.

“Are you keeping your eyes on the track, smart guy?” you teased, snapping him back into the present.

“Always! I’m in fourth place in the championship—just trying to keep my head in the game. You’re distracting me,” he admitted with a hint of a smile.

“Distraction isn’t always a bad thing, though. Just think of me as your good luck charm.”

“How’d I get so lucky?” he said, slyly.

“Mmm, I don’t know — maybe it’s my irresistible charm,” you quipped back, your playful banter continuing even as the race progressed.

George took a deep breath, eyes laser-focused on the road ahead. He could see the leading cars weaving around each other—an intricate dance of speed and precision.

But who else could mirror that thrill of competition but you?

George had always been the quiet type, the kind of man who found solace in solitude but who also longed for the warmth of another soul—the warmth of your soul.

It had been two years since he last laid eyes on you, since he had held you in his arms like you were the very air he breathed.

The distance between you felt almost unbearable after being stitched with frequent calls and video chats, allowing him to hear your laughter and see your smile, but still leaving him hungry for the presence he had once taken for granted.

He missed everything about you: the way your laughter danced in the air, filling the empty spaces around him with joy, and the sharp, floral scent that clung to your skin—a delicate reminder of the beauty you exuded.

He often found himself lost in thought, contemplating the contours of your face, eager to memorize each line and perfectly imperfect feature once more.

How could distance feel this heavy when they shared a bond that had once tethered your hearts together so tightly?

It was a Friday afternoon when George found himself in a familiar café that he used to visit with you. The place smelled of freshly brewed coffee and baked pastries, the air buzzing with quiet chatter and laughter—yet it felt devoid of life without you beside him.

He absentmindedly stirred his coffee, giving in to the memories flooding his mind. A couple at the corner table laughed, and for a moment, it felt like you were there, your amber laugh reverberating in his heart.

They've talked about their weeks, shared the minutiae of their lives—your tales of new places you visited, his stories of late-night work grinding—but sometimes, beneath the surface of your conversation flowed the unspoken truth of your hearts.

Despite all this, he couldn’t shake off that familiar desire for something more tangible, more real. One could only drown in the virtual so long before gasping for the realness of pure, unfiltered presence.

For weeks, George and you had been discussing his birthday, a date he held dear. He had never been one for grand celebrations—his family had always kept things simple, focusing on the quiet joys of life rather than loud revelries.

He had looked forward to spending this birthday with you, perhaps sharing a cupcake at their favorite café or taking a long stroll under the stars.

Yet, as the day drew closer, he sensed a distance growing between them, a subtle divide that gnawed at his heart.

“I really want to see you,” he said the last time they spoke.

You had chuckled, but your laughter was tinged with an undercurrent of regret. “I wish I could, George. I’ll definitely call you on your birthday, though. That’s a promise.”

He had nodded, trying to be understanding, but the thought of spending his birthday without you left him feeling strangely adrift.

He understood that life could get hectic, but part of him wished you could understand how much he cherished your companionship, especially on a day that felt so significant to him.

George stood outside his parents' home, his heart racing. It was his birthday, and while he had envisioned a peaceful day celebrating with just a few close friends, his family evidently had a different idea.

As he knocked on the door, he took a moment to straighten his shirt, a navy blue one he had borrowed from Lando’s closet a few weeks earlier.

“Hey George! Happy birthday!” His mother, Alison, flung the door open, her bright smile lighting up the dim hallway. She drew him into a warm embrace, her familiar scent making him feel comforted despite his growing apprehension about the day ahead.

“Thanks, Mum,” George said, returning the hug graciously before stepping inside. As he crossed the threshold, he was greeted by the sounds of laughter and chatter filling the living room—a cacophony of friends and family mingling in celebration.

“Happy birthday!” the chorus rang out, friends and family alike raising their glasses in unison. The sheer number of faces surprised him, but what caught his eye was an unexpected figure among them.

“Hey George!” Lando chimed in, appearing out of the crowd with a cheerful grin plastered on his face.

He reached into his backpack and pulled out a beautifully wrapped gift, handing it over with an exaggerated flourish. “For you, mate. I hope it’s as amazing as you are!”

“Thanks, Lando,” George replied, holding the gift carefully as he looked at the whimsical wrapping. “You know I didn’t want anyone to make a big deal out of today.”

“Well, too bad. Your family thinks you deserve a big bash, and I agree!” Lando’s eyes twinkled mischievously, but George couldn’t help but feel a warm glow at being surrounded by friends.

“You didn’t have to come, you know,” George teased back, scrutinizing the package in his hands.

“Oh, but I did,” Lando said dramatically. “Besides, I brought you something that’s definitely not small—just like your party!”

George rolled his eyes playfully but felt gratitude wash over him. His friends were his anchor, especially Lando. Before he could get any deeper into thought, Cara, his sister walked into the room.

“Happy birthday, George!” she said, handing him a present as well.

“Thanks, Cara!” he laughed, accepting the card and marveling at its haphazard charm.

“Can’t wait for you to be added into the ‘old age’ groupchat,” she quipped, winking at him.

George chuckled, feeling the familiar banter that grounded him. Despite the overwhelming party atmosphere, moments like these made him feel at home.

His father, Steve, emerged from the kitchen, wiping his hands on a dish towel. “George! Happy birthday!” His dad clapped him on the back, a grin stretching across his face. “Alison made your favorite—lasagna! And the cake is a surprise.”

George felt his stomach flutter at the thought. His parents had taken such care to prepare everything, and for a fleeting moment, the earlier dread of a party dwindled, replaced by a sense of appreciation.

“This is a great party, Dad,” George admitted. “But really, you could have let me plan something smaller.”

“Where’s the fun in that?” Steve replied, feigning innocence. “Now, come on! Let’s get this party started!”

As the evening wore on, George found himself at the center of attention. Friends returned from the buffet table back to him, drinks filled with laughter and jokes.

Among them was Alex, who came striding across the room with his signature confidence.

“Happy birthday, mate! Ready to get older?” Alex flashed a smirk that matched his casual tone.

“With your banter, I’ll feel ancient by the time this is over,” George shot back, good-naturedly punching Alex’s arm.

As the festivities continued, George finally found a moment to settle into a quieter corner with Lando. “So… what’s in the box?” he asked, nodding toward the carefully wrapped gift.

“You really want to know?” Lando leaned in, the playful grin returning. “Okay, but it’s a secret. Don’t tell anyone.”

“Promise, just show me.” George couldn’t hide his curiosity any longer.

Lando tore the paper off with excitement to reveal a high-performance gaming console. “I thought you might enjoy something new to blow off some steam between races!”

“Lando, this is amazing! But you didn’t have to go all out,” George said, his grin widening with genuine surprise.

“Of course I did! You deserve it. Besides, now you’ll finally let me win at video games,” Lando chuckled, nudging him playfully.

The sun dipped low in the sky, casting a warm golden hue over the backyard where the party was in full swing. Laughter mingled with the chatter of cars racing around the circuit, and the enticing aroma of grilled burgers filled the air.

Yet, as George stood near the brightly colored table overflowing with gifts, he couldn’t shake the emptiness gnawing at his heart.

He smiled at Lando, who was animatedly recounting a wild karting story, but his thoughts were somewhere else—outside the boundaries of this cheerful gathering.

His mind wandered to you, the one person he had secretly hoped would show up, despite knowing you wouldn’t be there.

“I swear, I was like a ghost out there,” Lando laughed, mimicking how he’d crashed into the barriers last weekend. Everyone erupted into laughter, but George found it hard to join in.

He picked at the icing on the cake, wishing it could somehow conjure thoughts of you instead.

“Don’t be too hard on yourself, mate. Everyone knows you’ve got the skills,” Alex said, slapping Lando on the back.

“Yeah, man! Maybe one day you’ll get a chance to drive for real,” Lewis chimed in. The good-natured ribbing continued, but George felt more and more like an outsider.

His phone buzzed in his pocket—just a notification from a group chat. He swiped it away, already knowing it wouldn't be from you.

“Earth to George!” Lando waved a hand in front of him, snapping him out of his reverie. “You good, mate? You've been kinda quiet.”

“Oh, yeah. Just thinking,” George replied, forcing a smile. The rest of the crowd had congregated to discuss the upcoming F1 season.

They analyzed teams, speculated who would dominate, and recounted past races as if recounting epic tales from a shared history.

With a heavy heart, George pulled his phone out, staring at the blank screen. He had sent you a message earlier in the day, but there had been no reply.

He tried to brush it off—maybe you were busy—but deep down, the ache remained.

“George!” Cara's voice broke through his thoughts. “Are you going to open your presents or what?”

“Yeah, I’ll get to them in a bit,” he replied, glancing at the colorful packages decorated with ribbons and bows. He wanted to open them, but a weight sat on his chest, tethering him to a world where you were missing, and nothing felt quite right.

There was a knock at the front door, but George didn’t pay much attention as Lewis, his older brother, ambled over to answer it. The chatter of their family echoed around him, a thick tapestry of warmth and laughter that felt alien.

George’s thoughts drifted; all he could focus on was the memory of you—the way you laughed, how your eyes sparkled when you talked about your dreams, and the way everything felt right when you were around.

“Hey, George!” Cara chirped, breaking his reverie, waving at him with excitement. “Open my gift!”

He offered her a weak smile, still lost in his own world. As he finally picked up a present wrapped in shiny paper from her, he felt a sense of heaviness lift, if only temporarily.

Unwrapping it, he revealed a gleaming silver watch that seemed to catch the light and dazzle.

“Oh thanks, sis,” he said, genuinely trying to summon enthusiasm. However, as he glanced up to thank her, he noticed that Cara's attention, along with the rest of the room, was drawn to something behind him.

Curiosity tugged at him, and he turned around slowly.

Standing just inside the doorway, illuminated by the soft glow from the hall lights, was you. A tired smile played across your face, but it was unmistakably you.

His breath hitched in his throat as he took in the sight of you—the way your braids cascaded around your shoulders, framing your face, just as he remembered.

“Happy birthday—!” you began, but before the excitement of your return could fully settle in, George dropped the watch onto the table and rushed toward you.

He enveloped you in his arms, lifting you off the ground as he pressed his face into the crook of your neck, breathing in the familiar scent he had missed for years.

You felt warm against him, as if the distance of the past few years hadn’t existed. The world around him faded, and in that moment, it was just the two of you.

“It’s really you,” he muttered, half in disbelief.

“It’s really me,” you replied softly, squeezing him tighter as if you were afraid he’d let go and vanish again. “I missed you so much.”

“Me too,” he said, pulling back just enough to analyze your face. His ocean eyes, alive with wonder, traced the contours of your cheeks.

You could see the spark of recognition flaring in his gaze as he took in the changes—your brown braids, longer now and cascading over your shoulders like caramel waterfalls, framing your face.

Your cheeks were fuller, your eyes a deeper shade of warmth, enhanced by the quiet confidence that had grown in the time you had spent apart. You wore a radiant smile, one he had missed more than he could ever express.

“You’ve gotten prettier,” he noted, almost as if he couldn’t believe his words, a shy smile creeping onto his lips.

“Thanks,” you replied, feeling heat rise to your cheeks, the compliment unfurling something warm and bubbly within you. “I guess time can be kind in some ways.”

“Or cruel,” Lewis quipped from the other side of the living room, rolling his eyes with a teasing smirk on his face. “Right guys! Why don’t you get a room after everyone leaves?”

His laughter rang out, piercing the moment like a bubble popping, but it only made the warmth between you and George swell.

“Shut up, Lewis!” you shot back, playfully swatting at him, though there was no real malice in your tone.

Alison was setting the table in the background, chuckling softly at Lewis' antics.

“You should let them have their moment, Lewis. Two years is a long time to be apart,” she remarked, casting a knowing glance towards you and George, whose cheek was now tinged with a shade of red.

“Yeah, it is,” George added, his voice softer now.

The light banter and teasing faded into the background as the reality of the years apart seeped back into the room, reminding you both of everything that had happened.

“Best birthday gift ever,” he muttered for only you to hear, his voice laced with a mix of sincerity and sweetness. You giggled, the sound a little breathless.

“Since when have you been so bold?” you teased, leaning closer to him across the table. “The Georgie I remember used to be so shy of me.”

“Things change, you know?” George shrugged, though a sheepish grin danced on his lips. “Some of us grew up. And besides, it’s hard to be shy when you have someone worth being bold for.”

Your heart fluttered even more at his words, and you felt the heat rise in your own cheeks. “Well, maybe I was just waiting for you to catch up,” you shot back, attempting to maintain your composure. “It only took two years, but here we are.”

“Two years was rough,” he replied earnestly. “I mean, who knew how hard it would be? I missed your jokes, your laughter. You always knew how to make everything better.”

And just like that, the conversation turned into something deeper, filled with unspoken feelings and lingering glances.

You and George had shared countless moments over the years—playful arguments, late-night chats, and the comforting silence that only came from being around someone you genuinely cared for.

Alison cleared her throat, cutting through the burgeoning tension. “Alright, lovebirds, while you two are busy contemplating the meaning of life, how about we celebrate George’s birthday? I brought candles!”

You both jumped slightly, like deer caught in the headlights, as Alison revealed the large cake decorated with the bold letters “Happy Birthday, Georgie.”

The lightheartedness was a welcome distraction, allowing you to shake off the moment of vulnerability.

“I can’t believe they managed to get my nickname on it,” George said, staring at the cake in disbelief.

“Of course they did. I made sure to keep that tradition alive, along with picking your favorite cake,” you grinned, feeling a rush of satisfaction.

“You helped?” he asked, astonished, raising one eyebrow in that way that you always found charming.

“Couldn’t let my best friend have an average birthday cake, now could I? I had to make it special,” you replied, leaning back against him.

“Come on, son, blow it out!” she called, carrying the cake as if it were the crown jewel. The candles flickered, waiting for George's breath to extinguish them.

You quickly moved out of the way, wanting to ensure that everyone got the perfect shot of George, the birthday king. Just as you were about to slip away, George’s arm snaked around your waist, pulling you back into place.

