#but i doubt it because i know where i am now finally

[simbic]

I hope this doesn't come off rude, and sorry if it does, as it is not the intention, but I just want to offer some perspective on this.

The installers might not work consistently well for everyone (they didn't for me, and they repeatedly caused more problems than they solved). I can admit that maybe I did something wrong, but given I've been dealing with ts2 for 20+ years and I tried to make it work, repeatedly, I doubt it at this point.

For example, it was easier for me to just reinstall UC from EA itself than to use the installer, and then manually apply the fixes myself like I've always done. I tried the installers hoping they would help. They didn't.

Like I think it's more than fair to try to understand why some people are saying they can finally play again. It's because the game is literally just not playable anymore for some of us. Like I had a story I was writing and eventually was forced to abandon because the game hates me. I can't do my MCC, and if you've seen any of my posts, you'll know I had so many issues before I even got around to playing.

When I find a solution, it proves to be only temporary, and I give up repeatedly because I'm tired of having to constantly tweak things in between sessions. I don't like having to rely on reshade to solve my issues with crashing, because the vulkan method is the most reliable, and tbh I don't like reshade appearing in games I don't use it with.

I think some people are just hoping for a smoother and more reliable experience with the game, and they can't l be faulted for that.

I really dislike this narrative where everyone comes through and does their damnedest to dump on the excitement and hopefulness. Like let people be hopeful and let them be excited. If it doesn't work out, then it just doesn't, but you don't have to make anyone feel bad for wanting a game that works without a bunch of fixes. Some of us want things to just WORK, like my life is stressful enough. I remember when ts2 worked without me having to fight with it. I want that to be a thing again.

Tbh I am cautiously hopeful that this rerelease might relieve some of the issues that have plagued my game and made it basically unplayable.

If this experience as it is, with installers and fixes, is comfortable for you, then that's fine. I personally am sick of having to use an installer and/or GRM and having to constantly search for solutions to a problem that I'm sick of dealing with. If it works better now with win10, please take my money, I want 10.

Please just understand that it goes beyond being able to install and apply a bunch of fixes. I'm personally really tired of it, I miss my game and really am just reaching for whatever possible solution that presents itself to me.

tl;dr let people be excited pls

why are people saying that they're finally able to play ts1 and ts2 again soon? the installers exist, you'll be spending money on stuff that you can have for free with community fixes.

[centrally-unplanned]

this may be too deep a cut but in a post that argumate recently resurrected from 2022, you said one of your favorite bands was a post-rock outfit from wuhan. would you mind dropping their name if you can remember who you were referring to?

Lol I have two separate asks in my inbox ( @phaeton-flier ) about the off-hand reference to Wuhan post-rock bands in an @argumate reblog post, something in the water today for people to tease that out!

I was almost certainly referencing A Hidden Trace, a solo instrumental post-rock outfit by Xu Bo, a Wuhan native. His music captures a sort of minimalist, harmonic glossolalia for me, speaking the language of the rooftops and back alleys of the Wuchang district where my days were spent, such that they will forever be one of my favourite bands. Funnily enough, in my off-hand reference I remarked that one would never had hear of them in the West; this year Xu Bo's primary band, Chinese Football, had a really successful album release in Win & Lose (which I also love dearly, +1 vinyl collection), and just had their first US/NA tour last year:

I don't know if any of that trickled back to A Hidden Trace, but probably some of it did! They are eminently discoverable today, my claim no longer holds - alas, another hipster point taken off the board.

Anyway "I Like To Make Friends With People Who Like Wes Anderson" is absolutely the best title of A Hidden Trace albums, and albums more generally, but "Boy With Slingshot" is more truly my jam.

If you want to broaden your horizons beyond what I specifically had in mind, Hua Lun is one of the most iconic Chinese post-rock bands from Wuhan, and one of the groups that "kicked off" the scene there. And to get back some hipster points, if you wanna have some fun you can try Wuhan psychedelia collective Acid Lumo.

Honestly even when I made that post my flippant aside was slightly out of date - starting in the late 2010's Chinese bands started more heavily cross-promoting their music on western sites, doing tours, getting press, etc, and meanwhile the boom of both "Asia beyond Japan" (K-pop being ground zero) and the continued rise of more extensive sampling, remixing, and "playlist culture" on YouTube/Spotify closed the awareness gap on the Chinese music scene. Certainly none of these bands are famous, but when I lived there in ~2010 international awareness of the Chinese indie music scene was threadbare, let alone the Wuhan bands. That isn't the case today.

As for the rest of the music I was alluding to in that post, I honestly do not know what the 2010's Canadian free jazz group was? But that might be because I am thinking heavy on post-rock right now, and 2010's Canadian post-rock band Tunturia is a band that forever lives in my head. And they are undiscoverable these days, their internet presence long abandoned - some of their music isn't even on YouTube last I checked. Finally, shocking no one, the "side-gig of an anime youtuber using vocaloid synths" was Hazel's band Twinkle Park (now renamed Smiling Broadly), whose best album "touched, or been touched by" I just got on cassette, NEVER doubt my hipster points again you peasants:

[everestgale]

For the character ask game how about Hero

...This was my immediate reaction when I received your ask. You might be able to see why in just a moment-

[Send Me a Character and I'll List Ask Game]

favorite thing about them

Where do I even begin with this bird? He is our voice of reason amidst the chaos and horror, our right-hand man in all the trials and tribulations, our conscience in all the decisions. Our loyal best friend who is there with us since the beginning-

There is something very beautiful about how encouraging, enthusiastic, and generally lovely Hero is, how he wants to do "the right thing", whatever "the right thing" is… but he doesn’t know what or how he should do it. He voices his opinion throughout the game, often disagrees with you and other voices, but he never insists on it, and in so many instances (like the Nightmare route, when he asks Paranoid to tell them who to trust), he reads to me as self-doubting, as someone who doesn't believe in himself and his own decisions and instead chooses to put his trust into the Long Quiet, into you. It feels very human… Though perhaps I'm projecting because I'm a very self-doubting, indecisive person myself.

…which makes it all the more triumphant and sweeter when in the final fight with the Shifting Mound, if you insist on trying to fight her on your own, Hero, for the first and only time in the game, defies you:

''I can do this out here on my own.'' "You can't, and lucky for you, I'm not going to let you try."

For the first time, Hero knows what the right thing is, he knows what he needs to do to help you against the Shifting Mound. And so even if you as the Long Quiet don't realize it yet… he does.

I love the fact that we actually get to see him grow. He chooses to go directly against your decision... precisely because he is your right-hand man, your best friend, he wants you to succeed, and he wants to help. And for the first time, he confidently goes with his decision because he knows what to do... and even that one decision is made to help you.

Can you tell I'm very normal about Hero? I love Hero. Hero my beloved-

[Rest of the post is under the cut, it's getting too long]

least favorite thing about them

…I am trying very hard to think of something that I dislike about him. I can't think of a single thing.

favorite line

…I also could not just choose one line. Sorry not sorry:

"Whatever you're trying to do right now, you don't have to do it alone."

"Okay. If this is your choice, then I have your back. I guess I'll see you on the other side."

"Oh, is it now? I hadn't noticed! Do you need a primer, Mr. Amnesiac?"

"I would like to look at a bird. … But if we look at a bird now we wouldn't have to be here."

"Enough with the 'you's! Whether you like it or not, you're a part of us. Hell, whether I like it or not, you're a part of us. That was your moment, too, and we can have another if we all work together. She's not your perfect goddess. Just look at what she's doing to you, her most loyal servant!"

"Is it gonna be enough, though? Couldn't you have given us something else? Something, I don't know, better than a knife? Can we have a bomb?"

brOTP

I don't know if I have a specific brOTP for Hero, I kind of think that he generally gets along with (most) other voices. In fact, here's what I wrote on him like two months ago:

"The most normal among the voices, quite literally the voice of reason in all the chaos that the other ten cause. He is fairly respected by all of them, though that does not make him immune from their shenanigans. When he’s not busy getting out of Contrarian’s pranks or trying to break up yet another fight between Stubborn and Cheated, he tries to be helpful around the Construct and often offers support to the other voices. Generally, Hero is kind to and understanding of the other voices (even the more annoying ones), though he can also be snarky and rough if other voices really get on his nerves."

…so I guess the answer is all of them?

OTP

...it's ParaHero. Yep, no need to elaborate more /j

Serious answer: I've loved their dynamic from the very beginning - one of my first ever fanart pieces was a storyboard where Paranoid teaches the survival mantra to Hero. It was, and still is, one of my favorite moments in the entire game... I just never realized that people shipped voices together and that it was allowed. Well, thanks to @/neverpathia and his random fic from like 3 months ago, I realized that their dynamic works very well as a platonic-romantic relationship... and so here I am, a QPR-ParaHero shipper after all of that-

To not drag this point for too long, I just really like how the relationship between Hero and Paranoid plays out whenever these two are together. There's a certain degree of... comfort, I suppose, between them, like they've known each other for years and years before. It's weird to put it like that since they're all disembodied voices that are part of the same God, but the way their interactions are written just feels personal. Oh, I wish I had words to actually describe my thought process, but I don't 😭

...Though their lighthearted banter and bickering throughout multiple routes definitely help me like the ship even more. I'm a big sicker for friendly banter.