“Stay, I don’t want you to run again,” he muttered against the top of your head, his voice low and warm.

You pouted slightly, playfully nudging him again. “I won’t run, but you do realize it’s your birthday, right? Shouldn’t we be getting you to center stage?”

“Not without you,” he insisted, his grip tightening just a little. “Plus, you make me look good.”

“Oh come on,” you laughed, your heart racing in the way it always did when he held you close. “You’re practically a supermodel next to me.”

Alison stood expectantly in front of you two, the cake reflecting the sunlight. “What are you two lovebirds doing back there? Come on, the world needs to see this stunning cake and its dashing contender!”

You stepped in front of the cake, and George followed suit, his hand never leaving your waist. The cake was a masterpiece, layers of chocolate stacked high, adorned with colorful frosting and surrounded by sparklers.

It demanded attention, and everyone moved in closer.

“Blow it with me?” George asked when the spotlight was finally on him, a charming grin illuminating his face.

Your heart raced at the suggestion, warmth flooding through you again as you took a moment to gather your courage.

You smiled, nodding. “Anything for the birthday boy.”

“Alright, everyone!” Alison called out, raising her hands like a conductor ready to lead an orchestra. “On the count of three! One… two… three!”

“3, 2, 1!” the crowd yelled in unison, and your breath hitched as George turned to you, his eyes brimming with exhilaration.

In perfect sync, you both leaned forward and blew out the candles, the flames extinguished with a puff of laughter, cheers erupting around you.

That moment was magic— the noise faded, and for just a heartbeat, it felt like it was just you and George, suspended in time.

“Make a wish,” you whispered, your heart racing. “But I don’t think it can come true if you’re going to keep holding on to me like this,” you added playfully.

“I have everything I need right here,” he quipped with a wink, drawing soft laughter from your lips, but inside, you felt something deeper.

After the cake was cut, the room began to dissolve into familiar pockets of conversation and laughter, filling the air with voices both soothing and celebratory.

You found yourself catching up with Lando and Alex, the three of you reminiscing about old times while trying to vouch for who had the craziest stories involving the birthday boy.

Just as you were getting to the good part of a particularly funny story involving a mud pie and a runaway dog, you felt a familiar tap on your back. Turning around, you were met by George’s shy smile.

“Yes, Georgie?” you asked, unable to suppress the brightness in your voice.

“Can I have you for a second?” he replied, his words almost a plea.

You excused yourself, the curious gazes of your friends following as you stepped outside with George. The cool night air wrapped around you like a refreshing breeze, your heart beating a little faster in anticipation.

George reached for his suit blazer, his fingers brushing against your arm as he placed it over your shoulders, the fabric warm and intoxicating.

“Here, sit,” he said, guiding you to a pair of empty chairs on the patio. The stars shimmered overhead, their light casting a silver glow upon the garden.

“Thanks,” you smiled, settling into the chair, feeling the weight of his blazer envelop you like an embrace. You glanced back at the door, music and laughter faintly echoing inside.

After a brief pause, George leaned back, his gaze fixed on the stars with an intensity that made your pulse race. “You’re not getting away that easily tonight, you know?” he said, his voice soft, breaking the comfortable silence.

You smiled, playful. “Oh? What am I in for, then? A secret surprise?”

“Something like that.” He turned to you, his expression earnest. “I just wanted to talk, you know, without the noise.”

“Okay,” you replied, a slight tremor of excitement weaving through your words. “What’s on your mind?”

He paused for a moment, his brow furrowing slightly. “Can I ask where you’ve been for these two years?” The question hung in the air, almost palpable.

You knew he was going to ask this question, but not so soon, and his earnestness caught you off guard. A cocktail of old feelings bubbled up inside you, a mixture of nostalgia and trepidation.

“Yes, you can,” you began, taking a deep breath to steady yourself. “I went to find my calling, and I did.” You could see his interest spark like fireflies in the dark, and it emboldened you to continue.

“I started a charity from scratch, without anyone knowing who I was, which was hard.”

“What kind of charity?” George leaned forward, his intensity growing as he focused on your words, pulling you in.

“It’s for at-risk youth—teaching them art and giving them a place to create without judgment. I wanted to give back in a way that could light up their lives, you know?”

“That’s incredible!” George’s eyes sparkled with admiration. “You’ve always had such a big heart. It must have been tough, though.”

“It was,” you admitted, a shadow sliding over your smile. “Finding the right people to trust in a world that’s sometimes cold and unwelcoming… it took time. But then someone found me.”

You paused dramatically, relishing in the curiosity that painted his expression. “And I did some modeling.”

“Modeling? You?” George chuckled, his laugh rich and melodic in the stillness. “That’s wild! But I can’t picture you strutting down a runway.”

You laughed lightly, the sound easing the knot in your chest. “Neither could I! But it was for charity, so it felt right. They let me use my platform to promote the awareness of youth issues. It became more than just about looks; it was about the message.”

George's brow furrowed in curiosity as he relaxed against the chair behind him, crossing his arms. “What kind of outfits are we talking about here? Like, designer pieces or…?”

You rolled your eyes playfully as you pulled out your phone. “Oh, you’ll see. Not exactly designer, more like a collection of ‘what was I thinking?’”

With a few taps, you flicked through the pictures, showcasing outfits that ranged from a bold royal gown to a muse pearl dress. “Here! Look at this one! I call it ‘A Colorful Catastrophe.’”

George burst into laughter, shaking his head. “You know, you could have just gone with your regular jeans and a t-shirt, but you chose to make a statement.”

“Yes! And they said it made a big impact, which is what I care about and I could keep some of the dresses too,” you said, your smile softening as you scrolled to the next picture.

“They’re being posted today, and however much it makes will go to the charity.”

George looked genuinely proud as his gaze shifted from the phone to your excited face. “So what's the name of this charity?”

You hesitated for a second, enjoying the suspense before delivering the punchline. “I’m glad you asked; it’s called Georgie.”

His eyes widened, and the laughter suddenly evaporated from the air. “You named it after me?” His voice was a mix of surprise and disbelief.

You nodded, your grin widening. “I didn’t have any names for it, so they said to name it something I care about. And that was you, so happy birthday, Georgie!”

George felt a strange warmth flood through him, almost overwhelming. He blinked back the sudden threat of tears. “Thank you,” he managed to say, placing a steady hand on your thigh as if trying to ground himself in the moment.

You smiled brightly, appreciating the bond that had grown between you over the years. “No problem! I forgot to mention the ridiculous pictures of you that are also getting posted, thanks to Lewis,” you giggled, already anticipating his reaction.

“Lewis?” His expression quickly morphed from touched to mortified. “What kind of ridiculous pictures? Please tell me they’re not the ones from the summer at the beach 3 years ago! You know that I was just being silly!”

“You mean the ones where you tried to do a backflip and ended up in the sand instead?” You laughed harder, clutching your stomach.

“Oh yes, those are definitely included! But wait until you see the one where you’re trying to get the seaweed off your shorts. Priceless.”

“You’re very lucky I love you,” he sighed, so softly that you almost missed it among the haze of laughter.

Both of you froze, caught off guard by the shift in atmosphere that hung in the air.

“Did you mean that?” you asked after an agonizingly long pause, your voice barely above a whisper.

George’s blue eyes widened, and for a split second, his expression was a mix of surprise and vulnerability. He nodded slowly, swallowing hard, his gaze dropping to the ground as if searching for answers in the fallen leaves.

“I didn’t… I mean, I didn’t plan to say it,” he trailed off, his voice hesitant and soft, almost as if he were afraid of how the truth would change everything.

You smiled, trying to ease the nervousness that had settled between you like an invisible barrier. “Never seen you look at me like that before, Georgie.”

His cheeks flushed slightly, the unmistakable hint of a blush creeping up his neck. “What do you mean? Like… what? How am I supposed to look at you?”

His sudden defensiveness sent a flicker of amusement through you, but you moved an inch closer, wanting to make the moment lighter, yet also more profound.

“Like it’s the first time you’ve really seen me,” you teased, watching as he avoided your eyes. “You have no idea what you do to me, do you?” you continued, the glint in your eye coaxing him back to the conversation.

“I—” George opened his mouth, then closed it as though battling with unspoken thoughts. “I… just thought I could keep things light between us. You know? Friends and all.”

“Friends?” you echoed, arching an eyebrow. “That’s a convenient excuse, isn’t it? Especially when I can see how much you want to kiss me.”

George’s breath hitched, a faint blush creeping back into his cheeks. But instead of stepping back into his comfort zone of playful banter, he shifted closer until there was barely any space left.

This was how your flirting had always worked—tease, blush, repeat—but something was different this time.

His hand moved from your thigh up to your waist, fingers brushing lightly against the fabric of your dress, pulling you slightly toward him. You weren’t expecting that.

“I’m not the George from two years ago,” he muttered, his gaze locked onto yours, intense and searching. His voice was lower now, a tone that sent a shiver of excitement down your spine.

“Then prove it to me,” you teased back, though your heart raced at the challenge slipping from your lips.

In one swift move, he closed the distance and crashed his lips onto yours. It was a kiss fueled by two years’ worth of unspoken feelings, shared moments, and all the times you had skirted around this very confession.

Your heart soared as you melted into him, every nerve in your body ignited with warmth.

But just as you began to lose yourself completely, a burst of cheers jolted you both back to reality. You pulled away, breathless, and looked around to see George’s family and friends engulfing you in applause.

“Finally!” Lando shouted from the crowd, a wide grin stretching across his face. “Took you long enough!”

Your cheeks flushed crimson, and you felt a rush of embarrassment wash over you. Bursting with a mix of exhilaration and vulnerability, you buried your face in George’s neck, hiding from the teasing eyes that surrounded you.

“I can’t believe we just kissed in front of everyone,” you murmured, your voice muffled.

“Let’s not get shy now,” George chuckled, rubbing your back in gentle circles. “We have to finish what we started.”

A playful smile danced on your lips as you looked up at him. “Don’t start something you can’t finish because I will make out with you in front of everyone right now, Georgie.”

His gaze brightened with playful challenge, “Be my guest; I would love that.” He narrowed his eyes as if daring you.

You bit your lip, weighing your options. “You know they’ll probably get their phones out, and then it will go viral,” you said, your heart pounding in anticipation, a knot of excitement mixing with a sprinkle of embarrassment.

“Let them! I’m ready to show the world,” George declared, his confidence shining through.

You laughed, feeling surprisingly emboldened by his words. “Alright then, you asked for it!”

You leaned in, a smirk plastered across your face, but George grabbed your waist and pulled you closer, capturing your lips once more.

The kiss was soft and tender at first, but as the moment embraced you both, it deepened into something more passionate, filled with the promise of everything that had been left unsaid.

Somewhere in the background, Lando exaggeratedly whistled. “Get a room, you two!”

The sounds of laughter grew louder, but you hardly noticed as your world shrank to just the two of you. Every cheer from George’s family, every sidelong glance from friends, faded into a gentle hum.

When you finally pulled away once again, breathless and slightly dazed, George’s eyes sparkled with happiness.

“Wow,” you said breathlessly, your cheeks flushed. The cheers turned into supportive whoops, filling the backyard with positive energy that felt like pure joy.

“Are you sure you’re not just going to run away? Because if you leave me here to face them alone, I might seriously regret this,” he said with a teasing wink, attempting to lighten the mood.

Rolling your eyes playfully, you nudged him gently. “You’re not getting rid of me that easily, Georgie. I’m here to stay, for better or for worse.”

“Good,” he said, pulling you into a side hug, “because I’ve spent way too long waiting for that kiss. I’m not about to let you run away again.”

[100jewels-between-teeth]

18+ Oneshot

Word count: 3055

AO3 ¤ Ko-Fi ¤ Masterlist

~ Summery: They both could not truly understand if this was the reality they were gifted, or elaborate hells that they were still stuck within. But through late night reassurances before their final fight, they both find themselves grounded in a crazed reality that could only be blissful as long as they are with one another.

Lucanis x f!Rook de Riva

Cw: Smut, just pure lovemaking smut, overstimulation AN: So... this is my first smut posting here so... well enjoy. Im def not nervous. Huge massive shoutout to @enterthedreams for the beta!!! Honestly youre my favorite person.

Something about the sound of his steady heartbeat harmonizing with the calm breathing that caressed her damp, flushed face, was nothing short of bliss. The couch had been abandoned at some point during their second round. Now they were just content to lay on the floor, surrounded by blankets and candles bathing them both in a romantic glow. Between that and the reflective veins of the aquarium above, Avantika could not help but think this all looked to be the most ethereal dream. 

To see Lucanis like this, to even hear him like this, made him more godlike than any of the Evanuris could think to achieve. Lucanis must have noticed the silent adoration that Rook was giving him. A brow arched as he reached to move some hair that remained stuck to her skin away. His hand did not immediately retreat, taking a moment to trace the outline of her cheekbone. It followed down until the tip of his finger was resting at the bottom of her chin. Without even a silent command, Rook leaned in to have her lips grace his own – a kiss of gentle tenderness and love. “What has your mind distracted, mi diosa?” The look of concern on Lucanis’s features immediately tugged at her heart, wanting to eradicate any kind of emotion that was not happiness in this moment, in this little world they had created. 

Concern was for what would take place in the morning, not now. Not here. “Would you believe me if I said you?” The smile that she gave him was one filled with dimples on her cheeks and teeth. 

Lucanis’ own reflected straight back, a smile that would tear down the heavens. It was a privilege to Rook that she had been gifted his smile. His trust and comfort. That kind of smile could only be reciprocated with another kiss, moving from his lips to the bags under his eyes. For the first time, Avantika felt the exhaustion in those beautiful eyes was warranted. They both had given up on sleep a long while ago. 

Lucanis was right. 

How on earth could either sleep when the other was like this? “I could only hope it is good. I know it has been a while so my skills might take some ti – ” Before Lucanis could even finish the sentence, Avantika was quick to cut him off. “Oh, shut your fucking mouth.” 

She all but pounced on his broad chest, attacking his face with her lips while tenderly pecking and nipping as his own laughter filled the room. Strong arms wrapped around the woman as he took her in a roll, accepting this defeat as he got Rook on her back. The sight of him above her, eyes filled with nothing but love looking into her own almost brought her to tears. But in this light, the reflections of water mixed with the flickering candlelight, she could not help but have her eyes drawn to that silver puckered skin on his chest. Which only brought her eyes to all the others that littered his body. It came with the job, the scars. 

Lucanis probably noticed at some point with all the clothes flying off that Rook had her own. Some Crows – usually Viago – would tell anyone that scars meant a sloppy job. Crows were meant to be clean. Quick in and out performances. From what Avantika could assume, neither her nor Lucanis were exactly fitting that description. 

Catching the direction of her eyes, a small smirk grew. He raised himself into a seated position on her lap as Avantika rested upon her shoulders. “My cousin gave me that one, funnily enough.” Lucanis shrugged, the pad of his thumb tracing over the two inch long pinkish line. “We were sparring in the garden, and snuck a couple of Caterina’s knives. You know how it goes, stupid kids playing with knives.” “So what you’re saying is that he beat you?” It took everything in Avantika not to let out a little snicker. “What?! No! I beat him and he gave me this because he is a sore loser!” Lucanis placed his hand over his heart in mock offence. But the flint in his eyes gave away that jovial mischief. “I killed a god, Rook! You think my cousin is going to best me?” “Okay, okay!” Rook lifted her hands in surrender, seating herself up more so that they were both level with each other. Lucanis made sure not to keep his whole weight on her legs or hips. “I'm just saying it only took until the second chance and – ” “And I did not have a demon, nor a woman like you, distracting my thoughts then, pequeña cuervo.” Lucanis’s voice dipped to a playful low growl, taking her face in his hands as he traced the tip of his nose against hers. “I'd say that is unfair.” 

For as much as this man tried to play that intimidation game, they both knew with Avantika, he could only be this soft man. “Ah yes. My fault, I see your game, Dellamorte.” Avantika playfully pushed the man away, moving to stand with the destination of nowhere in mind. “I see how it is.” 

The arm that wrapped around her waist was expected, Avantika letting Lucanis pull her back as he assaulted her neck with kisses. 

“Forgive me diosa, I mean it as the greatest compliment.” His nose buried in the thick wild mass of her hair as he took a deep breath of her scent. 

Rook felt him rock their bodies back and forth, his bare chest pressed against her bare back as his face travelled from her neck to the line of her shoulders. Avantika had learnt much from this night. Like how this man could spend literal hours just memorizing every dip and valley of her body. How there was not an inch of skin he would leave unappreciated, unadorned with his branding lips and igniting breath. How Lucanis could be so determined to find every spot that made Avantika shudder, whimper, bite her lip to suppress that moan he was chasing. 

Maybe it was for the thrill of the sexual experience. That carnal desire both had suppressed for however long in their lives, let it be their choice or otherwise.  

It was so much more than just a simple desire. It was reassurance, to make sure that what they were tasting, kissing, loving, was real and tangible. That what they were trusting with their most vulnerable hearts was real, that the safety and love they both wanted to shelter them was truly existing. 

So the lingering touches, whether it be to explore a desire or just for the comfort of feeling they were there, helped the both of them. When Lucanis kissed from one shoulder blade to another, humming happily to himself as he felt the trail he left behind bloom in blush, she smiled, nuzzling into the skin. “And the others? Were those Illario too, or do you just have that many sore losers you fight?” Rook could not help but giggle at the small bite Lucanis left in warning following a growl. 

She turned around in his arms. Now Avantika sat in his lap with both legs on either side. Leaning back, she could hear that stifled whimper Lucanis gave, not wanting her too far away from his adoring touch and gaze. Her fingers went to his lips, playfully hushing him. Those wide brown eyes looked to her with deepest reverence, his lips automatically capturing the pads of her fingertips between his lips and his beard tickled the skin he kissed softly. Finally breaking her focus away from that beautiful face, her amber eyes fell back to those scars decorating his body. Some were jagged, rough, and others seemed so precise and delicate. It truly was a strange kind of tapestry of his life he bore. Where some were faded, only a ghost of a story lingering, others seemed quite new, possibly no less than a year old. That thought made Avantika swallow the sudden lump in her throat as Lucanis reached to gently brush her cheek. Rook’s eyes flickered back to him. 

A silent question being asked as her hand fell away from his face, instead ghosting over the scar they both had just focused on. Compared to the others, it was rather tame. Of course, if touching such wounds was far too fast, too personal for Lucanis to deal with right now, Avantika would stop immediately. But with a shivering breath, goosebumps appearing on his skin, he nodded. His right hand took hers softly, directing her to another, far more jagged scar over his right bicep. Her touch was featherlight. As if Lucanis would just shatter like glass if she applied any more pressure. Whether it was her touch, or his scar being touched specifically, Lucanis let out a shudder, his breath hitching in his throat as Avantika slowly traced over every curve. His hand fell away, letting Avantika fully explore the canvas of this man. 

“Ambushed on a job.” For how jovial he sounded, Lucanis's voice was almost breathless. “Not that the target had any backup, but the attic I chose to enter seemed to have a hermit also residing there. Maybe I deserved it for disturbing the peace of his sleep.” 

When he finished speaking, a few deep breaths followed. Avantika’s hand traced over the valley of his chest, finding a scar just on his shoulder. This one was much different – not a stab or a cut, but instead a burn just slightly smaller than her palm. “A couple years ago, one of my targets really didn’t want to go down without some sort of blaze of glory.” Something in Lucanis’s voice became quieter, more wistful as Avantika’s finger traced small circles within the taut skin. “Burnt their entire estate to the ground. Still managed to get him, but I didn’t really consider the falling debris.” 

“Viago had told me about that incident.” Avantika could not help but snicker and flick the nose of the man whose expression went from light to deadpan. “Said that is the reason if you take a contract, make sure you case the home for the smell of oil.” 

But hearing the woman laugh, he could not stop the smile reappearing. Seeing the smile too, Rook nuzzled her nose to the corner of his lips, eliciting another low chuckle from the Crow as she continued her discoveries. That finger of hers trailed from the shoulder down his arm, asking about every little story Lucanis could remember. Some were from little accidents; falling from roofs, lost drunken bets, Illario being the cousin that he is. 

Others, she could feel his body stiffen at the stories, some much harder to stir in his memory than others. For those particular reflections, Avantika’s hand would reassuringly stroke Lucanis’s hair, not wanting such memories to take over his heart and mind from the small bubbled world they had created. There came a point where Avantika stopped asking. Where both of their voices just somehow drifted away as she traced over the scars over and over. 

Then she felt, to herself at least, her touches were not enough. That just a lingering touch could not help heal the wounds of memories left behind. She may not be able to heal them completely, but the least she could do was make sure he was never alone in facing the dark. At this point, Avantika had homed herself behind Lucanis, the man’s back to her chest. When her finger disappeared, and for a moment there was just the ambient air around them, a soft and fleeting whimper escaped Lucanis, having grown so accustomed to her adoring touches. But what was once just the feeling of a featherlight finger became replaced with the burning warms of Rook’s lips, capturing the puckered flesh of the healed wound between her lips. 

Where Lucanis had just let out near breathless whimpers before, this touch had made those sounds change to something far deeper, more guttural. The sound sent shivers and pleasured waves through Avantika’s body, only able to take that as the go ahead to keep moving forward. 

For the next blissful eternity, Avantika worshipped every scar, every physical remnant of a memory on Lucanis’s body. Her lips, tongue, even teeth did everything they could to kiss away whatever metaphorical demons lingered within them. It did not take long for Lucanis to lose whatever sliver of control he had over himself in this moment, his body shuddering every time her lips graced another scar. 

Bit back moans became guttural growls and whined pleading, words incomprehensible. But, slowly, so agonizingly slowly, Avantika made her way around the man’s body. From his back, down the length of his arms. Even his hands and fingers did not escape her worship, those small worn knicks and weathered callouses receiving nothing but love from her mouth and breath. By the time Avantika returned to straddling Lucanis’s hips, he had become a shivering, opened mouth mess. Gasping open-mouthed breaths, skin fire-hot and oversensitive. Avantika could only assume not once had this man ever felt this kind of care, this kind of much deserved appreciation given to his body. If together meant forever showing this man the love and adoration he deserved to feel for the rest of his life, Avantika would willingly take it. 

For the next million lifetimes over. Her lips finally broke away from her journey. Then Lucanis’s arms shot up to hold her own, white knuckled like she was the only lifeline he could cling to. For a moment, Avantika saw the panic in his eyes – one that the two seemed to share. The panic that this was not real, that the two were in some elaborate and cruel dream. His mind still in the Ossuary partly, this being some new method of torture concocted by Calivan. 

To her, this could have been another visage in the Fade. Solas being cruelly sympathetic and letting her live out the rest of existence in the Fade in some warped, tortured dream. But as his breath once again caressed her face, his heartbeat thrumming in his chest, Avantika knew that this was true. 

This was real. 

This was their eternity, together. And if she had to prove that, by the gods she would. Before he could speak of their worries, her hand found his lips again. Lucanis’s eyes rolled to the back of his head at the contact, his breath shuddering. Rook kept her own mouth nearly a breath away from his, drinking in every gasp and moan that he fed her with. His arousal was already quite prevalent against her thigh, exhausted and oversensitive from the prior adorations of the night, but still somehow more. 

For a long moment, Avantika just kept herself still, falling into the abyss that was his gaze. A stare filled with love and pure bliss at what was being held in his arms. Letting her hand slowly slip away again, she silently allowed Lucanis to help lift her waist, their faces not breaking the miniscule distance from each other. Both wanted to drink this in, drink each other in. To witness their eyes, their breaths, their very beings connecting as one. And so it did. 

Slowly, he sheathed himself within her warm walls once more. The overstimulation of the night prevented him from fully entering completely, letting out a long whine at the surge of overwhelming pleasure that shot through him. Avantika could not blame him, her own mewl following as her sex automatically tightened as much as it could from the entrance. 

Both were well spent, well satisfied, but this coupling was far more than just sex, just chasing pleasure. This was the two solidifying themselves in reality, within each other. Drinking in her moans, Lucanis canted his hips upward, sharply letting the rest of himself become engulfed. The cry that ripped through his throat was quickly devoured by Avantika’s kiss. Not a kiss of precision, but one full of teeth and tongue – one that just needed to devour him completely. 

He groaned into her mouth, his own kiss sloppily reciprocating as the two began to move together as one. Both of their hips rolled simultaneously as they cried out in a frenzied ecstasy. Rook finding all the scars again to drag her nails along, eliciting the most erotic and passionate cries from the Crow beneath her. That is when the first tear fell from Avantika’s face. 

She did not know what exactly made her cry through all this. The immense pleasure he was giving her with every stuttering thrust, the wailing cries and whimpers they both fed each other, or just the knowledge that he was here with her. 

That all of this was real. That their love was real. 

So when the tear fell to his cheek, he immediately latched his lips to her face, kissing away every exhausted tear she produced as his own materialized. Neither knew how long they rocked with each other, neither really seemed to care. Avantika had let herself go, losing count on how many times Lucanis had made her unravel into jaded oblivion. He had come with her, his seed filling her core and overflowing, dripping like the tears on her cheeks, thighs slick with the physical representation of Lucanis’s adoration. It could have been an hour, to them they did not care if it was days spent like this either. But pulling away one more time, collapsing on their side to the floor as their legs were wrapped in a tangled heap, Lucanis kissed the remaining tears away, Avantika following suit. “Diosa mía, mi vida, mi corazón y mi ser son sólo tuyos. Te amo, mi pequeño cuervo.” Lucanis followed his words with a long, lingering kiss, one that carried the love of his words.  Avantika could not help but let out a choked sob at the beauty of his words. A language she had to learn, that she thanked every god above she kept remembrance of. With her own reciprocating kiss, capturing his lower lip between her teeth, she looked up into his eyes, her hand wiping away the remaining tears staining his cheek.

“Lucanis… You're really here, we are really here. My love for you, truly, is here.”

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mi diosa - my goddess pequeña cuervo - little crow Diosa mía, mi vida, mi corazón y mi ser son sólo tuyos. Te amo, mi pequeño cuervo - My goddess, my life, my heart and my being are yours alone. I love you, my little crow.

[narcoticv3nus]

Chasing Ghosts ♡ Simon “Ghost” Riley

Kinktober Day XXII: Hybrids

summary: you’re a bunny hybrid taking a short walk in the woods you think you’re all alone until you’re not tags/trigger warnings: 18+, f!reader, dubcon, p in v, fingering, praise, degradation, rough sex, predator!simon, threats of unaliving, panther!simon, prey!reader, bunny!reader, dom!simon, sub!reader, animalistic sex, crying, virgin!reader wc: 4.4k

MASTERLIST

The air was heavy with humidity, each breath infused with the earthy aroma of rain-soaked grass and damp soil. As you cautiously navigated the lush, dewy terrain beneath your feet, the vivid sounds of nature surrounded you. The rhythmic chorus of cicadas filled the air, harmonizing with the cheerful melodies of birdsong flitting about in the trees above. Sunlight poured down, its warmth contrasting sharply with the cool, wet ground, creating a vibrant tableau of summer life. Each step sent tiny droplets of water shimmering in the light while the foliage glistened like emeralds, alive with the vivid colors of the season.

As you ventured deeper into the wilderness, each step squelched delightfully in the thick, wet mud that oozed between your toes, a cool contrast to the sweltering heat that had wrapped around you like a heavy blanket. The sun hung high in the sky, casting dappled shadows that danced across the forest floor. You had wandered farther from the safety of your home than intended, and an instinctive alertness sharpened your senses.

With every rustle of leaves or distant snap of a twig, your ears twitched, straining to pick up the faintest of sounds—the chirping of birds, the rustle of small creatures in the underbrush, a whisper of wind through the branches. Each new smell caught your attention, from the earthy scent of wet ground to the sweet, musky aroma of wildflowers. You inhaled deeply, letting the fragrances mingle in your mind, a lively tapestry of the world around you, eager to commit them to memory.