I'll leave this answer with the dialogue between them that I rotate in my brain too much:

"Oh, you snake. There wasn't even a door when we first got here. The door was from last time! I told you we shouldn't trust him!" "I know he's messing with us, but you can't lose your cool. We need you right now, remember?" "Yes. I remember. Of course I remember. Heart. Lungs. Liver. Nerves. This is so frustrating! Heart..." "Thank you."

nOTP

Despite my love for ParaHero, I'm very open to other Hero ships too, so I don't think I really have a nOTP! The closest would probably ContraHero… but that's entirely Contrarian's fault, my guy just refuses to be in a relationship (the closest he's got is ContraStranger, but even that's less of a committed relationship and more reconciliation). I really like how other people write and draw ContraHero!! It's just that, once again, my interpretations make the ship impossible with my lads 😔

random headcanon

This is entirely 100% unrooted in anything canon... but I like the idea of writer Hero. I don't know where I first got that idea, but I really like it, almost as a weird parallel to the Narrator. Again though, completely not rooted in anything from the actual game, pure ✨vibes ✨, and vibes alone.

unpopular opinion

I honestly struggled to even really think of an unpopular opinion about Hero, beyond "he's the most boring one" (which, as you can tell by how much I wrote about him, is not an opinion I hold). Sooooo, yeah, no unpopular opinions on him lol

song i associate with them

(insert obligatory "I Need a Hero" joke here)

I've actually got two (not surprising at this point). The first is "Last Words" by CircusP, which is here based solely on vibes.

"What beauty may lie beyond these walls?"

The second is "Two Roads" by Janani K. Jha! This one is kind of hard to explain... but it just makes sense in my brain:

"'Cause I've built my life around the thought of landmines in the ground, Terrified to take a step, even more to make a sound But now I am there, So send me a prayer"

"For everything I said I never wanted When I tried to make myself believe That I could pirate paradise from paintings, I look ahead now, all that I can see: Two roads"

favorite picture of them

So, for context, if you didn't know, @/lavb-b made a drawing for me of my human Hero design. I love it dearly, and it's literally my profile picture on Discord (as you can see in these screenshots). So yeah, there isn't any better picture to put as my favorite for Hero. You can find Lav's post that has it here :]

Please do check it out, it's very pretty...

…Okay, that was a lot of rambling, I'm NOT going to write as much on the next a- sees it's Paranoid …oh no.

[nananarc]

EXCUSE ME WHILE I RANT FOR A BIT

So anyway I finally started with the graduation project and, lemme tell ya, it was annoying. I mean I expected this, but it's still annoying.

The school and the mentor wants things to be of a certain aesthetic and standard so it can fit with the general public's taste and eventually it can be picked up by a publisher. it has to be commercial and easy to digest, for a lack of better words. Which is like, the opposite of essentially what i am as a person and as an artist.

So anyway I'll be doing Truyện Kiều again, illustrating the full book with better art this time. Here are some sketches I did:

Below is the mentor's very quick sketch for demo:

Which is. Ok cool, it's very traditional, Vietnamese fine art design and aesthetic. The thing that you see everywhere in books and media. The thing that is taught in fine art school. And it's also very HIM because he's a very prominent artist since a long time ago. I'm not talking about the difference in the era clothing tho because he demoed in Nguyễn dynasty while mine is of the Trần dynasty.

My style was criticized (politely) that the face doesn't look pretty, the nose is too prominent and big, the lineart is too scratchy and loose, and that I have to restrict the freedom in my lineart more.

Which is. Like. Pretty much all the things that i like about my art the most. I don't really like drawing "pretty" people, I wanna draw distinct and unique people. I like the fact that the nose is prominent because that's a very Vietnamese facial feature. Our nose is big, flat and flared. And I like it. AND I DIDNT EVEN DRAW IT THAT BIG. it's already stylized and stuff. The lineart is scratchy and spontaneous because that's how my ADHD brain works! And I like the freedom, the raw unfinished feel to it. And my way of scrawing is kinda similar to sculpting in a way that I like to put in a block of line or shape (yang) and then erase it and putting in more nothing space (yin). And I like Maximalism and Kitsch and Neo-traditionalism so I love to do things a bit crazy and new and filled with emotions.

My mentor comes from a very different generation, and a different field than me. He's very commercial, leaning more into minimalism, fine-art conservative and traditional aesthetic. WHICH IS THE OPPOSITE OF ME. Sadly we don't get to choose mentor cos there's only one lmao.

And also I don't understand why I have to aim for publishing in Vietnam too, because that's not where my target customer is. I'm a niche artist with limited customer base and they are international clients (who mostly pay better, treat you better, and appreciate your art more than the general public in VN do). Luckily I have a bachelor in business admin so I know how to do brand and marketing myself, othewise id just keep on trying to please everyone (flexing a little bit, but i was graduating with excellence and on the top 10 of my intake lmeo). Not to mention the fact that why do I even have to publish in the first place, because this is a school, it is a place to experiment, make mistakes, and learn. It's not a place to conform to the industry to make a living. If I wanna do that I would not be here and start working for a company already!

I understand it when they said that it would be a huge advantage if you can get published, but then again, that route is not for everyone, and it's not the only way to be an illustrator like they said. I have my own path to walk on, and I don't think they are aware that we even have those paths, because they are from a different generation. I mean, that's why I was struggling so much before to find a footing, because virtually no one here knows there are other paths! I had to dig things up myself through sweat, blood and tear.

Anyway I rant but i will keep trying to fight and do it on my own terms. They can't make me anyway. There's gonna be sticks and stones, but I mean, I can't physically make myself do something I do not wanna do. There's another option which is to drop it because I don't need the certificate anyway, but I wanna finish a big project of my own too.

[longagoitwastuesday]

Kind of endearing that despite their obvious strained dynamic Utahime and Gojo trust each other

[princeofyorkshire]

me to my mom 4 years ago: i’m bisexual

my mom today: so you still don’t know if you like boys or girls?

[myfictionaldreams]

Day 6: Dry Hump- James Potter

Summary: James Potter was your best friend, and he was unequivocally in love with Lily Evans. However, he has one secret he trusts only with you: he’s never kissed anyone.

Tags: 18+ readers only, smut, inexperienced James & experienced Reader, friends with benefits vibes, kissing/making out, dry humping, cumming in pants, teasing, nearly caught

Part 2 // Part 3

masterlist 📚 

kinktober masterlist😈 

AO3 Link 

James Potter was your best friend. He had many best friends, including the other Marauders and fellow Gryffindors, but he was YOUR best friend and had been since the first year at Hogwarts. James was the one person you always ran to and shared all happy memories with; if you needed cheering up, he’d be the only one who could pull a smile to your lips. It had always been just the two of you until he became infatuated with Lily Evans.

It had been years of hearing about how wonderful Lily was, which you knew anyway as she was your friend. Finally, you convinced her to say yes to one date with James, even though she did wait until everyone was finishing their time at Hogwarts and about to graduate. He’d waited long enough, and you were thrilled to see him getting his dream date.

This was until he casually announced one day, “I’ve never kissed anyone”.

He’d mumbled it to himself under his breath. James had gone from pure exhilarated joy to fear and doubt at the weight he’d put on his shoulders for having to be the perfect date for Lily. You’d taken him to the Shrieking Shack to try and get away from everyone else so that James could blow off some steam, but all he’d done so far was sulk in his armchair and stare into the fire whilst waiting for Sirius and Remus to join after their lesson.

Then, out of the blue, he admitted his secret that he had yet to kiss anyone. A frown dawns on you as you turn away from the book in your hand to inspect the messy-haired Marauder next to you visually. “What?” you asked with a hint of uncertainty as if he was telling the truth, “How have you never kissed anyone before?” Your mind raced to all of the parties in the Gryffindor tower where most people, including yourself, had made out with others, but now that you thought about it, you’d never seen James lip-locked with anyone else.

It was James’ turn to frown as he looked at you blankly, “When would I have had time? I’ve just wanted to be with Lily, and she’s always said no when I’ve asked before. Anyway, I don’t see why you’re saying it in that tone; it’s not like you’ve been kissing loads of people”. You give James a tight-lipped smile to show that he was, in fact, very wrong with that statement. His eyes widen as he realises the truth, “Wait, you have? Since when?”

“James, how can you be shocked? I’ve kissed plenty of people before, especially during those parties with the fire whiskey that Sirius always steals for us. You wander off with the Marauders or fawn over Lily, and what am I supposed to do? Stand on my own? Absolutely not, I go and find some fun”.

Your best friend’s mouth drops open in shock. Still, he quickly covers it up by looking away grumpily, “Great, so I’m the only person in our year who hasn’t kissed anyone, and now, I’m going to take Lily out, and she’s going to refuse to see me again because I don’t know what I’m doing, we’re going to finish school, and I’ll never see her again, and I’ll die alone!”.

You couldn’t help but laugh at his over-the-top rant, shutting the book with a loud snap and facing him completely whilst still in your chair. “James, you need to chill out a bit; I’m sure it’ll be fine. Do you really think Lily’s been going around snogging loads of boys? I’m sure she’s just as inexperienced as you”.

James’ shoulders dropped in relief as he turned back towards you with hope in his hazel eyes, “Do you think so?”

Your face immediately gave it away that you’d been lying as you sighed, “Ok, I might have seen her making out with a Ravenclaw a year ago, but still, I wouldn’t worry about it! You’ll be excellent! You’re James Potter, the Gryffindor King, a founding Marauder and Gryffindor Seeker. You can sure as hell make out with Lily Evans correctly”.

The pretty Marauder smiled thankfully at your dramatic declaration, “That’s true, thanks, Sweetheart”. Relaxing back into your seat, the book returned to your hand, assuming the conversation was officially over. However, only a moment later, James is whining pathetically, “But what if I’m not good? What if I hurt her or lick her wrong or-”.

“Lick? Why are you licking her, James? I thought we were on about kissing?”

“We are! But you know, people use tongues and-”

“James, I don’t know what you want me to say; if you’re that petrified with kissing, why don’t we practice a little so you can stop freaking out”. It took you a couple of long seconds before the offer you’d just given him genuinely dawned on you. You weren’t sure why you had said it, expecting him to say no but wishing for him to calm down and thinking this was the only option.

James’ head snapped towards you, giving his full attention as he asked, “Wait, you’d do that?” He pushed himself up off the chair's arms, and his eyes were wide and hopeful again.