Unbeknownst to you, a cunning predator lay in wait, his gaze fixed intently on you—the small, diminutive rabbit hybrid. From his concealed position, shrouded in the thick underbrush, his sharp brown eyes transformed into narrow slits, capturing every moment of your delicate movements. The soft rustling of leaves accompanied the lazy flick of his tail as he crouched low amidst the ferns and bushes, ready to strike any moment. The air was thick with tension; each breath he took was a silent testament to his growing anticipation.

He admired your determination despite your obvious fear—the subtle tremors in your legs, the near-constant twitch of your ears. His heartbeat remained steady, a testament to his years of experience in this unforgiving environment. A predator at the top of the food chain, he was drawn to your vulnerability, his body instinctively reacting to the potential conquest.

“Who goes there?” he called out, his deep voice rolling like distant thunder. There was no malice in his tone, merely curiosity tinged with authority. He wanted to gauge your reaction, to see if you were a worthy addition to his territory or simply another lost soul who would fall prey to its perils. He allowed himself a small smile, anticipating the thrill of the chase and the satisfaction of claiming you for himself.

A jolt of terror surged through your veins as you soared into the air, mud flying in chaotic arcs, splattering your clothes in the dark, clinging patches. Heart racing, you spun around, your head darting from side to side as you strained to pinpoint the source of the haunting voice that echoed through the stillness. The world felt suspended then; each sound amplified as anticipation gripped you tighter.

Chuckling to himself at your startled reaction, the human panther emerged from his cover with a smooth grace that belied his muscular frame. The sunlight glinted off the black fur of his ears and tail, casting an ethereal aura around him as he prowled closer. His movements were calculated and deliberate—like a predator stalking its prey. He reveled in his power over you, his eyes gleaming with a predatory hunger that only added to his menacing allure.

“Easy there,” he purred, his voice low and soothing despite the underlying threat. “No need to fear the shadows. You've got nothing to worry about… unless you're planning on causing trouble in my territory.” He studied you intently, noting the rapid rise and fall of your chest, the erratic pulse at the base of your neck. You were frightened, but there was something else there, too—curiosity? Intrigue? Either way, it made his blood sing with excitement. He took another step closer, his tail twitching in anticipation.

“What brings a little thing like you to these parts?”

Overwhelmed by fear, you found yourself lost for words as you gazed up at him, your eyes wide and shimmering like saucers. Your small hands trembled involuntarily, each twitching a reflection of the panic coursing through your veins, leaving you paralyzed in place.

His grin widened slightly at your paralysis, his chest rumbling with a low, approving purr. You were just as he liked them—scared but not broken. As you stared at him, fear-ridden and trembling, he took the opportunity to assess you more thoroughly. Your delicate form was intriguing—small enough to fit within the palm of his hand, yet there was something undeniably alluring about you. Your fear was intoxicating, and he couldn't help but wonder how you would react when he finally claimed you.

He crouched down lower, his movements deliberate and non-threatening, as if he were trying to coax a wild animal to approach him. “No need to be afraid,” he repeated, voice still calm and soothing. He allowed his tail to brush lightly against your leg, testing your boundaries and waiting for any sign of resistance or submission.

“I…” Your voice trailed off, soft and airy like a gentle breeze, as you found yourself lost in the endless depths of his onyx eyes. The intensity of his gaze felt like a magnetic pull, drawing you in yet making it hard to hold contact. You cast your eyes downward, feeling a blush creep across your cheeks. “I got lost,” you confessed, your words barely above a whisper tinged with vulnerability as you avoided the weight of his stare.

A low growl of disbelief escaped his lips. Lost? In his territory? He didn’t buy it for a second. Prey never wandered in here accidentally. They knew better. But still, something about you piqued his interest. Perhaps the innocence seemed to radiate from you like a warm aura, or maybe it was the way you submitted so quickly to his dominance. He leaned closer, inhaling deeply to catch your scent. It was intoxicating—floral with a hint of something sweet, like freshly picked berries. His body hummed with arousal, and he could feel his instincts taking over.

“Look at me,” he commanded, voice firm and unwavering. When you hesitantly raised your eyes to meet his, he continued, “Lost, huh? That’s not a good excuse for trespassing.” He let the implied threat hang heavy between them, his gaze never wavering from yours. He could see the wheels turning in your mind as you searched for an explanation that might appease him, and he relished every second of it.

“But I suppose I can make exceptions... under the right circumstances.” He allowed one clawed finger to trail down your arm, sending goosebumps across your skin.

“Thank you…” you murmured, letting out a shaky breath that trembled in the air around you. The gravity of the moment pressed against your chest, and you fought to blink away the hot tears that threatened to spill from your eyes, each one a reflection of the fear that gripped your heart.

His expression softened slightly at your response, and he couldn't help but feel a twinge of pride. The fear rolling off you in waves was intoxicating, and he wanted more. The panther leaned closer, his breath hot against your cheek as he spoke, “Tell me, little rabbit, why should I let you live?”

He could feel the heat radiating off your body, the rapid beat of your heart drumming in his ears like a symphony. It was music to his predatory soul. He let his claw graze gently across your collarbone, enjoying how you flinched at his touch. The thought sent a surge of arousal straight to his groin.

You let out a whimper at his words, squeezing your eyes shut as his claw pressed against the center of your throat. You swallowed your spit, feeling the sharp pressure dig deeper.

As the breath rushed out of your lungs, it felt as though a heavy weight pressed against your chest, trapping you in a suffocating grip. Your throat constricted painfully, leaving you gasping and helpless, the air just out of reach. Hot tears streamed down your cheeks, each one a silent testament to the turmoil inside, while you sniffled softly, a mix of vulnerability and despair.

A dark smile twisted across his lips as you cried beneath his touch. The sound sent shivers down his spine, only fueling his desire for control. He pressed his claw ever so slightly harder against your delicate throat, enjoying your reaction. Your vulnerability was like a drug, and he wanted more.

He leaned closer, his breath hot against your ear, “Answer me,” he growled, his voice low and menacing. He could feel his cock hardening in his pants as pictures of taming such a delicate creature flashed in his mind.

“Why should I spare you?” He repeated, applying a little more pressure. His thumb stroked the pulse point beneath his claw, feeling it race wildly beneath his touch.

“I don't know…” you whined, wheezing underneath him. You couldn't come up with anything to say to him, your instincts telling you to run as fast and far as you could, but you knew you couldn't outrun him. You were stuck.

“Please…” you begged, your chin trembling, tears slipping between your lips and down your neck.

His smile turned feral; he loved it when prey begged for mercy; it showed how far they would go to survive. He leaned back slightly, his eyes scanning your trembling form as he considered his options.

“That’s not a very convincing answer, little rabbit.” He retracted his claws from your throat, giving you a brief respite, only to slide his hand down to cup your cheek, his thumb brushing away a tear.

“You’ll have to do better than that if you want to live.” The heat from his hand was almost unbearable against your cold, wet skin, but the tenderness of the gesture was surprisingly gentle.

He wanted to see you fall apart underneath him, hear you scream his name until your voice gave out. But first, he needed to listen to you beg correctly. “Tell me,” he whispered huskily, his thumb tracing your lower lip.

“What will you do for me?” His voice clarified the implication, and he could practically taste your fear.

You blinked at him, your thoughts racing as you processed his words. The room felt charged with anticipation, and you could sense the weight of his expectations hanging in the air.

“Any—anything!” you exclaimed, your voice rising above your usual quiet, the urgency spilling out before you could rein it in. At that moment, nothing else mattered; your heart raced, and the noise around you faded into nothingness. All that remained was the spark of possibility in his gaze.

His eyes flashed at your eager response. You were quicker to break than he had expected, but then again, rabbits were known for their fragility. He could feel the thrill of victory coursing through his veins as his cock throbbed in his pants, straining against the confines of his clothing.

“Good,” he purred, his hand sliding down your neck and between your breasts, pausing at the swell of your cleavage.

“Then prove it.” He pushed you slightly, urging you to get on your knees. His fingers traced the fabric of your clothes, teasing the sensitive skin underneath, before resting at your waistband.

He growled softly as you obediently obliged, his voice thick with lust and hunger. He undid the button of his pants, pulling out his length. It bobbed heavily in front of your face, demanding attention.

“Use your mouth.” The order was simple yet held so much weight. He could hear your pulse racing faster and your breath hitching at the sight of him.

You sat on your knees, feeling the wet grass scrape against your skin. You were taken aback by the abruptness of the situation unfolding right before you. The unexpectedness of it all sent a rush of adrenaline through your veins. You could feel the sun's warmth on your skin, starkly contrasting the chill of anxiety creeping in. As your heart raced, you licked your lips, the taste of anticipation mingling with the pooling saliva in your mouth, a physical reminder of the gravity of what was happening.

You lifted your gaze to meet his, your lips slightly parted as you took deep, steadying breaths, trying to soothe the fluttering anxiety within you. “I’ve—I've never…” you began, your voice trembling with the weight of your admission.

He smirked, raising an eyebrow at your confession. “Never?” he asked, amusement lacing his voice. The thought excited him further, knowing that he would be the one to break you, to claim you. His fingers traced the side of your face, his thumb grazing your cheekbone.

“Don’t worry,” he murmured, “I’ll teach you everything you need to know,” he promised sultrily.

“But first, you have to show me you’re willing.” He gripped your chin firmly, forcing your gaze back to his arousal. “Open up for me,” he commanded, his tone low and dominant. You could sense his excitement and approval, the heat radiating off his body, and how his tail swished behind him.

You braced your hands against his thighs, opening your mouth wider, flicking your eyes back up to his face to gauge his reaction.

He watched you closely, approval flickering in his eyes as his fingers tightened around your chin, guiding you closer to his cock. As your soft lips enveloped the tip, he let out a low groan, his hips jerking slightly in pleasure.

“That’s it,” he encouraged, “take it all in.” He pushed your head down slowly, savoring the sensation of your warmth engulfing him. He could feel your hesitancy, but your willingness to try only made it hotter. As you began to move your lips along his length, he couldn’t help but feel a twinge of pride at having you submit so readily. He tilted his head to the side, closing his eyes and letting the waves of pleasure roll through him.

“Deeper,” he growled, his grip on your head becoming firmer as he thrust shallowly into your mouth, guiding your movements to match his rhythm.

His eyes remained closed, relishing in the sensation of your lips wrapped around him. His tail twitched erratically as you tried to keep up with his pace. He knew you were struggling but couldn’t bring himself to ease up. The feel of your mouth on him was too good, too enticing.

He could hear your soft whimpers, which only fueled his arousal. A dark grin curved against his lips. “Good girl,” he praised, his voice thick with desire. He felt you gag slightly and paused, pulling back to allow you to catch your breath. His thumb traced your bottom lip, smearing precum across your face.

“You’re learning,” he purred before pushing your head back onto him. He began to thrust again, this time harder and deeper. Simon’s eyes snapped open, his gaze locking onto your watery ones.

He enjoyed watching you struggle to please him, your small form trembling beneath his firm grip. His hips moved in rhythm with your mouth, setting a pace that he knew would bring him closer to release.

“Use your tongue,” he instructed, his voice low and commanding. “Show me how much you want it.” As you obeyed, licking and sucking fervently, he couldn’t hold back a moan of satisfaction. He reached down to stroke your long ears, his movements becoming more erratic as pleasure built within him. The sound of your muffled whimpers only added to the experience.

“That’s right,” he growled, feeling himself growing closer to climax, and tightened his grip on your head, holding you firmly in place as he thrust deeper. “You’re mine,” he whispered, his voice husky with lust. “Say it.”

You pulled back, hollowing your cheeks and flicking your tongue along his veins, pressing against his frenulum. With his tip pressed against your lips and your nails sinking into his skin.

“M’yours,” you mumbled, dragging your tongue across his tip, licking up the salty droplets slipping from the slit. Your eyelids fell halfway, and your mind began to fall deeper into a subspace.

A rumble of approval vibrated through Simon’s chest at your words, feeling a surge of power and possession. “Mmm,” he groaned, “good bunny.” He stroked your head encouragingly, pressing his thumb against your cheek. “Just like that,” he praised, his voice thick with desire.

The sight of you like this - submissive, eager to please - ignited a primal instinct within him. His hips moved involuntarily, pushing his cock towards your waiting lips. As you wrapped them around him once more, his eyes rolled back in ecstasy. He allowed himself to sink deeper into the moment, letting the sensations wash over him.

“Fuck yes,” he growled, his grip on your head tightening again. He thrust deeper into your mouth, feeling the head of his cock hit the back of your throat. His tail lashed behind him, betraying his mounting pleasure.

“Take it,” he ordered, pushing himself further into your mouth. His eyes snapped open, locking onto your half-lidded gaze, watching you submit to his every whim. He could see the trust and surrender in your expression, which only made him harder.

“You’re mine,” he repeated, his voice husky with arousal. “Mine to use, mine to protect.” He pushed himself deeper still, holding you in place until he felt his orgasm building. With a final thrust, he released himself into your mouth, growling with satisfaction as you swallowed every drop. He released you, stroking your hair softly as he caught his breath.

“Good,” he praised, “very good.” His voice was calm and controlled once more, the moment's intensity having passed.

You preened at his praise, your chest puffing in pride before resting your cheek against his thigh, wrapping your arms around his leg, purring softly as you gazed up at him. Your soft tail twitched against your lower back, its soft touch offering you a sense of comfort.

His fingers traced idly through your silky hair, “Look at you,” he murmured, a hint of amusement in his deep voice, “so eager to please.” His hand moved up to gently caress your cheek, his thumb brushing away the drool that clung to your lower lip.

He leaned down, capturing your gaze with his intense one. “You did well,” he said, his voice low and gravelly. He lifted your chin with a single finger, tilting your face upwards so he could claim your lips in a slow, possessive kiss. His tongue swept across yours, tasting himself on you before delving deeper, exploring the warm cavern of your mouth. Without words, he wanted you to know who you belonged to - who owned every part of you. When he pulled away, his breathing was ragged.

“But don’t think this means you’re safe,” he warned, his eyes flashing dangerously. “You’re still my prey.” The words were spoken softly, but there was no mistaking the threat behind them. He stood then, towering over your small form.

“Get up,” he ordered, offering you a hand. “We’re not finished here.” His grip was firm but not harsh as he pulled you to your feet. He led you towards a large tree, pressing you against it, his body pinning yours against the rough bark. He leaned in close, his breath hot against your ear. “You’ll learn your place,” he whispered, his voice dark and promising.

He trailed his free hand down your torso, feeling the slight tremble in your body as his fingers traced along your curves. He reached the hem of your top, swiping through it with one claw and letting it fall to the floor in tatters, revealing your naked form to his greedy eyes.

He growled low in his throat at the sight of your exposed flesh, his hunger for you growing stronger by the second. His hand moved to cup one of your breasts, his thumb rubbing circles around the nipple as it hardened under his touch. He could hear the rapid beat of your heart against his chest, feel your quickened breaths against his neck.

His eyes narrowed in appreciation at your obedience, noting how you arched into his touch, your soft purrs music to his ears. He leaned down, capturing your lips in another dominant kiss, claiming every inch of your mouth. He felt your small, delicate hands fumble against his chest before sliding around his back, your nails lightly scraping his skin. A low rumble of approval sounded in his throat, and he deepened the kiss further, letting you know who was in charge. Breaking away, he murmured against your lips, “Good girl.”

His hands moved to your waist, lifting you slightly so you could wrap your legs around him. He supported your weight effortlessly, the muscles in his arms flexing under your touch. His fingers trailed along your exposed skin, eliciting shivers as he hooked his thumbs into the waistband of your shorts. With a single swift motion, he pulled them down, revealing your lower half. He stepped back, admiring the sight of you pressed against the tree, completely bare and at his mercy.

“Beautiful,” he praised, licking his lips. He placed a hand on the trunk beside your head, caging you in with his larger form. His other hand traced down your body, stopping at the juncture of your thighs. He could feel your heat radiating against his palm, and he couldn’t resist sliding a finger between your folds. You gasped, your hips jerking forward slightly at the contact. He smirked, his feline eyes gleaming. He circled your clit lazily, enjoying the feel of your body reacting to his touch.

“Mine,” he growled possessively before dipping his finger inside you. He savored the feel of your wetness around his finger, your body quivering under his touch. His thumb continued to circle your clit, applying just enough pressure to make you moan. Your reactions only fueled his desire, his cock straining against his pants. He leaned in, nipping at your earlobe, eliciting your whimper.

He slowly removed his finger, causing you to whine softly in protest. Chuckling darkly, he pressed his lips against your neck, sucking and biting gently, leaving a trail of marks that would brand you as his. He reached down, positioning himself at your entrance, the tip teasing your wet folds.

With one powerful thrust, he entered you, filling you completely. You cried out, your body tensing around him. He hissed in pleasure, holding still for a moment, allowing you to adjust to his size. Once your body relaxed slightly, he began to move, setting a steady rhythm that had you moaning and writhing against him.

He loved the feeling of your tight walls clamping down on him, your nails digging into his shoulders as you tried to hold on. He moved one hand to your breast, teasing your nipple until it peaked beneath his fingers. Your pants turned to whimpers as he picked up the pace, his hips slamming into yours with ferocity.

The predator smirked, enjoying your desperate attempts to keep up with his relentless pace. Your whimpers and gasps spurred him further, driving him to push you closer to the edge. He pinched your nipple lightly, eliciting a sharp cry from you, and he knew you were close. He leaned his head back, savoring the sensations coursing through his body. His tail swished lazily behind him, the end twitching as he thrust deeper into you.

He could hear the soft thud of your body against the tree trunk, each impact punctuating the sounds of your combined ragged breaths and wet flesh meeting. His grip tightened on your hip, guiding your movements as he drove himself further into your warmth. He was so close, but he needed you to come undone first. His thumb circled your clit, applying just the right amount of pressure to make you squirm.

“Come for me,” he growled against your ear, nipping at the lobe again. Your whimpers grew louder, your body tensing as your orgasm built. He could feel your walls contracting around him, milking him, urging him toward his climax. He increased his pace, each thrust becoming more powerful, more demanding. He watched your face contorted in pleasure; your eyes squeezed shut as you bit down on your bottom lip. And then, with a final gasp, you fell apart, your body convulsing around him as you rode out your release.

He couldn’t hold back any longer. With one final growl, he released his seed deep inside you, claiming you once more. He held you there, panting heavily, until the last tremors subsided. Only then did he pull away, tucking himself back into his pants. His hand moved to cup your cheek, his thumb brushing away the tears that streaked down your face.

“Pretty bunny,” he praised, his voice still rough with desire. He kissed your forehead softly before releasing you, letting you slump against the tree to catch your breath.

His eyes narrowed, watching you closely as you struggled to regain your composure. He savored the sight of you, flushed and spent against the tree trunk. Despite the tenderness of his last action, he reminded himself that this was still a game of survival - one he intended to win. He knew you were vulnerable now, but he also knew you were resilient. He needed to keep pushing to make sure you understood your place.

“Don’t think that was enough,” he murmured, his voice still thick with arousal. “You’re mine until I say otherwise.” His hand trailed down your arm before spinning you around, pressing you against the tree again, his body still radiating heat against yours. “Do you understand?” His grip on your wrists tightened, pulling them above your head so you were entirely at his mercy.

“You belong to me.” He leaned in close, his breath hot against your ear. “And I’ll do whatever it takes to protect what’s mine.” With that, he released one of your wrists, his hand sliding down your body to cup your breast, squeezing gently. His thumb teased your nipple, eliciting another moan from you. He smirked, satisfied that you were still so responsive to him.

“Now,” he said, his tone firm, “we continue. You’re going to walk ahead of me, nice and slow.” He released your other wrist, allowing you to move away from the tree. His hand rested on the small of your back, guiding you forward.

“And if you try to run,” he warned, his voice low and dangerous, “I’ll just have to catch you again.” His fingers traced along the curve of your waist, his nails digging in just enough to remind you of his presence. “And trust me, little rabbit,” he purred, “you won’t enjoy it nearly as much.”

main masterlist, rules

[pretzel-box]

MDNI | TW: Body Horror, Detailed Graphic Description of Gore. Mention of Needles

Tags: Established Relationship, Devotion, Obsession, TW Tags above

Words: 2,2k

Sebastian Solace could hear your faint breathing in the silence, another form of melody that graced his ears. It was calming and invited him to pause from the burden of the daily life and dream instead. He was sure, your presence alone is like a bright shimmer at the edge of his void world, not blinding but so unbelievable radiant, a glow that pulls him towards your existence like the moon that beckons the tides.

His gaze lingers a bit longer than intended and yet not long enough to satisfy that hunger in his soul. He traced the curve of your form, with a fleeting glance, as you sit at the desk, lost in the pages that stretched out before you. Each turn of the paper is a soft whisper, a delicate flutter that harmonizes with the quiet rhythm of your breath. You are unaware, absorbed in the world between the lines, stories and memories, yet your every movement feels choreographed by the stars themselves—effortless, graceful, like a long lost dream.

Sebastian watches, mesmerized by the way your fingers brush the edges of the book, gentle as if you hold something precious. The faint light spills across your skin, casting a soft halo that wraps around you, an ethereal glow that seems to exist for his eyes alone. In the stillness, you are his celestial body, his guiding star, unknowingly illuminating the vast, shadowed corners of his heart.

Even the way you tilt your head, lost in thought, feels like the subtle pull of gravity, drawing him closer, though he remains in the quiet distance. He wonders if you can feel the way the air shifts around him, how it hums with the silent longing he tries to contain deep inside him. You are his solace, his steady beacon in a sea of darkness, and though you are unaware of his gaze, every part of you seems to call to him, softly and irresistibly.

The way your voice wrapped around his name sent a shiver down his spine, a sensation as delicate as the brush of sunlight after a long storm. "Oh, Sebastian," you had said, and it was as if the very air he breathed had shifted, softened, warmed. There was a tenderness in your words, a gentleness that seemed to cradle him, filling the empty spaces inside his chest.

Your voice, like the wind, swept through the quiet room, curling around him in invisible tendrils, soothing, comforting, and undeniably real. If sound could embrace, then surely this was the closest he'd ever come to feeling human warmth drenched in love. It enveloped him, like the gentle embrace of arms he longed to know. Each syllable lingered in the air, thick with sweetness, as though the very essence of your being flowed through the sound, leaving a trail of honey in its wake.

"Dreaming as always," you teased, your words lilting in a way that felt like a dance. "You surely got your head in the clouds." And oh, how right you were. He was far beyond the realm of mortals, his thoughts soaring high, lost among the stars you unknowingly filled his world with. His heart, caught in the sheer comfort of your presence, was suspended somewhere between the heavens and earth, weightless, adrift. You were not just the pull that grounded him, but the entire sky he yearned to float within, a cosmic force that kept him both dreaming and awake at the very same time.

He smiled faintly, helpless under your spell, for every word you spoke was like stardust falling gently into his soul, filling the dark spaces with light. You had no idea of the gravity you held over him, how your voice alone shaped his universe, a melody that kept him tethered to you, even as his mind wandered through galaxies made entirely of you.

Time passed, yet not a single day saw Sebastian’s love fade or waver. It flowed endlessly, like the ceaseless currents of the ocean, drenching you with his quiet, unwavering devotion. His love became a part of him, woven into the very fabric of his being, shaping every thought and action. He was ready to forsake even the simplest of pleasures, content to immerse himself entirely in the depths of your existence. Every movement, every breath, every word he spoke seemed to carry your name, a silent vow of his love that coursed through him like water through the veins of the sea.

"Hold still," he mumbled softly, his voice barely more than a whisper, soothing and gentle. There was no command in it, just a quiet reminder as he held the sharp silver needle between his large, grey fingers. The metal gleamed faintly in the light of his glowing lure, casting soft reflections across the water. He carefully threaded a piece of red string through the needle’s eye, makeshift and fragile, yet it was all he had. The first aid kits he’d scavenged from the Blacksite over time had long run dry, leaving him with no choice but to use whatever he could find.

Your arm lay before him, a deep gash marring the skin, crimson blood flowing down in slow rivulets, like rain sliding down a windowpane. It pooled on the floor below, dark and heavy in the water. Sebastian’s chest tightened as he worked with quiet precision, his fingers moving deftly, though the sight of your blood filled him with a deep ache.

He wished for better tools, for a world where you would never be hurt, where his hands wouldn't have to stitch your wounds with makeshift threads. But this was the Blacksite, where even tenderness had to survive in the cold, unforgiving depths.

His focus was entirely on you, though he remained silent. He didn’t want you to feel the weight of his worry, the way his heart clenched with every drop of blood that spilled. His touch was steady, careful, as if you were more precious than anything else in this forsaken place. And to him, you were.

Painter’s digital face flickered on the nearby navipath screen, his expression shifting to something indescribable—an emotion too complex for mere pixels to convey, especially on this tiny screen next to the door. He observed Sebastian with a silent intensity, studying the careful way his grey fingers moved as he worked on you. His glowing eyes flickered, tracing the delicate thread being pulled through decaying skin, before his gaze settled on you—on what was left of you.

Sebastian had become a creature of instinct, driven by something darker, something primal. He had torn through the dark halls of the Blacksite with a violence so raw, so brutal, that it left no room for mercy. Mere Limbs were shredded, layers of soft flesh ripped apart as if it were nothing more than paper beneath his hands. Deep crimson blood had flowed like rivers, drenching the cold metallic floors in a sea of red. The stench of rotting bodies clung to the air, thick and suffocating. He had bathed the Blacksite in death, and yet it was never enough.

He needed more.

Your body, once divine, had begun to rot so long ago. The soft skin of your face, once untouched by time, had long since withered away. Maggots crawled through what remained, eating away at your remaining existing flesh that had shriveled up and lost its radiant color, but Sebastian couldn't see it. Or perhaps he refused to. His eyes, dark and hollow in that shade of blue, only saw the memory of you—the beauty you once held, the light you once gave him. He couldn't bear to lose it.

So, he had followed in Urbanshade’s footsteps. He had learned, in the most twisted way, to preserve you. Piece by piece, he replaced what decayed, ripping parts from the bodies he’d slaughtered, stitching them together with thread, with force, with desperation so solid that it became the foundation of his delusion. He practiced, over and over, perfecting the art of sewing until murder became a ritual, a divine act of art in his mind in the name of creation.

Sebastian Solace had turned the Blacksite into his own cathedral of carnage, a place where death and love were inseparable. He had twisted his devotion into something monstrous, into a grotesque form of art where your body, patched and stitched together from the remains of his victims, was his only masterpiece. His love for you had become a relentless hunger, one that consumed him as completely as it had consumed the bodies he tore apart to keep you whole.

And still, he sat by your side, gently stitching, as if he were mending something sacred.

„Sebastian. They are gone.“

Sebastian’s gaze lingered on you, taking in your once delicate features, trying to grasp at the fading remnants of what you had been. But the longer he bathed in your presence, the more your appearance twisted and warped, a grotesque distortion of the memory he clung to. The rosy tint that had once colored your cheeks was gone, replaced by the sickly pallor of decaying flesh. Your skin, that soft, precious surface he had adored, was now peeling, hanging in ragged strips from your bones, exposing raw, festering meat underneath.

His heart quickened, the rhythm erratic as his mind scrambled for answers that weren't there. Where was the gentle glow in your eyes, the light that had once held him captive? Instead, hollow, sunken sockets stared back at him, their emptiness filled only with the dull sheen of rot. The stench of death clung to you, thick and nauseating, wrapping itself around him, filling his lungs with each breath until the taste of it settled heavy on his tongue.