Lowering the book, you spoke slowly, “Yeah, sure. I mean, it’s just a kiss, and at least we’re friends, so no feelings have to be involved”.

“Yeah, that's a good point! Okay, right, so, um, how do we do this? Do I come over to you, or do we stand?”

Sighing at James, you stood abruptly, dropping the book and strutting to him with arms swinging. The marauder sits up suddenly, taking his feet off the stool he had been resting on as he stares up at you with wide eyes that you can see the whites of his eyes beneath his glasses. “What are you doing?” He questions uncertainly as you straddle his lap without a word, your knees resting on either side of his toned thighs, your fingers slipping around his neck and interlocking at the base of his skull.

“I’m going to kiss you, James. Is that alright with you?” You didn’t mean to sound sassy as you asked with a single raised questioning eyebrow, but you also needed to make sure that he was happy for this to continue.

Those two wide hazel eyes stared at your lips, licking his own to moisten as he slowly nodded, “Uh yeah, just tell me what to do.” A pang of sympathy rushed through your chest at seeing James becoming nervous, which was not usually a sight that you had to see as he was usually such a confident, happy person. You would have spent some time to explain that it was normal to be nervous during your first kiss, but you didn’t want to allow any more time for him to freak out, so loosening your intern locked fingers, you moved them to cup each of her freshly shaved cheeks and pressed your lips delicately against his. You wanted it to be quick enough that he didn’t even have time to tense, even though he did proceed to lock up as you moved back to assess his reaction.

“See, it’s not so scary. You’re supposed to enjoy this, James”. Thankfully, as your face lowered once more, he forced himself to take a steadying breath and relax the tension in his muscles as your lips caressed his.

They were softer than you’d anticipated, plump and smooth like a pillow and instantly, your eyes and his close. However, James surprised you by moving his first. His hand lifted and rested on your hip so gently that you hardly felt it until he gave your body a little squeeze to test the waters of how much he could get into the moment. So you rewarded him by pressing your face harder against his, lips beginning to move and rubbing against each other on instinct.

James even amazed himself with how naturally and quickly he could make out with you. Tilting your head, you deepened the kiss, nose pressing into his cheek so that you could smell his skin that had remnants of his aftershave, which was always spicy and woodsy. As the air became necessary, you pulled back enough to take deep, greedy breaths, now noticing he was doing the same thing but looking up at you with half-lidded eyes.

“So what did you think-”

James didn’t allow your sentence to finish as his other hand cupped along your jaw, pulling your face closer again until the two of you kissed with much more heat with the movements. His mouth opened wider to match how yours was moving against his; your heartbeat quickened as you leaned further into his tall, warm body, melting into his touch and kiss.

Then you wanted to take a risk and licked his bottom lip, which you were ultimately greeted with a praising deep groan of satisfaction that vibrated James’ entire chest and sent tingles straight to your core.

Ok, wow, you thought as James attempted and succeeded with his own lick back against your tongue; you were definitely getting turned on by this. As if he was reading your mind, James pressed harder on your hips, willing you to move down, which you did, your skirt pushing up on your thighs so that when you sat on his crotch, your panty-covered pussy was flush against the material of his trousers.

As one, the two of you pulled away from each other. Mainly because you were now sitting on his very hard erection and also because he knew you could feel his evidence of being aroused. You both stare at each other with wide, unblinking eyes, lips slightly swollen and the taste of his spit still on your tongue.

However, you didn’t want to stop and awkwardly sit back in your seat, and he wasn’t rushing to push you off, either. You were horny, and so was he. Yes, James Potter was your best friend, but that didn’t have to matter; you just wanted him to enjoy the moment and show that it wasn’t as scary as he thought.

Enough time passed, and if he didn’t want to continue, he would have said something by now, so you took the opportunity to lean back in, your thumb attempting to soothe him, stroking across his cheek in timid circles. As your mouths reconnected, your hips ground down on his crotch. You were hoping that he knew enough about anatomy to tell that the warmth from your pussy was a sign of arousal, wanting him to know you were just as turned on as he was.

You do it a few more times, rubbing back and forth with increasing pressure until James makes a pained noise that has you stopping altogether and checking in on him.

He’s looking everywhere but at you, as he apologises, “Sorry, it’s just these trousers are tight and rubbing me painfully”.

“You could just take them off”, you say once again, not thinking before you speak. James looks at you with dramatically wide eyes as he, too, realised what you’d just said. Quickly, you clarified, “I’m not saying that to have sex or anything; I just mean, we could kinda carry on doing what we are doing, but if your trousers are hurting, then just in your boxers”.

You’re surprised by his automatic response of a nod, yes, his arousal blocking all thoughts of Lily as he begins to undo his belt easily. Rising onto your knees to give him room, he pushed the offending material until his thighs were bare and his plaid boxers were on display, barely containing his length. Not wanting him to feel exposed, you lowered yourself once more, and both groaned at the contact, yours at a higher pitch as you could feel the entire outline of his cock against your cunt.

James was bigger than you’d thought and was currently pointing down his left thigh, so you angled your hips in this direction. Tilting your hips forward slightly, your clit grazed along his shaft, causing a hitch in your breath as it caused pleasure to pool in your abdomen, moisture slickening your hole with each movement.

You’re breathing just as heavily as he is, lips still moving against each other, exploring, tasting, needing more. You were kind of proud of him when he moved his face down your jaw, leaving open-mouthed kisses and causing more pleasure to pulse through you. You were half tempted to rise onto your knees again to show him the evidence of your arousal that had soaked through your panties and onto his boxers, but you didn’t want it to stop.

As your fingers delved into his messy black hair to hold his face closer, he thrust his hips up against yours to add to his stimulation. He was still apprehensive, so he didn’t push too hard, but he rocked back and forth until his tip was pressed against your clothed folds. The muscular thighs beneath yours tensed with each thrust, the muscles defined from all his years of playing quidditch.

His hands remained in place, one on the opposite side of your jaw to where his mouth still kissed, and the other hand helped to move your hips back and forth in time with his own ruts. You’d never actually gotten off like this with anyone before. Usually, underwear would be removed at this point, and more direct contact could occur, but it was still exciting to have some barriers between you. The lace of your underwear was quite rough against your most sensitive area, especially your engorged throbbing clit. You were sure to be sore afterwards, especially with the amount of pressure you were rubbing against each other; with each passing second, the need to find completion made you both desperate.

As his lips found yours again, his tongue began to delve and explore the hollow of your mouth, along your palate and even over your teeth; your pussy began to clench, fire blooming in your core with the impending release.

Pulling back, your fingers moved to rest on his shoulders to hold on tighter as you quickly moaned, “Please don’t stop; I’m going to cum”.

James moaned huskily, out of breath, but both of his hands were now on your hips, moving both his hips and yours faster to find his orgasm. Resting your forehead on his, you both shared the same area, still tasting the other in your mouths, sweat beginning to coat your faces. You were sure you could feel his own wet patch against your arse cheek from where precum was dribbling from his tip and staining his underwear. 

“Ah, fuck- James!” your head tilts back as you finally orgasm, thighs shaking and pussy fluttering around nothing. However, just as you were beginning to come down from your pleasurable high, James suddenly grabbed you painfully, both arms wrapping around your waist as he sat up further on the chair, nearly knocking you off of him if it wasn't for his grip around your midsection. Reassuringly your arms wrapped around his shoulders as his face nuzzled into your chest, his body shivering as thick spurts of cum soaked his boxers.

His moans were like music to your ears and sounded slightly pathetic, making you cling to him more, attempting to run your fingers through his hair to calm the crazy style, but to no avail. Your pussy felt like it was on fire due to the rough stimulation and the untouched orgasm, but it felt so good you savoured the sensation for a few minutes whilst trying to catch your breath.

“There you go, Potter. Not only have you kissed a girl for the first time, but you’ve also made her cum”.

James laughs, loosening his grip slightly to look up at you, but then you both hear the worst noise imaginable: voices from a few floors below, especially those of Sirius and Remus. You scrambled to your feet, straightening your clothes and sitting back in your chair, picking up the book and opening it to a random page as James pulled up his trousers, both of you ignoring the bodily juices completely.

James just about had his feet back on the footstool before Sirius and Remus walked in, but both immediately halted and looked between you and James. It was Sirius who spoke first, eyes squinting in accusation, “Why do you both look so guilty right now? What did you do?”

[littlebirdy0301]

Trauma’s weird cause you can go Many Years thinking something was just a bit unfortunate but not out of the ordinary, like any other character-building but not Wrong negative experience. Just to one day think about it a little more critically & go “oh. oh that person did a fucked up thing. that should not have happened to me”

[jungwnies]

F1 GRID | the end of the season '24

୨ৎ : featuring : max verstappen, lewis hamilton, george russell, carlos sainz, charles leclerc, lando norris, oscar piastri ୨ৎ : synopsis : quiet nights at the hotel after a long race

୨ৎ : genre : some are happy & some are sad ୨ৎ : tws : none ୨ৎ : word count : 2531

୨ masterlist ৎ

ᡣ𐭩 a/n : i am so proud of lando for being able to secure that wcc for mclaren, but i am SO sad seeing carlos drive in red for the last time, and seeing lewis have his last drive with mercedes :c

ʚ・max verstappen

the post-race buzz of abu dhabi had faded, leaving a quiet calm in max's hotel suite. he sprawled on the sofa, phone in hand, scrolling through memes with that trademark deadpan expression. p6 wasn't great—definitely not how he wanted to wrap the season—but the world championship trophy on his shelf said it all. he was untouchable, even on an off day.

you dropped onto the couch next to him, giving him a small smile. "not quite the result we were hoping for, huh?"

he tilted his head, barely fazed. "meh. one bad race doesn’t erase a good season." he tossed his phone onto the table, already over it. "at least now i don’t have to hear the word 'tyre degradation' for a while."