The skin he had so tenderly sewn was slipping, the stitches frayed and torn, unable to hold together the decomposing mass that had once been you. His hands twitched, instinctively reaching for the needle and thread, desperate to fix it, to make you whole again. But no matter how many times he stitched, how many bodies he tore apart to replace the rotting parts, it was never enough. Your flesh, his precious masterpiece, was slipping away from him.

He could see the maggots now, squirming and writhing beneath the layers of your skin, feasting on what remained. The sight turned his stomach, but he couldn’t look away. He needed to save you—needed to preserve what little of you was left. Yet, the more he tried, the more your body melted into something unrecognizable, a grotesque nightmare that mocked his every attempt at salvation.

He broke like glass and died inside from a pain that couldn't be described with words. In the endless blue eyes were a deep reflection of total confusion as all traces of emotional warmth has left his body. Seconds passed, then minutes and somehow he wasn't sure if life really continued in that moment.

“I tried to eat them,” Sebastian whispered, his voice hollow, as if the confession carried no weight anymore, just a haunting echo in the stagnant air. He hovered above the floor, eyes tracing the dark puddle of blood mixed with filthy water beneath him. His reflection stared back, twisted and ghostly in a liquid that wasn’t even yours.

“After they died... I tried to eat their flesh to preserve them,” he continued, almost as if speaking to himself, his words barely audible. His gaze remained fixed on the pool as if searching for something—an answer, perhaps, or absolution. “I started with their neck... I remember, they loved it when I kissed their neck.”

His hand drifted to his mouth, his voice trembling, though his face remained eerily calm. “I sunk my teeth into the cold flesh... tasted the first drop of blood. I pulled at it, gently tearing away the skin, chewing it like it was some delicate meal. But all I tasted was metal—cold, bitter metal.”

His fingers twitched, reaching out to stroke the grotesque, rotting leg of the decaying mass that sat slumped in the chair, a body that barely resembled what it once had been. Painter, from his place on the screen, watched in silent horror as Sebastian caressed the flesh with disturbing tenderness, as if even now he could find traces of the beauty he once loved.

“It wasn’t like them," he muttered, his voice growing softer, more distant. "It wasn’t what they were. All I could taste was death. Cold, tasteless, soulless death.”

His hand trembled as it slid down the decayed limb, his eyes glazed over, lost in the memory. “But I kept eating... trying to find them in the flesh, in the blood. I devoured piece after piece, convinced that somewhere in the rot, they still existed. And then I woke up.”

His voice cracked, the weight of his confession finally settling in. “And I realized, I had tainted their beauty.”

He paused, staring at the ruin before him, his body still, his mind racing. “I wanted them back. So I began sewing. Stitching them together piece by piece. Everything I ate, I replaced. Everything I destroyed, I repaired. I cut away what was lost, what had withered. And everything that was them... everything that had been theirs... I loved.”

His fingers traced the jagged edges of the sewn flesh, a twisted mockery of the love he once held for you. In his mind, he had preserved you, kept you alive, bound to him through his grotesque ritual. But in the quiet shadows of the Blacksite, all that remained was a macabre testament to his obsession—a reflection of the madness that had consumed him.

And Painter realized, Sebastian is still utterly in love with you.

[gghostwriter]

fluff request

Spencer reid x bee holding hands and skipping around. Pls and Thanks!

Love ur work!

Spencer Reid x Fem! Reader Trope: Established Relationship; Fluff! Just fluff! wc: 1k A/N: Bear, so sorry it took a while but here is your request and its just pure loving fluff of Spencer falling deeper in love! Not proofread. Comments and reblogs are greatly appreciated 💗 Main masterlist

In the Ether. // Spencer Reid

It was a rarity for Spencer Reid to fly out of Virginia outside of work and for any other state than Las Vegas to visit his mother. It was even a rarer sight for him to be surrounded by green pastures until all the eyes could see and fading white picket fences that keep farm animals—cows, goats, and horses—safe from one another. He was a city boy through and through, after all. 

But here he was, experiencing the tranquility of living in a countryside with just the sounds of air rustling the trees and the harmonizing voices of all living animals found in the farm. It was how you grew up and you wanted him to meet your family while experiencing your quiet childhood in a small town, even just for a short weekend. 

“Well, what do you think?” You asked as you sat beside him on the rickety swing bench your father built on the front porch when you were ten years old. 

He smiled, grasping your hand into his before bringing it up to his lips for a kiss. “It’s beautiful and peaceful. I could see why you love it here.” 

“When I was a teenager, not so much—” you laughed at his incredulous expression. “—there’s really not much to do in a countryside town where everyone knows everyone, i promise—”

“So you dreamed of moving to a big city,” he added on. 

You nodded, watching the farm dogs herd a couple of sheep strays back to the flock. “Yup, so I applied to college in a big city and ended up missing the vast space and quiet after a few years. How cliché of me, don’t you think?”’

“No, not really. It made sense for you to miss what you once had,” his voice soft and soothing like a gentle, cooling breeze in an arid desert. He had a way of guiding your thoughts back to the light—a lighthouse that pierces through the grey fog guiding you boat back to shore. It was one of the qualities that made you grateful that he chose you the same way you’d choose him again and again if needed be. 

You stood up, shaking any melancholy. “Grab your book, Spence, let’s go visit my favorite tree up the hill.”

Laughing, he guided you inside to the guest room you both will occupy and proceeded to pull out an obscure Quantum Mechanics copy from his satchel.

You shook your head, only Spencer would decide to bring an academic book as a form of light reading.

With your chosen book on hand and a picnic blanket on the other, you shouted out loud your destination for anyone to hear around the house and proceeded to pull your boyfriend of one year outside the back door with a bounce in your step.

The excitement that seemed to vibrate out of you was so contagious that Spencer found himself skipping at your same beat. Hands together swinging between your bodies, he had never felt any more weightless and unfettered by the grim reality his cases had to offer. 

Halfway through, you could spot the colossal Sycamore tree that you called your own. It had been nicknamed as yours by the family ever since you fell asleep under it at a tender age of four. It had been your own space, your own solace when you wanted to be alone. It was such an extension of you that you wanted to share its existence to the one you hoped to share the rest of your life with.

You squeezed his hand, signaling him to a stop. 

“What is it, sweetheart?”

A mischievous twinkle in your eyes clued him in before any word was even uttered.

“Race you!” You bolted, the loose skirt of your cotton dress sticking to your legs as you picked up speed. 

Both your laughters echoing in the air, mixing with the chatter of the nearby ducks, as if you and him were still kids, free from responsibility and unabashed with glee—like everything was simple in life.

With a smile threatening to split his cheeks from happiness, he loved seeing you run across the vibrant green field, sneakers leaving imprints on the moist soil, and tendrils of your long hair trailing behind you. Everything about the moment was precious. Everything about you was ethereal. A forest nymph that had bewitched him body and soul. A woodland sprite coloring his barren wasteland of life in a multitude of colors he can never hope to name. A beloved that he wishes to cherish until the end of time.

You turned around with a smile on your face, having reached the destination first and as if the skies needed him to fall any deeper for you, a soft warm sunlight streamed through the leaves, giving you a golden halo like you were some kind of goddess here on Earth, meant just for him. 

Spencer went with instinct, untethered and uncaring for anyone to see. He wrapped his arms around your thighs, twirling you around with your giggles as the music before bringing you back down to Earth and leaning in to give you a slow, soft kiss. A motion so loving that had you melting in his arms, hands clutching his button down, afraid for the moment to end. 

He leaned back a sliver. Far enough for breeze to pass between your lips but close enough for your noses to still be touching.

Eyes staring into yours, warm and golden like the morning sun breaking from the horizon, he uttered the truth of his devotion.

“I love you.”

“I love you too.”

Comments and reblogs are greatly appreciated!

[thesummerstorms]

I'm just imagining my Mage!Crow!Rook, Neve, and Teia casually chatting in the Cantori Diamond about some sort of mystery magic one of the Cantori Fledglings stumbled on.

Viago and Lucanis are observing, but neither have anything meaningful to add at the moment, so they're just kind of letting the Mages do their thing.

Until Neve starts making a comparison to another unsolved Magical cold case she's been working back in Minrathous in her "spare time" (hah) and Arsinoë sits up and gets a very noticeable look in her eye.

"That's fascinating, actually. Do you think if we tried inverting the etheric harmonics we could-"

"Rook." Lucanis says at the same time as Viago snaps, "Arsinoë!"

Startled the two men glance at one another, uncertain what to make of this sudden, unwitting agreement... Only to be distracted again by the sounds of Teia and Rook laughing at them.

Even Neve has a little satisfied grin. Rather than point out the eerie similarity of Viago and Lucanis's expressions, though, she turns back to Arsinoë with surprising enthusiasm. "Well, I did try it, but you know how tricky that gets, one mage on their own. Mae had some theories, though. Between the two of us-"

Lucanis sighs deeply and begins mentally going over his equipment to make sure he is prepared for demons. Viago's eye is twitching.

Maker help them, there are two of them.

[sensualnoiree]

astro notes: venus ♾

Venus, in both alchemical and esoteric traditions, holds profound significance as one of the classical planets. Its symbolism extends far beyond its astronomical presence, delving into realms of love, beauty, balance, and transformation.

Venus is actually much more than just the planet of love and beauty; it's considered the embodiment of the soul's essence. Venus represents the substance of the soul, the harmony of beauty, and the talent for art. It symbolizes grace, intelligence in proportion and rhythm, and the principle of "relatedness."

This relatedness is crucial, as it's the expression of the soul of the world and the feminine aspect of Divinity. Venus acts as a vibratory field that resonates between different aspects of existence—between individuals ("me" and "you"), between the ego and the soul, and even between the unit and the universe.

When this resonance is ignited, it sparks love and reveals the soul's fire. This essence of Venus is always present, like an awaitingness for mutual "relevance" to emerge between seemingly indifferent parts of life. This relevance can manifest in various ways, such as when social interactions transform into genuine connections, when artistic endeavors become infused with deep feeling, or when nature's beauty evokes a profound response.

Venus symbolizes a latent field and flow of relatedness that permeates the fabric of the world. This concept is often symbolized by the infinity symbol (∞), which represents the structure of the Ajna center ruled by Venus, or by the number 8, associated with the soul principle and the Christ consciousness. This symbol of infinity reflects how the universe's life of relationship is the substance of its relative infinity.

The pentagram, or five-pointed star, also has deep symbolic significance in various esoteric traditions, including alchemy, astrology, and mysticism. Each point of the star represents one of the four elements – earth, air, fire, and water – with the fifth point symbolizing spirit or ether, the quintessence that unites the elements. The pentagram is often used as a symbol of protection, balance, and spiritual transformation.

Earth: Represents stability, materiality, and the physical realm.

Air: Symbolizes intellect, communication, and the realm of thought.

Fire: Represents passion, creativity, and transformation.

Water: Symbolizes emotions, intuition, and the subconscious.

The fifth point, symbolizing spirit or ether, represents the divine spark within each individual and the higher spiritual aspects that transcend the material world. Venus, as the harmonizing force, is associated with the pentagram because it represents the balance and unity of these elements. Venus's influence helps to bring these elements into equilibrium, fostering spiritual growth and transformation.

Taurus (April 20 - May 20): Venus is the ruling planet of Taurus, emphasizing qualities such as sensuality, stability, and material abundance. Taurus is associated with the earth element, reflecting Venus's connection to the physical world and its pleasures. Under Venus's influence, Taurus seeks comfort, security, and beauty in life, often valuing stability and the finer things in life.

Libra (September 23 - October 22): Venus is also the ruling planet of Libra, but here its influence is more focused on partnerships, diplomacy, and aesthetic pursuits. Libra is an air sign, reflecting Venus's influence on intellectual pursuits, social interactions, and the arts. Libra seeks balance, harmony, and beauty in relationships and the world around them, often valuing fairness, cooperation, and justice.

In both Taurus and Libra, Venus's influence enriches the symbolism of the pentagram, emphasizing the importance of balance, harmony, and transformation in both the material and spiritual realms. Venus's role as a ruling planet further highlights its significance in astrology and its impact on the human experience.

follow for more astro insights like this and support me over on yt @quenysefields or instagram sensualnoiree

[nenyabusiness]

"Last Temptation"

After episode 4 and the possible flash-forward, I just need to talk about this soundtrack. We haven't heard it in the show yet, and I'm pretty sure we're going to have to wait until the season finale. Bear McCreary is a master at combining leitmotifs to musically represent a scene, and I truly believe that this is the track that will play during the inevitable confrontation between Sauron and Galadriel.

Spoilers ahead for potential predictions, because I'm breaking this fucker down.

We start out with a soft soprano humming the melody of "Where The Shadows Lie". For those who don't remember the full version from the first season, it's the one with lyrics:

Three rings for the Elven kings under the sky Seven for the dwarf lords in their halls of stone Nine for mortal men doomed to die One for the dark lord on his dark throne In the land of Mordor where the shadows lie One ring to rule them all, one ring to find them One ring to bring them all, and in the darkness bind them In the land of Mordor where the shadows lie

So far, we've already heard this melody quite a bit, since it's often played when something sinister and ring-related is going on. It also plays with a full symphonic orchestra during the Annatar reveal in he soundtrack called "Emissary at the Forge", which I'd personally say is actually Annatar's theme. I could go on a rant with that one to, but to put it briefly: We've got "Sauron" and "Where The Shadows Lie" played on Elven-coded instruments. Does it get more Annatar than that?

Okay. So. The scene opens with dark ring shenanigans and/or Annatar. It's dark. It has tension. It's the eerie calm before the storm.

At 0:40, the mood changes. We get strings, followed by male choir and sharp brass, leading us straight into Sauron's theme. It's not as chaotic as "Sauron" from season 1. We have a steady 4/4 rhythm compared to the whatever the hell is going on in the original theme. The core melody and the ostinato on the strings are unmistakable though. We're dealing with Sauron.