"exactly," you agreed, nudging his arm. "just endless beaches, lazy mornings, and maybe some sketchy tourist traps."

he smirked, his eyes lighting up for the first time all evening. "knowing you, that probably means camel racing or some falcon photo op where i end up holding a bird for instagram."

you laughed. "don’t pretend like you wouldn’t secretly enjoy it."

"maybe," he admitted with a faint grin. "but only if there’s good food after. priorities, you know?"

as you leaned into his side, you felt the tension melt away from him. the season was done, the pressure gone. and for once, max verstappen, the reigning world champion, was just a guy on a couch, ready to trade apexes for sunsets and podiums for bad tourist selfies.

ʚ・lewis hamilton

a bittersweet stillness filled the room—p4 after starting sixteenth was nothing short of remarkable, but tonight marked the end of an era. his last race with mercedes. the silver star that had defined his legacy, his dominance, was now in the rearview mirror.

you leaned into him, your head resting lightly on his shoulder. "what a drive, lewis," you murmured, pride laced in your voice. "it was magic out there, just like always."

he smiled faintly, his gaze fixed on the city lights beyond the window. "it felt good, you know? pushing through the field like that. it’s how i want to remember this team—fighting, always fighting." his voice was steady, but there was a weight behind it, a depth only you could hear.

"it’s hard to see this chapter end," you said softly, running your fingers along the edge of his hand. "so many years, so much history. but watching you today—watching you fight with every ounce of heart you’ve got—it’s impossible not to feel proud."

he turned to you then, his eyes warm, a quiet fire still flickering in them. "it’s sad, yeah. mercedes is family. but every journey has its end, and every end makes way for something new. it’s time. time for a new challenge."

you smiled, squeezing his hand. "and ferrari red will suit you, no doubt about it."

that earned a laugh from him, light but genuine, his shoulders finally easing. "we’ll see. it’ll be... different. but i’m ready for different. i have to be."

"you’ll thrive," you said, meeting his gaze with steady confidence. "because that’s who you are, lewis. you don’t just race—you redefine what’s possible."

he leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead. "and having you by my side, that makes it all the better."

the evening stretched on as you reminisced about mercedes—about the victories, the struggles, the growth. there was sadness, yes, but also hope, an electric anticipation for the future. ferrari would be a new challenge, but lewis hamilton was built for challenges. and you? you’d be there, through it all, cheering him on as he wrote the next chapter of his already legendary story.

ʚ・george russell

the air in george’s hotel room was thick with emotions. lewis—his teammate, his mentor, his benchmark—was leaving for ferrari. the weight of it sat heavily on his shoulders, a silent pressure he hadn’t quite found the words to unpack.

you settled beside him on the bed, your hand resting lightly on his back. "you drove brilliantly today, george," you said softly, your tone filled with pride.

he gave you a faint smile, though his usual spark was dimmed. "thanks. it’s just... weird, you know? lewis not being here next season. he's been... well, everything. a teammate, a rival, someone to learn from."

"it’s a huge change," you agreed, your voice gentle. "but today, you showed exactly what you’re made of. you didn’t just race—you fought, george. and everyone saw it."

he turned to look at you, uncertainty flickering in his eyes. "but can i really lead this team now? without him?"

you met his gaze firmly, your conviction unwavering. "you don’t have to be lewis, george. you’ve already proven you're your own kind of leader—sharp, determined, and always hungry for more. you don’t need to fill anyone’s shoes because you’re carving out your own legacy."

his shoulders relaxed slightly, the tension giving way to a spark of confidence. "it’s just... lewis set such a high bar. and stepping into that space—it’s a lot."

"you don’t need to step into his space," you reminded him with a reassuring smile. "you’ve earned your own, george. you’ve fought for it, and you’re more than ready to take the reins."

he took a deep breath, the weight on his chest easing as resolve began to take its place. "this is my chance, isn’t it? to really prove myself."

"absolutely," you said, squeezing his hand. "and i’ll be right here, every step of the way, cheering for you."

his smile widened, more genuine this time, and he leaned in to kiss you softly. "thank you, love" he murmured. "that means everything."

as the night stretched on, you stayed by his side, feeling his determination grow stronger with each passing moment. george russell was ready to rise, ready to lead, and ready to show the world exactly why he belonged at the front of the pack. and you couldn’t wait to witness it all.

ʚ・carlos sainz

arlos sank onto the balcony of his hotel suite, the cool night air brushing against his skin, a sharp contrast to the adrenaline and heat of the race. it his last race with ferrari, the team that had become more than a job.

you slipped behind him, wrapping your arms around his shoulders, resting your chin lightly on him. "carlos," you said softly, your voice thick with emotion, "you were amazing today. truly incredible."

he let out a quiet sigh, leaning back into your embrace, his eyes fixed on the city lights. "yeah, it was a good one. but leaving ferrari? that’s… it’s hard. really hard."

"i know," you murmured, your cheek pressing against his. "you and charles, ferrari… it felt like it fit, like it was meant to be."

he nodded slowly, a small, wistful smile tugging at his lips. "we were a good team, weren’t we? two competitive guys who somehow managed not to kill each other every weekend," he joked, though his voice carried a faint sadness. "but, ah, next season? it’s going to feel strange not seeing his stupid smile in the garage."

you chuckled softly. "but you’ll always have the memories," you reminded him. "and you’ll make new ones, new rivalries, new podiums."

he turned to look at you, his warm brown eyes meeting yours. "do you remember my first race with ferrari?" he asked, a grin breaking through the sadness. "lando was on the podium with me. and now he’s here again for my last one. crazy, no?"

"it’s like the universe has a sense of humor," you said, your smile mirroring his. "full circle moments like that don’t just happen by chance."

he laughed softly, his shoulders relaxing a bit. "yeah, maybe. or maybe it’s just one of those little things that reminds me to enjoy the journey."

you held him close, knowing how much leaving ferrari meant to him. the passion, the heart, the pure determination he’d poured into every single lap. but you also knew that carlos was unstoppable—wherever he went, whatever he faced, he would find his way to the top.

"wherever you go, whatever happens," you said, your voice steady and filled with love, "i’ll be right there, cheering you on."

his arms wrapped around you, pulling you in tightly. "i know," he whispered, his voice thick with gratitude. "and that’s what keeps me grounded. thank you, mi amor."

ʚ・charles leclerc

the roar of the abu dhabi crowd had faded, leaving only the soft hum of the air conditioning in charles’ hotel room. he sat on the edge of the bed, eyes fixed on the trophy for his third-place finish. starting p19 after that engine penalty, clawing his way up to the podium—it was an extraordinary drive. but there was a weight in his gaze, a shadow of disappointment.

you sat beside him, your hand finding his. "charles," you said gently, your voice full of admiration, "that was incredible. you were on fire out there."

he offered a small smile, but it didn't reach his eyes. "it wasn’t enough," he muttered, his voice heavy with frustration. "we were so close to the WCC... but mclaren just had too much."

"you did everything you could," you assured him, squeezing his hand. "no one could have driven that race better. you started from the back, charles. and you still ended up on the podium. that’s... that’s amazing."

he ran a hand through his hair, sighing deeply. "i know, i know. it's just hard. we were so close. it stings."

you gently cupped his face, lifting his chin so his eyes met yours. "charles leclerc, you are one of the best out there. don’t let this one race make you forget everything you've accomplished this season. you fought for every position, you never gave up, and you made us all proud."

a real smile tugged at his lips, the weight on his shoulders easing slightly. "thank you," he whispered, leaning into your touch. "i needed that."

there was a brief pause, and a flicker of sadness passed through his eyes. "it’s gonna be strange without carlos next year," he said quietly, his voice low.

you felt a pang for him. you knew how close he and carlos were, both on and off the track. "i know," you murmured, your heart aching. "but you'll still have him as a friend. and you’ll both keep achieving incredible things."

he nodded slowly, a thoughtful expression crossing his face. "he’s like a brother to me. it won’t be the same without him."

you wrapped your arms around him, pulling him close. "i know it won’t," you whispered, running your fingers through his hair. "but i know you ,charles. you'll adapt. you’ll keep shining."

he held you tighter, drawing comfort from your embrace, "what would i do without you mon amour."

you let out a soft laugh and place a gentle peck on his lips, "you'd probably be a mess without me, i love you."

"i love you too." he told you, snuggling closer.

ʚ・lando norris

the echoes of the abu dhabi celebrations had finally faded, leaving a peaceful quiet in lando's hotel suite. he was sprawled on the sofa, the trophy resting on his chest, his eyes half-closed as a contented sigh escaped his lips. the excitement from the victory was still buzzing inside him, but a calm had settled in, like he was finally letting everything sink in.

you curled up beside him, your finger tracing the lines of the trophy. "still can't believe it, huh?" you whispered, a soft smile on your face.

lando chuckled, a grin tugging at his lips. "yeah, it's still kinda crazy. like, i feel like i'm dreaming, but don't wanna wake up."

"you were amazing today, lando," you said, your voice filled with pride. "and the whole season, really. you led mclaren to victory. it’s historic."

he grinned, his eyes lighting up. "yeah, it really is, isn’t it? bringing mclaren back to the top after all this time... feels unreal. but in the best way possible."

"you deserve all the praise," you reassured him, snuggling closer. "you’ve worked so hard, and you’ve grown so much as a driver. i'm so proud of you."

he wrapped an arm around you, pulling you in closer. "couldn’t have done it without you, honestly," he murmured, his voice warm. "you’ve been with me through all of it—my biggest supporter."

"and i always will be," you promised, feeling your heart swell. "through the wins, the losses, i’ll be right here."

he leaned in, his lips brushing against yours in a soft kiss. "and that's all i need," he whispered, his voice barely audible.

as you lay together, bathed in the soft glow of the hotel room lights, the weight of his achievement settled in. lando norris, the man who led mclaren to the top of the world again, securing the WCC after 26 years. this moment, this victory, would be something you both would remember forever. the future was bright, and you couldn’t wait for the next adventure—together.

ʚ・oscar piastri

back in the comfort of his hotel room, oscar kicked back with a grin plastered on his face, the adrenaline from the race replaced by his usual playful energy. p10 wasn’t the podium he’d wanted, but who cared? mclaren had just clinched the WCC, and that was more than enough for him.

“we did it!” he shouted, arms thrown up in the air, his grin wider than ever. “champions, baby!”

you chuckled, shaking your head at his excitement. “you guys were incredible today, oscar. especially lando, bringing home the win.”

“yeah, lando was on fire!” oscar agreed, grabbing a celebratory drink from the minibar. “though, i wouldn’t mind a podium myself…” he paused, a glint of mischief lighting up his eyes. “if it weren’t for someone deciding to use my car as a brake early on.”

you raised an eyebrow, trying to hide your smile. “ah, yes. max verstappen. saw that incident. bit of a rough start, huh?”

“rough is putting it lightly,” oscar grumbled with a smirk, taking a swig of his drink. “the guy treated me like a bowling pin! swear i saw stars, maybe even a few constellations.”

“well, you can’t deny it made for some exciting racing,” you teased, nudging him playfully.

“exciting for you, maybe,” he shot back with a grin. “i was just trying to survive out there! dodging debris, angry drivers... felt like a demolition derby.”

“but you made it through,” you pointed out. “and you contributed to the team’s victory. that’s what counts.”

he gave a dramatic nod, his humor returning full force. “true, true. who needs a podium when you’ve got bragging rights for surviving a verstappen torpedo?”

you burst out laughing, unable to hold back. “that’s the spirit babe."

as laughter filled the room, you couldn’t help but admire oscar’s resilience and ability to keep things light, even when things didn’t go his way. he might’ve been a little salty about the verstappen incident, but he was genuinely happy for the team, and that’s what made him such an asset. next season was going to be one to remember, and you couldn’t wait to see what this rising star would achieve.

© 2024 jungwnies | All rights reserved. Do not repost, plagiarize, or translate

[ourladyoftheflytrap]

Im not psychologist I have no right to diagnose anybody but I strongly suspect the trans people who claim they are in danger from problems and dangers that are scientifically impossible are caught in a persecution complex

[scoupsakakitty]

Behind closed Doors | idol!Scoups x Reader | angst, fluff

Seungcheol stood in the middle of their bedroom, his eyes fixed on Y/N’s phone lying on the nightstand. It vibrated again. The screen lit up with Unknown Caller.

His chest tightened.

For weeks now, he had noticed the calls, the way Y/N would tense up every time her phone rang, the way she’d rush out of the room to answer, or sometimes ignore them altogether. At first, he tried to brush it off. He trusted her. They’d been together for over a year, and Y/N had never given him a reason to doubt her.

But lately, it was all he could think about.

And now, standing there, alone in their room, with her phone buzzing yet again, Seungcheol felt like he was about to break.

Before he could stop himself, he reached out and grabbed it.

Unknown Caller.

His thumb hovered over the screen. He hesitated for a moment before answering.

“Hello?” His voice came out firm but cautious.

Silence.

“Hello?” he repeated, louder this time.

Still nothing.

He frowned, his grip tightening. “Who is this?”

The line went dead.

Before he could process it, the phone vibrated again. Same number.

Seungcheol let it ring until it stopped, his heart pounding in his chest.

And then, he heard the bathroom door open.

Y/N stepped out, her hair damp and a towel wrapped securely around her body. She froze the moment she saw him standing there, holding her phone.

“Cheol?” Her voice was soft, but there was a hint of panic in her eyes.

He lifted the phone. “Who is this?”

She opened her mouth, but no words came out.

“Y/N.” His voice cracked slightly. “What’s going on? Why do you keep getting these calls? Why do you leave the room every time they come in? Why won’t you talk to me about it?”

She swallowed hard, stepping closer. “Cheol, it’s not what you think—”

“Then tell me what it is!” he cut her off, his frustration spilling out. “Because right now, it feels like you’re hiding something from me. Are you—” He hesitated, his voice quieter now. “Are you seeing someone else?”

Y/N’s eyes widened in shock. “What? No! Cheol, how could you even think that?”

“Because you’re acting like you’re hiding something!”

“I am,” she said quickly, her voice trembling. “But not what you’re thinking.”

Seungcheol stared at her, his heart still racing. She suddenly looked so small, so vulnerable, and it made him feel even worse for yelling.

She let out a shaky breath and sank down onto the bed, motioning for him to come closer. “Please,” she whispered. “Sit down.”

He hesitated before finally sitting beside her. She reached for her phone and unlocked it with trembling fingers, then handed it to him.

“Look,” she said softly.

Seungcheol’s eyes scanned the screen. Missed calls. Text messages. All from Unknown Numbers.

His stomach twisted as he clicked on the messages.

“We know where you live.”

“Pay up, or we’ll ruin him.”

“You can’t hide forever.”

“We’ll tell everyone about you and Seungcheol.”

He froze, his hands tightening around the phone. “What… what is this?”

“They’re sasaengs,” Y/N said quietly. Her voice cracked as she spoke. “They found out about us months ago. At first, it was just threats to expose our relationship, but then they started asking for money. They said if I didn’t pay, they’d spread lies and make your life hell. I didn’t know what to do, Cheol. I was scared. I didn’t want to ruin everything for you.”

Seungcheol looked up at her, his heart shattering at the tears streaming down her face. “You’ve been dealing with this alone? All this time?”

She nodded, wiping at her eyes. “I thought I could handle it. I didn’t want to drag you into it. I thought if I ignored them, they’d stop, but it only got worse.”

Seungcheol set the phone down and took her hands in his, squeezing them tightly. “Y/N, you should’ve told me. You don’t have to go through this alone.”

“I didn’t want to lose you,” she whispered.

His chest ached at her words. “You won’t lose me,” he said firmly. “I’m not going anywhere. Ever.”

“But what if they—”

“They won’t,” he interrupted. “I’ll talk to the company. We’ll go to the police. We’ll make sure they can’t touch you—or us.”

Tears spilled down her cheeks as she nodded, and Seungcheol pulled her into his arms, holding her tightly.

“You’re safe,” he whispered against her hair. “I’ll make sure of it.”

———————————————————————————-

The days that followed were intense, but Seungcheol didn’t leave her side for a second. Pledis immediately provided legal support, security measures, and worked with the authorities to track down the perpetrators.

The sasaengs were eventually caught and charged with harassment and blackmail. It took time, but the fear that had once consumed Y/N began to fade.

One evening, as they lay in bed, Y/N rested her head on Seungcheol’s chest, listening to his steady heartbeat.

“Do you think things will ever be normal again?” she asked softly.

“They already are,” he replied, running his fingers through her hair.

She pulled back slightly to look at him. “Even after everything?”

He smiled. “Especially after everything.”

She let out a small laugh, tears of relief in her eyes. “I don’t deserve you.”

“Don’t say that,” he said, leaning in to press a soft kiss to her forehead. “You’re everything to me, Y/N. And I’ll protect you. Always.”

She smiled, finally allowing herself to believe his words.

Because for the first time in a long time, she felt safe—not just because the danger was gone, but because she knew that no matter what happened, Seungcheol would always be there.

————————————————————————————-

[elysianightsss]

Pen Pal Price Part Two🫧🍑

nsfw ahead so I’ll cut it off at that point…reader is also described as chubby below because I am so they are too lol.

-

His voice startles you to the point where you visibly flinch, it’s nothing like how you imagined it to be. First of all, you didn’t know he was British. The accent that wraps around his words so sharply is one you recognise but can’t quite put your finger on in this moment.

His voice is deep, rumbles out somewhere from within his chest. It vibrates through the phone and through you. For him your honeyed voice drips into him like the sweetest summer wine.

“Sound so pretty.” You hear him mutter, barely a whisper but definitely something he was trying to hide. Your cheeks burn as you blush hard, your bottom lip caught between your teeth while you think of what to say to the man you’ve been writing to for weeks on end.

So many words exchanged and yet now you’re at a loss. Can’t think properly, it begs the question; how will you react when you meet in person?

“I haven’t got long, I guess now’s the time I tell you what I do for a living.” He chuckles lightly and you wish you could see his face while he does.

“Sounds intriguing.” You frown though your face is still smile stricken.

“Oh you bet it is love. Very dangerous, rough. I don’t think you’d want to hear about it.”

“Excuse me good sir, I live for danger. Did I not tell you how I dangerously painted the spare bedroom the other day? Though I don’t think it went well.” You joked looking over at the room that was half done and had paint streaks pointing in all different directions.

“Are you doubting your mad painting skills?” Your heart soared at the joke, at his laugh, just all of this. Being able to speak to him properly, being able to communicate more easily without waiting a whole week for his response to arrive by post. Shifting through the mail everyday desperate to read his words. You hadn’t felt this happy in years.

“Maybe just a little.” There’s a pause, and you think you hear some background chatter, something about unit leaving and someone definitely says captain, “maybe you could help me?”

“I definitely will.” He doesn’t hesitate with his answer, it’s so sure and so final. It says a lot about him. You’re desperate to know more. “I’m sorry love, I’ve got to go. I’ll call you tomorrow? Same time?”

And he does, you lunge for the phone practically jumping through the air to answer him. You chat about useless things, have silly little conversations about everyday life. There are days when you think it’s his day off work, those days he stays on the phone to you for hours. Those days are your favourite.

He tells you about the new book he got and even reads you a few chapters while you cook dinner, he makes you promise to cook him a meal sometime. You don’t hesitate to agree.

Again he loves the domesticity of it all, how prefect you are in his eyes, though his ocean blues haven’t actually seen you yet. What a perfect little wife you would make. He knows it’s far too soon to think about things like that but he cannot help himself.