1:05 is where things start to escalate. We move between sharp female vocals and softer orchestral interludes that almost seem to fight each other, leading up to the magnificent 1:36. Galadriel's leitmotif on brass, with a note lowered just a half step to give it dissonance. If "Emissary At The Forge" is Elven-coded "Sauron", then this is Sauron-coded "Galadriel". It's not ethereal. It's not harmonic. It's intense, and I can't wait to see what Galadriel is actually doing here during this part. Fighting, most likely. Viciously.

After a brief breather, we reach 1:59 where Sauron's leitmotif returns, sung by a single soprano. No string ostinato. Just the main melody, performed with the same eerie vibe as "Where The Shadows Lie" in the intro. The orchestra builds, losing some dissonance as more instrument joins... and then we're suddenly back in a much more triumphant version of Galadriel's theme at 2:25. Something has shifted here. The dynamics are different. Maybe she's getting the upper hand? But here comes the kicker, Sauron's ace up his sleeve: Halbrand's theme.

A soft whisper of a dulcimer breaks free from the symphonic orchestra at 2:30, followed by a Nordic nyckelharpa at 2:35. There are hints of Halbrand's theme in other season 2 tracks too, but not like this. We're not just dealing with elements of Halbrand's theme here. This is Halbrand's theme, with the original instrumentalization. In episode 4, we catch a glimpse of Sauron in a flickering montage of images, looking almost exactly like he did during the battle in the Southlands. I strongly suspect that when we get to that scene, it's going to be backed up by this exact part of the soundtrack. It lasts for almost half a minute. The battle has been put on pause. Has Galadriel's feelings for the man she thought she knew caught up with her? Something emotional is happening here. Something that involves their time together, back when they were still allies.

At 2:56, the battle is on again. The sharp female choir is back, sounding even more erratic. More urgent. Galadriel's leitmotif returns, now with the right note but at doubled speed. She's retaliating.

The next major point happens at 3:47, where things suddenly go quiet. We shift into Sauron's leitmotif on soprano again, which transitions into Galadriel's, and then back to Sauron's. It's really, really smooth, and I can only applaud Bear for the execution. The themes should be incompatible, but nope, he makes it work.

At 4:53, something really interesting happens. Both "Sauron" and "Galadriel" have string ostinatos. Ostinatos are short, reoccurring melodies, and Bear often use them to back up the "main" motifs. At this time stamp, we're hearing a new ostinato that sounds an awful lot like Sauron's and Galadriel's combined. It's not as dissonant as Sauron's, but it's not as clean as Galadriel's either. I can still hear both in it, though. We're no longer just shifting back and forth between the soundtracks - they've actually merged. I have no clue what that means but I can't wait to find out. Is this her "Last Temptation"? Did he give her the same proposal again? Is she tempted?

The music builds again. At 5:27, we hear a short, explosive burst of Galadriel's theme on brass baked into an epic soundscape. Whatever it was that just happened, she's snapped out of it. She faced her temptation and turned it down. We hear the direct result of this at 5:39, where we get Sauron's theme sounding a lot more like the one from season 1 again. No more soft soprano. We're back to male choir. (I think it's worth mentioning that traditionally, male choir more evil-coded than female, so that's neat.)

If there was ever any doubt whether or not she resisted the temptation, we get a confirmation at 6:03. Galadriel's theme on harp, backed up by a soft female choir. She chose the light. Again.

The final half minute is orchestral, but the battle is over. There's peace. A touch of triumph, a touch of melancholy, but there's definitely peace.

Okay. I think I'm done. Bear is a genius so I'm sure there are even more easter eggs in there, but these are the ones I caught.

EDIT: During that final half minute, we actually get a bit of Elrond's theme. Is he the one who interrupts the altercation? Is that how the fight comes to an end? I'm really interested in seeing how that plays out. TLDR: Bear created a Sauron/Galadriel/Halbrand medley and I'm in awe.

[blackbacchus999]

Apollo's Delphic Dawn

Description: The Sacred Apollo Elixir is a divine tribute to the radiant god of the sun, music, and prophecy. This cocktail harmonizes the vibrant essence of citrus with the ethereal shimmer of gold, invoking Apollo's brilliance and purity. Each ingredient is carefully chosen to embody Apollo's attributes, creating a drink that is as sacred as it is refreshing.

Ingredients:

2 oz Premium Vodka: Representing Apollo's clarity and precision, vodka serves as the pure spirit that aligns with his pursuit of truth and enlightenment.

1 oz Fresh Blood Orange Juice: The blood orange symbolizes the life-giving energy of the sun, reminiscent of Apollo's chariot that brings warmth and vitality to the world.

0.5 oz Simple Syrup (optional, for added sweetness): The sweetness of simple syrup mirrors the soothing and healing nature of Apollo, the god of medicine and poetry.

Sparkling Water (to top up): Like the gentle flow of a sacred spring, sparkling water represents the clarity of mind and spirit that Apollo bestows upon those who seek his wisdom.

Ice cubes: The coolness of the ice reflects Apollo's ability to bring calm and order, cooling the excesses of emotion and tempering them with reason.

Dried Blood Orange Slice (for garnish): A symbol of the eternal cycle of life and death, the dried blood orange slice embodies Apollo's role as a protector of life and a guide through transitions.

Edible Gold Flakes (for garnish): Gold, associated with divinity and immortality, reflects Apollo's eternal nature and the golden light of the sun that he commands.

Instructions:

Prepare the Cocktail: Fill a shaker with ice cubes.Let the ice embody the calming influence of Apollo, ready to transform the ingredients into a harmonious whole.Add the vodka, fresh blood orange juice, and simple syrup (if using) to the shaker. As you combine these elements, envision the infusion of Apollo’s virtues: clarity, vitality, and healing. Shake well until the mixture is well chilled. With each shake, invoke Apollo's strength, allowing the drink to cool under his watchful gaze.

Serve: Strain the mixture into a tall glass filled with fresh ice. Pour the liquid with reverence, letting it symbolize the pouring out of Apollo’s blessings upon the earth.Top up with sparkling water to add a refreshing fizz. The sparkling water elevates the drink, much like Apollo’s music lifts the soul to higher planes of thought and emotion.

Garnish and Finish: Gently place a slice of dried blood orange on top of the drink. Allow this slice to rest as a token of Apollo’s guidance through life’s cycles. Sprinkle a generous amount of edible gold flakes over the top for a dazzling effect. Adorn the drink with gold, symbolizing Apollo's divine light and the splendor of his eternal presence.

Special Twist: The Sacred Apollo drink not only refreshes the body but also uplifts the spirit, connecting you to the divine energy of Apollo. With each sip, you partake in the warmth of the sun, the sweetness of poetry, and the clarity of prophecy. Perfect for rituals, celebrations, or moments of reflection, this drink serves as a bridge between the mortal and the divine, offering a taste of Apollo's celestial gifts.

[nevermorgue]

Nevermore the Musical Concepts PART 3

I'm picturing how some of the character's solos/more personalized songs would sound. Firstly, I imagine the majority of the musical to be in minor keys. Major keys sound a bit too happy/not as catchy. Everything being in a minor key gives it a more eerie vibe, reminding us that everyone is dead. Maybe at one point one song is in a major key to throw off the overall sound. Maybe Merry and Mourn prefer major chords, or Montresor switches between the two to emphasize how he is "not like the rest of them". Imagine Eulalie's using the sounds of traditional Japanese instruments such as the shamisen, the koto, and the shakuhachi to name a few. The notes blend together, nice and soft like lullabies with eerie vocal scoops and enka sounds. Her melody occasionally is a nod to the Itsuki lullaby, the one she sang to the children before dying. Some of the notes repeat themselves throughout her vocals depending on the song/lyric choice. Berenice has a jazzy, faster paced influence. Her voice is rough, scooping and using vibrato as much as she can. I'm sure her vocal growls are fantastic too. I think her and Eulalie singing as a pair during the Ring the Bell song could be a really nice blend between a fast paced, jazzy percussion and softer tones of Japanese instruments. And do not even get me started on Will. He matches vocal style with whoever he is singing with. Most of his parts have a country sort of twang to them as a nod to Montresor, but he doesn't get anything unique on his own. The other characters' instrumental styles blend together and he just sings on top of it, contributing nothing special to the song. If he did get a song on his own (A lament of some sort, questioning his friendship with Montresor) I would assume it would start more country rock sort of vibe in reference to Monty, but slowly goes into something a bit more unique; classic rock. Classic rock with light guitars and a beat that feels much more upbeat, rather than the creepy/catchy vibe that Nevermore songs give. Not only is he "breaking away" from his previous manipulation, but in a way he's also stepping up as he too is now performing in a major key, which the other proper antagonists do. Annabel Lee and Prospero match each other a lot. Classical strings and a LOT of harpsichord usage. For Annabel Lee I specifically think of "ANTI THE HOLIC" by cosMo@Bousou-p in terms of vibes. Just imagine something fast paced and classical, matching her energy. Prospero I picture in a similar light, slower but still with the same elements of classical instruments pushing his voice forward and making them come across as ethereal; in charge. "Gothic and Loneliness" by Narushima Takashi has a fantastic instrumental that I envision a lot of the songs to have a similar vibe to. Fast paced but still classical and orchestral. The hints of electric sounds being nods to more modern characters. It all depends on who is singing and what the song is. Ada has a similar thing to Will where her instrumentals try to copy Annabel's but always seem to be missing something whether it be another instrument or a note goes up instead of down. Almost there, but not quite right. Morella having a Celtic influence and plenty of harp and violin. Imagine the other voices drowning her out, leaving her trapped in between a mess of voices and unable to choose what melody to sing along to, so she shakily creates her own. And lastly to end off for now, Duke is the only baritone in the misfits and tends to be the support, the foundation when they are all together. Lenore balances out in Alto, keeping the higher voices grounded with mainly harmonies and the occasional melody line. Normally, the main character sings melody always, but I think when all of the misfits sing together her going to harmonize makes more sense. She is the backbone; the one keeping them all together. Pluto is a tenor, Berenice is a mezzo, and Eulalie is a soprano. Morella is also a soprano, and she and Eula tend to harmonize a bit in group songs.

[talonabraxas]

Aurveda Talon Abraxas

The Five Elements of Ayurveda - Ether, Air, Fire, Water & Earth

The Five Elements

Aurveda's core view is the connection between the macrocosm and the microcosm, from the universal to the individual, meaning what cxists outside also exists within us. The five great elements (pancha mahabhuta) that compose the world around us also make up our inner world. These elements-space, air, fire, water, earth-form the building blocks of life and mirror the basic principles in physics of space, energy, transformation, liquid, and matter. Each element is connected to a subtle energy, a tanmatra, that is associated with our senses--sound, touch, vision, taste, and smell.

Let's explore how the elements form our physical body.

Ether/Space (Akasha)

Ether or space, akasha, is the first and subtlest of all the elements. Ether is the space in which everything exists. It is universal, nonmoving, and formless. Its qualities are clear, light, subtle, soft, and immeasurable. This clement is related to the actions of expansion and vibration. The tanmatra of space is sound (shabda), and the ear is the Sensory organ that perceives sound.

Air (Vayu)

The air element, vayu, is the energy of movement. It initiates and directs motion. Its qualities are mobile, dry, light, cold, rough, and subtle. The tanmatra of air is touch (sparsha), and the sensory organ is skin, which helps detect movement. In the body, air expresses itself in the movement of the muscles, lungs, heart, and impulses of the nervous system. Its responsible for breathing, ingestion and elimination, and the flow of thought. Prana is the basic principle of the air element, the vital life force that is primarily taken in through breath and which life cannot exist without.

Fire (Agni)

The fire element, agni, is the energy of transformation. The qualities of fire are hot, sharp, light, dry, and subtle. The tanmatra of fire is vision (rupa), and the eyes are the sensory organ responsible for sight. The fire element governs all metabolic processes, aiding in the digestion of food, transformation of thoughts, and perception of light. Tejas is the subtle essence of fire, the burning flame of pure intelligence that pro-cesses all perception into knowledge.

Water (Apas)

From subtle to gross, the next element is water, called apas. Its main actions are cohesion and adhesion. Its qualities are cool, liquid, dull, soft, oily, and slimy. The tanmatra of water is taste (rasa). The tongue is the sensory organ that plays a large role in our experience of eating and our sense of satisfaction. Water lives in the body as plasma, saliva, mucous, cerebrospinal fuid, urine, and sweat. Ojas is the subtle essence of water, giving vitality and immunity to the bodily tissues.

Earth (Prithvi)

The earth element, prithvi, is the densest of all. It creates shape and structure. It is heavy, dull, dense, hard, and gross. The tanmatra of earth is smell (gandba), and the sensory organ is the nose. The earth element shapes all the body's solid structures and tissues, including the bones, cartilage, nails, teeth, hair, and skin.

Incorporating Ayurvedic principles into massage therapy goes beyond mere relaxation; it offers a holistic approach to harmonizing the mind, body, and spirit, promoting overall well-being. By addressing the elemental balance specific to an individual's constitution, we can tailor massages to effectively target stress and tension, ultimately leading to a more relaxed and grounded nervous system.

[candywife333]

Always With Me

PART 1

HAPPY NEW YEAR!

I plan on 4 parts.

I've come back after too long and wanted to give you guys a new year gift. I was unfortunately ridiculously busy with my professional commitments. And I have been sucked into the vortex of Janitor AI, but that is a different story altogether.

But I will be writing so much you will get sick of me posting in January. Thanks for bearing with me my wonderful readers. I will be completing incomplete fics also. Hope you enjoy part 1.

As usual, minimal proofreading.

Warnings: nsfw, odd alien in body cavity sequences, sexually explicit scenes , cursing

pairing : tiny alien specimen turned hottie Jungkook x scientist reader

Towering, bioluminescent trees stretch their vivacious tendrils towards the ceiling of the ship, their roots glowing faintly in the low light. Strange flowers with translucent petals pulse with color, shifting from deep blues to radiant purples and greens, emitting a soft, harmonic hum. Brightly colored vines snake along the walls, curling up and around the doorways, creating an almost seamless connection between the spaceship and the garden.