The way you fly away with yourself, talking about what you’re doing that day or joking about something you saw on tv or giggling about the cupcakes you were making because the icing went wrong making what you piped look like pigs instead of the unicorns you were going for, for you niece’s birthday party.

He listens with his eyes closed, dreaming of the day he comes back from deployment. The day he comes back to you, to home smelling of freshly baked goods. His pretty lady waiting for him all smiles and giggles. He wishes.

“Um..” you pause unsure, wondering what if he says no.

“What is it love?” He asks so worried. So ready to fix any problem you throw his why. Once again though you hesitate and once more he encourages you, “Come on pretty lady, tell me. What’s up?” You let the nickname you’ve reprimanded him about numerous times slide with what you’re about to ask.

“D-Did you want t-to video call?” He grins at how fucking adorable you are. The way you stutter just asking a simple question like that. He bites back a groan at the way he stiffens in his trousers. Dirty old man.

“I would love to.” He of course then had to explain he had a flip phone. You laughed hard at him and said he would need a smartphone. You had no idea he would go and buy one just to video call you with. Another thing you reprimand him for, spending his hard earned money so easily like that. His little lady nagging him, and all he does is smile at the sound. He loves it.

Your heart hammers in your chest as the phone rings. A lot like the first time he called you. You had talked him through the set up and helped him understand what an app is and how to call on text on a smart phone. And finally, you told him how to video call. Which app to press, you were just explaining how it works when your phone begins to buzz with ‘John💕 is FaceTime you’ popping up on the screen. Your number of course being the first one he added.

You can’t help but feel nervous, checking you look semi okay on the screen before pressing the green answer button. Then your breath is knocked out of you so hard you actually choke, John fussing about getting some water and breathing for him goes in one ear and out the other. You can’t look away from him even as you catch your breath.

He’s nothing like you pictured and yet he’s perfect.

He looks like the kind of man you picture when you read romance novels and the kind of man that sneaks into the dreams that have you waking up hot under the collar and panties sticking to you uncomfortably. The little description of himself you asked for certainly did not do him justice.

“Hi love.”

“Hi John.”

“Fuck you’re gorgeous.” Even though you frown, you can’t stop a smile from splitting your face.

You’ve got chubbier cheeks and thicker thighs than most girls, something you’re insecure about and john can tell. But fuck you look gorgeous to him. Over the next few weeks John catches on to just how badly you feel about your body image, the way you put yourself down in favour of supermodels, the way you wear oversized clothing to cover yourself up. He finds himself grumbling, hating it each second more than the last.

He understands how badly beauty culture has fucked over women who are genuinely beautiful but are made to feel like they’re nothing. He gets it, he does. But he certainly doesn’t agree. Especially not with you. He finds himself dreaming of those squishable cheeks of yours, the way you’re so soft around the edges, he can tell.

You completely did him in last Monday, it’s the middle of winter for goodness sake, how did he know that you’d be wearing shorts when he FaceTimed you. Gym shorts that hugged your plump ass so fucking perfectly, that flashed your thick thighs to him. Christ, he’s been thinking about those pretty thighs all week long. When he’s running drills, your thighs are on his mind. When he’s planning out a mission with his unit, your thighs are on his mind. And when he’s alone at night with his hand wrapped around his swollen cock, your thighs are on his mind.

He can’t stand it anymore, it’s been agonising with how busy he’s been not calling you, not seeing you or hearing your voice. No knowing what you’ve been up to or how your day has gone. He calls and he praises the Lord above for bringing you to him, when you answer. A prayer on his lips, a beg for you to become his wife one day when you’re there smiling in the cutest silk pyjama set he’s ever seen. It hugs you exquisitely, showing off your rounded edges and all John can think about is how he can’t wait to sink his teeth into the soft flesh of your tummy.

You’re clearly fresh out the shower or bath with your damp hair and freshly wash face, but John’s never seen anything more beautiful in his life, in fact he tells you so. You haven’t felt your cheeks burn the way they did then, well maybe one other occasion.

“Love?”

“Yes John?”

“Would you like to meet me for coffee tomorrow? At that cafe you like?” He’s hopeful when he asks, you can not only hear it in his voice but see it in his face. “I’m in the area for work and have a few days where I’m free and I’d love to see you.”

You can’t recall a time in your life where all you did was smile, but since you found John, you don’t remember what not smiling all the time was like. You don’t remember anything other than how happy he makes you. So you take a breath, you muster up the courage and say yes.

“I’d love to see you too John. Just tell me what time and I’ll be there.”

[pomefioredove]

Hi Dove!!! Can I request headcanons of Vil with a reader who decided not to act on their feelings for him (he found out some other way) because they were worried he would brush off their confession as a shallow celebrity crush?

hehe I love a little drama

*ੈ✩‧₊˚ starstruck

type of post: short fic characters: vil additional info: romantic, reader is gender neutral, reader is yuu, not proofread

Vil had seen that look on your face from the moment your eyes met.

It was flattering. Knowing that he was an ethereal beauty in this world and yours was a compliment you hadn't even known you'd given him.

You were special. In your own right, and to him. You weren't like the others, whose love of him began and ended with his fame. You were his friend. Your love held weight.

Perhaps he had teased you about being starstruck one too many times...

"...I see," he says, fingers curling around the thin piece of notebook paper, as if it was trying to get away from him.

Vil had never looked so... so...

...His look was intense, the corners of his eyes crinkled in thought, his other hand covering the scowl on his perfect lips.

It's your handwriting. There's no doubt about that. For the first time in what feels like an eternity, he tears his eyes away from the paper.

"Why did you bring me this?"

Silver looks almost... uncomfortable, out of place, standing in the Pomefiore lounge.

"I... just thought..." he mutters. "...I just thought I was helping."

You are, Vil thinks. More than you know.

"You are dismissed. Send my regards to Malleus. And tell him he has a fine underclassman on his hands,"

Silver's eyes widen, but he doesn't ask about the unexpected praise. He leaves Vil alone with the note, the note in your handwriting. The confession.

How stupid of you, he thinks. How could you think that he wouldn't feel the same...?

The note feels heavier than it should, your words leadened on the delicate paper.

I know you won't reciprocate, it says, I don't expect you to, but I don't want you to think that this is just some celebrity crush...

The rest of the confession is scribbled out, either from frustration, or embarrassment, or...

And it was left in a bin by the stables, where Sebek found it, who gave it to Silver, who gave it to Vil.

Who, now, can't seem to let it go.

.

Vil can't confront you about it like some... boy.

You need delicacy. You need assurance. He's not going to force the confession out of your throat. He doesn't need to.

This isn't about him. Or his ego.

"I'm happy you could find the time to see me. It's been ages since we've gotten together," he says, smoothing the face mask over your cheeks.

"You said you had something important to tell me,"

You speak rather bluntly. He chuckles. He can't tell if that's your nerves, or eagerness, or curiosity. But it's cute.

"I did," he says, and nothing more.

You blink. "...Did something happen?"

Yes, he thinks. "No,"

"...Are you going to tell me?"

"I am. Patience," he says, adding the final touches on your personalized face mask. A formula he made himself.

"Don't talk, or you'll crack it. Five minutes."

You nod, and once he's sure the mask has set, ensuring he'll talk without interruption, he begins.

"I first want you to know that there is nothing you could do that I would resent you for,"

You look like you want to say something, and he tsks, reminding you of the mask.

"...It's true that you annoy me, sometimes, but you should know by now that I find that quite endearing. We've become quite close. Closer than I would have thought. And I could never see you as nothing but a fan. You know you're more than that to me,"

You almost open your mouth, and he holds a finger to your lips with a gentle smile.

"And I have a feeling that I am more to you than a celebrity," he says. "Perhaps even more than a friend."

Finally, you're speechless. His features soften.

"And perhaps I think the same of you... but all I will say, for now, is that if there were anything you wanted to say... well, I've always got a spot open in my schedule for you. Understood?"

After a long moment of silence and staring, you nod. Vil smiles back.

"Good. Time's up. And then it'll be your turn to talk, and mine to listen,"

[cherienymphe]

A Caged Bird (Coriolanus Snow x Reader)

WARNINGS: NON-CON, blackmail, stalking, abuse of power, hints of dacryphilia, slightly spoiler-esque

summary: Birds are best kept in a cage where one can see them...and where you know where they are at all times.

~

You thought that it was over when you won.

That’s what winning The Hunger Games meant, right? The psychological torture, the grueling conditions, and the fear that wouldn’t leave you until you finally left the arena was supposed to be over. You made it out through blood, sweat, and tears, and so your reward was to go home and reunite with your family and try your best to put the memories behind you.

Try your best to put him behind you.

So, why were you still being tormented?

When you first locked eyes with Coriolanus Snow, your first thought was how strikingly blue his were. Almost as if they weren’t real and had been specially manufactured in The Capitol for him, somehow. His hair, too, was just so much blonder than anything you’d seen in District 12, and again, you noted how so much about him seemed…artificial.

…but then he spoke…and the effect his voice had on you was very real.

“You don’t seem like you’re supposed to be here,” you’d said to him after stepping off of that train.

His response was expected, a charming chuckle leaving his pink lips, blond curls the perfect addition to his features.

“I’m not,” he slowly admitted.

The intensity behind his gaze whenever he so much as glanced at you was enough to make any girl’s heart race, and despite what you wished, you weren’t immune. He was beautiful—gorgeous as some of the other tributes and mentors liked to call him—and despite the initial intimidation, there was something about him that made you want to let your guard down.

…but he was your mentor…and a capitol citizen…and you were nothing more than his ticket to notoriety.

“Don’t you know who his dad was?” another tribute, one from one of the better districts, had said to you in a tone like you were stupid.

That was all the confirmation you needed, really.

…but he’d hopped onto the truck with you and gotten into that cage with you and brought you and your district mate food. He gave you poison to use against the other tributes. He wanted you to appeal to the audience so he’d have the funds to send you supplies. It was hard to decipher what was purely for show and what was just because he wanted you—and him by extension—to win. Perhaps, they were one in the same though, and it was impossible to have one without the other. Maybe it didn’t matter his reasons behind his desire to have his tribute win.

Maybe all that mattered was that you’d win.

…but that was when you thought winning meant you’d be free.

Coriolanus Snow was your best chance at winning, and so when the rebels rigged the arena, you didn’t hesitate to stay behind and save him. It wasn’t even a question in your mind because mentor or not, he was hurt, and you had to believe that that one fluke was not your only fighting chance. You couldn’t allow yourself to believe that in saving him, you’d allowed freedom to pass you by.

“You saved me,” he told you, a gentle brush of his handkerchief under your eye to catch your tears. “You saved me, and I am going to get you out of here.”

You had no idea then that he meant out of the games…and to him.

It was that flickering moment of doubt where you wondered if you could actually win, and you recalled what you’d said to him earlier about believing you could, how much you needed him to actually believe it. Now, you were the one doubting, and he could see it, blue gaze flicking over your face and soaking in the fear and uncertainty, because if you couldn’t win…

You’d die.

A lingering gaze and a tense atmosphere, and you felt yourself pulling back, realization hitting you as to just what you were about to let happen. It was hard to decipher who overstepped first, but you couldn’t allow yourself to get wrapped up in something that was only ever meant to be strictly professional. Coriolanus was your mentor, and you were his tribute.

That was all.

You didn’t know then the full lengths he went to just to ensure your victory. How could you? You were too busy trying to survive, trying to fight off rabid tributes and teenagers driven mad with the sole desire to just live. It was all so unfair and angering, and you were sure that with less focus, you might’ve gone insane too. You didn’t have the luxury to worry about your eerily handsome mentor and whatever ulterior motives he might’ve had to see you beat this thing.

So, when you did win, all you could feel was relief. All you could focus on was your family and their faces when you’d ultimately reunite with them. All you could even entertain were thoughts of pushing this very real nightmare to the back of your mind for as long as you possibly could. Initially, you didn’t even notice that you weren’t immediately reunited with your mentor when they crowned you as the winner and got you out of there.

At least, not until you came face to face with him in your own district.

“I thought they’d killed you. I didn’t know if my actions had come back on you too,” Coriolanus told you in a secluded corner, the loud music drowning out his words and the cover of darkness hiding your faces.

Those beautiful pale curls were gone, and any thought that so much of his beauty relied on his golden locks was gone too with one drink of him. He was still the same handsome boy that mentored you, the same one who’d garnered the nickname ‘gorgeous’ among the other tributes. Up on that stage, you’d been thrown to meet a familiar gaze, your harmonious tune pausing for half a second as he met your shocked stare with an expression of his own you couldn’t place, pink lips curved upwards ever so slightly.

Any question of how and why he was here had disappeared as you registered his words. Confusion filled you as you stared at him, a slight frown between your brows as you wracked your brain for how that could possibly make sense.

“Why would they kill me…?” you slowly asked him, and you and the shadows were all that was privy to his confession.

The water bottles, the handkerchief, and the snakes—even the poison. Coriolanus had cheated to secure your victory, broken rules that plucked him out of The Capitol and dropped him here in your very own district as a Peacekeeper. The shock you felt that your victory was far from a fair one warred with the confusion you felt as to why he’d risk everything just for you to win.

If you’d lost fair and square—as you probably should have—there was no doubt in your mind that he’d be safely tucked away in the lavishness of The Capitol instead of lingering about in some rundown excuse for a bar in lowly District 12. If he knew what awaited him should his treachery be discovered…then why chance it? Nothing about your brief tutelage with him could justify what he’d risked and ultimately lost.

You wanted to ask him why, but something in you was afraid of the answer.

That almost kiss—a kiss you hadn’t thought about in months—suddenly came to mind, and even though you didn’t ask him why, something in you knew why even if you wanted to deny it. It was there in the dim lighting and rowdy atmosphere of some rundown building that every minor interaction didn’t start to feel so minor.

Every brush of his hand against yours as he reached for you, the unsettling way he seemed to watch you in that short time that you’d simply written off as concern for his tribute, and the ruthless desire to see you out on the other side of the arena. The kiss that never was only seemed like a lapse in judgement to you then, but in this moment, you had suspicions that it was very much intentional.

You swallowed, realizing that in that brief internal introspection, Coriolanus hadn’t taken his eyes off of you once.

“Did they send you to District 12?” you finally asked him.

You didn’t know what gave you away. Perhaps your tone, maybe your face, or maybe your eyes weren’t as secretive as you’d like to believe. Either way, something about your visage and demeanor gave the blond man pause, head tilting just a tad as those baby blues glinted with something you didn’t recognize but you know you didn’t like. He studied your face before coming up with the answer he probably thought you wanted.

“Of course.”

You didn’t know if you believed him.

…and Coriolanus could tell.

You’d played enough cat and mouse games in the arena—you never thought you’d have to play them in your own home too.

Starving off the affections of some boy in your district wasn’t hard or uncharted territory. Even spurning the forbidden advances of a Peacekeeper or two wasn’t unheard of, but Coriolanus was different. He wasn’t some average Joe turned cop. He was born and raised in The Capitol with a powerful father, and even though the man had been taken before his time, your former mentor still had been brought up with the kind of influence and reach and mindset that surpassed the average Peacekeeper.

They were followers—controlled by The Capitol and tasked with maintaining order. Most were no more than dumb brutes, mindlessly following orders without question, simple enough to be bribed and swayed. If Coriolanus’ actions had shown you anything, it was that he was not a follower. He did what he wanted and played by his own rules, and it was how you found yourself hunted by a gaze you thought you’d left behind in the arena.

Since the discovery of your former mentor’s presence in your district, you never felt alone.

Every walk to trade for food felt shadowed, every footstep home was accompanied with an echo, and a sweep of your eye over the crowd as you played an instrument or sang a tune was rewarded with a familiar blue one that made your heart freeze. You were forced to ignore it no longer when a single rose was left for you on the doorstep, your ma’s gaze questioning as she held it out to you.

You didn’t know where or how he got it, but you only cared about giving it back.

“I can’t accept this,” you told him, gaze steady but fingers trembling as you held it out to him.

It was raining, and the cover over your heads sheltered you from the downpour, but it did little to drown out the sound of it. Coriolanus simply stared at the flower for what felt like too long, making no moves to take it from you, and you swallowed. His blue gaze zeroed in on the action before it lifted to your face.

“…and why not?”

“Because I think it means something different to you than it does to me.”

Your response was swift, and you watched him sigh, eventually reaching out to finger the flower like he did that day before he’d proceeded to put it behind your ear. He finally took it, and just like that day before the games, it found its way behind your ear once again. The only change this time was the shudder that traveled down your spine, and the apprehension you felt when his gaze met yours.

For the longest time, the only sound was that of the rain, a few stray drops making it’s way onto your face and clothes due to the wind. If the man before you still had the locks you’d met him with, they would’ve been rustling with the breeze, right now. Both of you were very still, or maybe it was just you—nervous and fearful of how he’d respond. He briefly looked past you, eyes glinting briefly before they hardened once again, his pink lips pressed together as he regarded you.

“…and if it does?”

He continued when you frowned.

“Mean something different to me than it does to you,” he elaborated, and you blinked.

Taking a deep breath, you tried to gather your thoughts.

“I know…that I’m only standing here, now, because of you,” you slowly started, watching him push his shoulders back. “I won because of you, I know that, but-.”

“Exactly,” he cut you off, making your lips part. “You won because of me…and everything I sacrificed was to make sure you won.”

“…but I didn’t ask you to do that!”

You felt…cornered, somehow, because on the one hand, yes. You did owe so much to the man before you, but at the same time, what did you owe specifically? Your attention? Your affection? Whatever he deemed an appropriate compensation? When you saved his life in the arena that day, and he vowed to save yours in return, you didn’t understand the full ramifications of the deal you were agreeing to.

“I saved your life, and you saved mine, and I’m sorry for the things you felt the need to risk, but that’s where it ends.”

The cold from the rain didn’t faze you nearly as much as the heat from his gaze boring into your back.

You wanted to believe that your lack of confrontation was what led you to the predicament you found yourself in. After all, things between you two had held too many ‘what ifs’ and lingering feelings and questions. You liked to hope that telling the man in no uncertain terms that your relationship should never and would never progress beyond anything professional would fix things.

You never would’ve guessed that your bout of confidence would only prove to make things worse.

“My ma doesn’t even know any rebels, and you know that.”

You’d whispered the words so quietly, throat too choked up to speak any louder as you tearfully stared Coriolanus down, your words only intended for the two of you. Your back was pressed to the doorway as he stood before you, a foot or two of space between you as other Peacekeepers did their duty to search your house as thoroughly as possible. The reason you’d been given was suspicion of treason—to the shock of your ma—but both you and the handsome man before you knew the truth.

“One can never be too sure. It’s always those you least expect.”

His cool response only made you look away, a few tears escaping.

It wasn’t supposed to be like this. You won, you were free, so why did it still feel like you were in the game…except a much more dangerous one this time? You could feel his eyes on you as you watched man after man rifle through you and your ma’s things, your younger sister not home to witness this. Out of the corner of your eye, you could see him take a step towards you—just one, but one was enough to make you flinch.

You still didn’t give him the satisfaction of looking at him though.

“Unbearable,” he quietly said. “…not able to be endured…or tolerated.”

You swallowed.

“Not to be confused with hard—requiring a great deal of endurance or effort.”

Another step towards you.

“To find something unbearable means that you quite literally cannot stomach it any longer. It forces a change to come, forces something to…give,” he whispered.