In the distance, you can see large, floating platforms covered with grass-like plants that sway in an invisible breeze.The air inside the ship feels fresh, carrying the faint allure of alien blossoms, mixing with the hum of technology. It’s as if the ship itself has become one with the garden, a perfect blend of nature and futuristic design.

The behaviors of all the other life forms till date have been predictable. Either they are avoidant, indifferent, noxious and poisonous, or happy. They coo and lean towards human touch if they are joyous and turn away or shrivel when they don't want to be bothered.

All the specimens till now have been enchanting ,somewhat ethereal, and overwhelmingly cute. Tiny corals that look like the ones on earth, embedded with crystalline eyes that glow in the dark. Blue snails that camouflage as mini blueberry doppelgangers. But no way can you eat one of them. They are poisonous, even a tiny lick can send you to the after-life. A place I don't intend to explore very soon if I can help it.

However, one life form has been ruining my life. Like straight up demolishing my peace of mind. One life form I can never particularly understand is a specific tentacle like creature. It could be mistaken for a rhubarb plant or a raging highlighter pink baby octopus tentacle. I carry great contempt for things shiny and pink so I let my co-workers flourish it with attention and study it. I wanted nothing to do with it.

I hate to be a debby downer and maybe I come off as rather harsh, but this life form is an attention whore. I said it. Maybe it's mean of me. But the thing literally whines for attention 24/7. And to my great dismay, it seems to have latched on to me. How is that possible you ask, if you have never touched or taken care of it? I don't have a freaking clue and its driving me bloody crazy. It is like it imprinted on me, which could be highly possible now that I think about it, because I had been the first thing it had seen when it hatched from its clutch.

It had been born from the most obnoxious egg: a concoction of yellow and black polka dots- the ghastliest, most discordant color combination, you could have seen in your life time. I know I would hate it from the time it was born. Call me a baby hater, an alien discriminator, a eugenic villain, or a shallow person. Call me any name, but it didn't change facts. I hated it. And its behavior didn't help. I hated it from the time it was born.

But IT, didn't understand my sentiments. Every time I left to take a piss or to eat lunch it would let out a high pitch whine, slamming itself against the glass walls of its enclosure. Becoming akin to a spilled incandescent fuchsia party punch on the floors of its cage. Whenever I smiled at another co-worker, it pitched a fit, becoming loud , screeching as if I tweezed out all its hairs individually. Oh, I forgot to mention. It has the ugliest little patches of black hair sprouting all over in clumps on its body. It ain't a mammal or a reptile or an amphibian. I can't classify the damn thing-which is making me late for my deadline on its report. WHICH IS MAKING ME HATE IT MORE!!!!

IT was a contradiction in every sense, its behavior a bizarre mix of infantile helplessness and primal aggression. Its neediness, the way it reacted to every small shift in the room, made it feel like something out of a nightmare nursery. And god forbid I talk to a male co-worker. I don't even know how it sensed that I was talking to a male. This pitiful, high-pitched whine would begin as a soft, almost desperate whimper, rising in pitch the longer I stayed away. It wasn’t just a noise—it was like a cry for attention, a cry that could pierce through the air like a needle through fabric. As though it couldn’t process the simple fact that I needed a moment for myself.

And you know what the worst part about all of this is? The cherry on top of this messed up sundae? Once it latches onto my finger , it doesn't let go. LIKE EVER!!! It will crawl up onto my arm and snooze there, absorbing my body heat (cuz I swear I feel like I get a degree cooler). It's like a vibrating hairy pink blob that sleeps on my freaking arm.

I told my coworkers it looks like a diseased patch. They all gasped, affronted that I would talk about their favorite little subject Pesto that way. Oh right. It's pathetic little name is pesto, and whoever named it named it right. It's a DAMN PEST. BANE OF MY EXISTENCE!

I try to remember what on earth this thing is similar to? Why am I so stupid? Oh right, it reminds of a baby. It is being clingy and needy. Which is rather odd for an extraterrestrial creature. None of the other life forms behave that way. I did some carbon dating on this thing, to find out how old it was, because the egg it came out of I learned apparently wasn't truly an egg according to our senior scientist. The egg was a calciferous shield that had kept it preserved for centuries. I carbon dated the thing, and it came back as 300 FREAKING YEARS OLD in human years!!!

This thing had no business acting like a baby. All my co-workers convinced me to take it out of the lab to get it used to its surroundings. I asked them to, but they all gave me puppy dog eyes, begging me, because the last few times they tried taking the hairy blob outside, it had loudly raged and even bit one of them, drawing a drop of blood. COWARDS. They couldn't handle a drop of blood. I sighed , what even was this thing?

Alien acclimatization to surroundings is a part of observing their behavior. We study them and right a report after a month of introducing them to the external environment. And I wouldn't have minded for any other subject, but I sure mind for this thing. It cooed and gurgled like a well burped baby as it wrapped around my wrist , pulsing happily as I walked it from room to room.

Like a pink squishy fit bit that squealed. Yay, I am so elated. NOT. And I don't notice, lost in my ruminations- when it drops from my wrist, plopping on the floor, crawling frantically back towards me. It lunged towards my leg, the sudden movement making me fall onto the floor of the spaceship in surprise, close by to a closet door.

Without hesitation, it starts climbing up my space pant. Its claws scrape against my pant leg, small, sharp and insistent. I try to step back, but it’s quicker than I expect, its body undulating in a grotesque, crawling motion, as though it’s a creature of pure need. It’s slithering up my flesh, its legs spasming in a frantic attempt to ascend. It’s making its way up my knee, its body pressing against my skin, the touch unnatural and clammy. I feel the uncomfortable warmth of it seeping through the fabric, its form wriggling as if it’s trying to burrow into me, to get closer, like it’s trying to crawl under my skin—into me, somehow. I almost scream. BUT I AM IN LITERAL SHOCK. Is this what my life has come to? Being molested by a cross between a hair brush and month old marinara sauce?

The sensation is revolting. I feel its miniature grooves digging into the fabric of my pants, then into my skin, pulling itself higher, eager to reach more of me. My stomach churns as its body slides against mine, making a soft, sickening sound as it writhes upward. Every movement is fueled by desperation, by an instinctual, possessive need to be as close to me as possible, to crawl its way under my defenses.

I chastise it, and it to my great surprise, stops in its ascent. Till it doesn't, climbing up to where my thigh meets my ass, at the verge of my panty line. Oh hell no. Before I can scream bloody murder, I see vivid colors in my head, and a whining voice of a squealing toddler. Hewwo, Can you hear me? I don't know what to freaking do. Is this think talking to me without actually saying anything?

I am frozen in horror and discomfort. "Yes I can ", I reply back mentally. "Come back out. You have no business in my pants", I sputter out humiliated at its behavior. But, it's warm down here. "F*** excuse me, but get the hell out. You are literally harassing me, and I do not want to be assaulted by you". But, it's warm and wet down here. I want.

What the hell does this thing want? Pweaaaase!! It literally squeals. And before I can object, it slips close to a place even I do not look at every month if I can help it. And that's when I know I am well and truly f***ed, and not in a good way.

[amber-angel]

Part 2!

ON MY OWN

Seriously, Mya Rena Hunter has such a good voice, there was a part in the song that had me and my roommate glancing at each other with dropped jaws. I got goosebumps

Once again, Kyle Adams. I absolutely love the way he performs in Drink With Me. He was the first person I saw to sing it with an angrier tone, and it's absolutely breathtaking

Also I may or may not have kept an eye on him throughout the barricade scene because Grantaire is my favorite, and he is so good at his job. The interactions with Gavroche were so touching. Him just cradling Gavroche's body after he died was heartbreaking. He only left Gavroche when Marius was hurt, and you could just see the depths of the relationships these actors have built between their characters

Speaking of Gavroche, I'm not sure which actor was playing him when I went, but he did such a good job. I was super impressed with both him and little Cosette. Their voices were clear and steady, they've got a lot of talent

I heard some people say Grantaire says something as he climbs the barricade but unfortunately if he did I didn't catch it

Bring Him Home made me cry. I'm ngl it's usually my least favorite song but Valjean's voice was so beautiful that I finally got the appeal

Also I have to reiterate that Marius was so good, Jake David Smith instantly gave him so much character in such a subtle way, and I loved the choices

Javert's Suicide was interesting, it came across more spoken than sung in places, but it worked. There was a lot of emotion evident in his voice, and the harness with the background when he jumped was a cool effect

My roommate really liked Javert's performance

And his hat

I hate that a lot of the details are already slipping away from me. I wrote down most of my first post during intermission, but this is a couple days later, and I have a bad memory.

OH, Turning made me cry

The way the students sort of mirror Marius during Empty Chairs at Empty tables was beautiful, the lighting and the staging really made that scene feel very ethereal

And then Enjolras paused before leaving the stage and it was just him and Marius standing across from each other, and I know it doesn't sound like much from my description, but believe me, it was such a weighted moment

The finale was great, and I just loved Fantine's part, and her, Valjean and Eponine harmonizing

I do remember Javert hugging (maybe shaking hands with?) Valjean when he dies, I thought that was a really sweet choice, it made me smile

[ginxyy]

Symphony of us

My soulmate jun

In the quiet corners of life, where the mundane dances with the extraordinary, I stumbled upon a love so tender it felt like a melody woven into the fabric of my everyday. His name is Jun, a name that carries with it the kind of sweetness that melts into the very essence of my soul. Our love story began not with grand gestures but with unexpected encounters that spoke volumes from the very first smile.

It was a Monday, the week just terrible enough to tempt fate to throw a little magic our way. I remember that day vividly; the sun was making a valiant effort to break through the thick veil of rain clouds, illuminating the coffee shop that always buzzed with energy from artists and dreamers alike. As I sipped my caramel macchiato, scanning the crowd for a glimmer of inspiration, my gaze fell upon him Jun, seated across the room, lost in a world of sketches and stray lines. His brow furrowed with concentration, lips slightly parted as if contemplating the very essence of creation.

It was an ordinary moment, yet it felt monumental. The air around him shimmered with an ethereal glow, and I found myself captivated not solely by his talent but by the aura of gentleness he exuded. Our eyes met, and I swear the universe colluded to make time stand still. In that fleeting second, my heart recognized something monumental, something I hadn’t even dared to hope for. Jun caught my gaze and, with a charming smile, broke the invisible barrier between us. My cheeks flushed a crimson that felt like the most beautiful initiation into the world of love.

Days turned into weeks, our meetings at that little coffee shop became a cherished ritual. Each encounter was spontaneous and sprinkled with delightful surprises. There was the day we challenged each other to create the most ridiculous latte art, bursting into laughter as our masterpieces turned into bizarre creatures a cat with a mustache, a heart with legs. The laughter echoed among the clinks of cups and the soft hum of conversation, and in that cacophony, two souls harmonized effortlessly.

Jun's playful nature was matched only by his artistic spirit. He had this ability to turn the simplest moments into something enchanting. I remember the first time he invited me to an impromptu picnic in the park. It was dusk, the sky painted in hues of purple and gold, a canvas worthy of our dreams. He packed homemade sandwiches, infused with love, and I had brought my favorite blanketa well-worn quilt that carried whispers of laughter from countless past adventures.

As we sat beneath a sprawling cherry blossom tree, petals swirling around us like confetti, Jun plucked a flower and tucked it behind my ear, his fingers lingering against my skin just a moment longer than necessary. My heart raced at the touch, an electrifying connection that felt like a promise. We shared stories, our dreams intertwining under that vast twilight sky. The world around us began to fade, leaving only us, encased in our bubble of laughter and hope.

Oh, the little moments we cherished! Like when we wandered into a vintage store one rainy afternoon, soaking in the scent of nostalgia. I spotted an old record, and before I knew it, we were dancing as if the world had ceased to exist, spinning in blissful abandon amid the clutter of memories waiting to be discovered. The soft melody of this forgotten song played as a backdrop to our laughter, filling the air with an indescribable warmth that blossomed between us a spark igniting a flame.

With each shared experience, my feelings for Jun blossomed like spring flowers after a long winter. He wove happiness into the very fabric of my existence, transforming routine days into profound adventures. Whether we were wandering through art galleries, losing track of time as we explored every brush stroke, or cozying up on the couch, binge-watching our favorite shows, every second felt steeped in joy.

On a particularly magical evening, under a canopy of twinkling stars, he surprised me with a little outing to a carnival. The air was thick with the aroma of popcorn and cotton candy, laughter swirling around us in a joyous symphony. As we ventured from one exhilarating ride to another, I felt alive in a way I never had before. He held my hand tightly, guiding me through the chaos, effortlessly balancing the thrill of each moment with the tenderness of his touch.

At the Ferris wheel, our hearts beat in unison as we floated high above the ground. The world below us transformed into a sparkly fairy tale, the colors merging into a breathtaking masterpiece. But it was Jun, with his wide grin and bright eyes, that truly took my breath away. We paused at the peak, and in that suspended moment, surrounded by the vastness of the sky, he turned to me his gaze piercing through the night, igniting a warmth that wrapped itself around my heart.

"I think I’m falling for you," he confessed, his voice barely rising above the soft hum of the carnival below.

In that instant, the world stilled. I felt a rush of overwhelming love surge within me, manifesting as a brilliant glow. I met his gaze, my heart laid bare as I whispered, "I think I’m already there."

Our lips met under the stars gentle, tentative, yet filled with an urgent need that blossomed into something deeper, something pure. It was a kiss that echoed promises of tomorrow, dreams painted in the colors of sunset and joy.

From that night on, we journeyed together, hand-in-hand, navigating the beautiful chaos of life. Together, we built a home of shared laughter, whispered secrets, and love that felt like the chorus of a well-loved song. With every glance, every touch, Jun and I grew intertwined in a tapestry of moments small yet infinitely rich, soft yet robust.

As I sit here remembering those memories, my heart swells. It’s a journey I wouldn’t trade for the world our serendipitous symphony, played endlessly, blending the notes of affection, laughter, and shared dreams into a masterpiece unique to us. And even now, with every heartbeat, I find myself falling deeper, content in the knowledge that this love, this treasure, is ours to keep forever.