Your gaze was still focused ahead, but his words made you blink, made your heart sink, and you swore that he knew that.

“I can make things incredibly unbearable for you…and your family.”

You straightened at that, finally looking at him with a venomous gaze and a heaving chest. Coriolanus reached up to pick at your shirt, removing a piece of grass from it, and you watched him inspect it before turning his blue eyes back onto you. They lingered on your own eyes before lowering to your lips, his own twitching so subtly you might’ve missed it if you were anyone else.

“Or I can make sure you’ll be taken care of, looked after as if you were my own…” his gaze met yours again. “It’s entirely your choice.”

You two stared at one another for an infuriating amount of time before he let out a sharp whistle, telling the other men that nothing seemed to be here and to move on. His wording was not lost on you, and you crossed your arms over your chest. Coriolanus was the last to walk out, and despite the feel of his heavy gaze, you didn’t look his way the entire time.

Your ma commented on the strangeness of the whole ordeal, but nothing about it was strange to you. It was all very calculating and sinister actually, and while you grew up hearing countless talk of running away and living off the grid, you were never more tempted than in this moment…but you were not alone. Your ma was sickly, and your sister was too young.

…and if you left, you could only guess what you’d be leaving your family susceptible to.

Your future seemed inevitable no matter how much you tried to find a way out of the path set for you.

The first night you slept with Coriolanus Snow, it was storming just like that day you’d attempted to give him back his flower. You’d cried for a good three hours before, feeling helpless in the aftermath of another so-called inspection from Peacekeepers—this one much more destructive. The only light that night came from the brief flashes of lightning, and the sound of the rain drowned out the reluctant gasps to leave your lips.

Hands much softer than you ever expected trailed down your frame, curving over your hips and dipping underneath your thighs. The blond man’s lips rarely left your skin, kissing whatever part of you that came to mind, nose gently grazing you as he did and pulling shudders from your frame. It was a foreign feeling to be so heated and afraid at the same time.

Under the cover of darkness, his fingers intertwined with your own and his hips were flush with yours. The feel of him inside of you was much more jarring than you thought it would be, choked deep breaths leaving your parted lips as he pressed his face into the crook of your neck. His thrusts were slow, the complete opposite of what you expected, and you didn’t know if you liked that better or worse.

Every kiss felt wrong, like you were betraying yourself, but in the same manner, they also reminded you of that first day you met. You thought about when you stepped off of that train, and that smooth voice escaped those pink lips, and your stomach flipped no matter how much you pretended it didn’t. The person you were that day wanted to throw your head back and welcome the little nips he left along your skin.

The person you were, now, wanted to crawl inside of your skin.

This man had stalked you to the highest degree, following you all the way from The Capitol just to collect on the young woman whose survival he ensured. The things he’d risked and ultimately lost, he placed the weight of on your shoulders as if you were responsible to compensate for that somehow. As if it was your duty to make his sacrifices worth it.

When he pulled you into his lap, resting on him with arms circled around your waist, it was your turn to press your face into the area where his neck and shoulder met. His fingers dancing along your skin made you shudder, and that just made the tears collect more because you didn’t want to enjoy this, but your body and your brain didn’t seem to be in alignment.

When you were forced to come around him, you saw stars, and you were positive your nails left marks on his back.

You didn’t really think that no more trouble from Peacekeepers was worth the figurative collar around your neck. The abundance of food and supplies might have been, if only to just see the smiles on your ma and sister’s faces, but even then, when you found your back pressed to Coriolanus’ chest as he drove his cock up into you, you wondered if it was actually worth it.

Your ma would say no, that you knew for sure, but you supposed it wasn’t her call to make.

After all, the alternative was psychological torment and worst-case scenarios you didn’t even want to entertain.

“Would you have had her arrested?” you quietly wondered one night.

The sheet was clutched to your chest, and you were facing the wall, still unable to look him in the eye directly afterwards. You’d never been able to, feeling used and low and indefensible. You tried not to dwell on the feel of his fingertips tracing patterns into your shoulder, his cool breath hitting your skin as he exhaled.

“I mean…would you have…framed her somehow? Found some justification for it?”

You didn’t know why you were asking, certain you wouldn’t like the answer, and as you predicted, you felt your throat tighten the longer the silence stretched. Against your will—like many things you’d been doing as of late—a few tears escaped, and even before he answered, you knew what you were going to hear.

“Yes,” he confessed, just as quietly.

You squeezed your eyes shut, subtly wiping your face.

“I sacrificed so much for you to win, and not just because your win was my win…but because I wanted to see you win,” he murmured, placing a kiss to your back. “…because I wanted you.”

You knew that, but having it confirmed so plainly was disturbing.

“…and when I eventually make my way back to The Capitol, as we both know I will, I’ll still want you.”

Your stomach sank at that, and for the first time, you turned to look at him while still trembling in the aftermath of what had quickly become a nightly occurrence. His gaze was still focused on where your back had been, and when his eyes flitted up to connect with yours, you didn’t have the words to convey how you felt about what he was insinuating.

“In The Capitol, you’ll have access to things you could never even imagine…and you could send those same things back to your family,” he told you, reaching up to touch your face.

When you moved to sit up, he stopped you, a firm grip on your arm. Coryo—as he liked for you to call him—fixed you with a look that you knew all too well. It was the look he gave you when you tried to come up with any excuse as to why you couldn’t meet with him. It was the look you received when you briefly forgot the power dynamics here, turning away from him and attempting to push him away.

It was a look that told you not to fight the inevitable.

“I want you there with me.”

His tone left no room for argument, and there was so much conviction in his voice that the thought of arguing seemed legitimately draining. You simply stared at him, eyes glassy, and he stared back, waiting for verbal confirmation of what you both knew was going to happen, anyway. You had no choice in the matter, you never did, and for a brief horrifying moment, you almost wished you were a lone orphan who didn’t have to look out for anybody but yourself.

That thought did make tears spill over.

It was a horrible thing to think, but your loved ones were being used against you, and you knew that your ma—and your sister if she were old enough to comprehend these things—would never want this for you. Coryo sat up with you, a hand resting on your cheek as he gazed at you, a thumb brushing the tears away. It wasn’t meant to be comforting.

Nothing he did was ever meant to be comforting.

“I want you there with me,” he repeated.

You wondered what someone like you would possibly do in The Capitol.

“I don’t belong there,” you whispered, a poor attempt to get him to change his mind.

His response was swift and clipped.

“You belong with me.”

When he pressed his lips to yours, it was expected that you would kiss him back. His thumb brushed along your skin as you did, a low hum sounding in the back of his throat that quickly escalated into a groan. His free arm snaked around you, and your last attempt at resisting proved futile, so you let him lay you down.

Sex with Coriolanus was a maddening experience.

You didn’t want it, and your brain didn’t want it, but it was as if your body was its own separate entity running on hormones and animal instinct.

When he rested his full weight on top of you, you shuddered for a multitude of reasons—one of which you didn’t want to acknowledge. When he slid his hand between your breasts and down to your stomach, your back arched, chest pressing up and into his. When he pushed into you all torturously slow as he always did, you involuntarily held your breath, shaking at the feel of his hips connecting with yours, the length of him fully sheathed in your warmth.

You were terrified of him, so that was why you opened up for him like those budding roses he used to carry around, but in doing so, you made yourself vulnerable beneath him. You made yourself more susceptible to his kisses and his touch and that maddening voice that knew just how to get its way. He wasn’t a very talkative man when he was inside of you, much more content with letting his actions speak for themselves, but tonight was different.

“Look at me,” he whispered, curving his hips into yours. “Look right at me.”

You did, and while you didn’t know the specifics of the psychology behind this, you knew that looking into the eyes of your tormentor while in the act couldn’t be good.

“Keep your eyes on me,” he breathlessly told you, nose brushing against yours with every thrust.

You could hear that it was starting to rain again, and you pressed your hands into the small of his back, trying to ground yourself in some way—trying to have control over something, anything. Tears kissed your eyes, and you swore—you swore—that something in those blues of his twinkled. It sparked something in his gaze, and in his psyche, his thrusts becoming more powerful and making you gasp, nails pressing into his skin.

He only looked especially satisfied when the tears spilled over.

When he came inside of you, and you around him, you swore you saw stars.

You even thought you saw snow.

[cressidagrey]

Such A Mystery - Part 9

Pairing: Max Verstappen x Colette Leclerc (Original Character)

Summary:

Max Verstappen fell in love at the ripe old age of 12 and never looked back.

Colette Leclerc really regrets posting that particular Taylor Swift Lyric to her private Instagram account, because it made George Russell go insane.  

The rest of the world has absolutely no idea that the Dutch Lion and Charles Leclerc’s twin sister have been a couple for 15 years and are expecting a baby. 

Warnings: 

Pregnancy, Mention of multiple miscarriages, Pregnancy complications, George Russell Bashing (he's probably really nice in real life but in this, he's the bad guy, sorry), Jos Verstappen, We have apparently now reached the time where I also bash Ferrari. I am sure they are super nice in real life too. They are not in this.

Author Notes: Huge thanks to @llirawolf for holding my hand through this. Chapter 8 of...who knows.

It felt like forever. He knew it wasn't. It must have been minutes until the car door was ripped open and Charles slipped in right next to him.

It wasn’t until the doors were slammed shut behind Charles that Max dared to look at the Monégasque.

His heart skipped a beat at the sight. Charles was still in his racing suit just as him, the suit itself streaked with sweat.

The moment the car door closed, the car started riving.

"Merde," Charles cursed. Max could only agree. "I am sorry, that it took this long."

Max gave a sharp, jerky shake of his head. "You don’t have to apologize," he somehow managed to get the words out. "I’m just..." he trailed off, a shaky exhale escaping him. "How could you make it here so fast?" he asked, casting a quick glance in his friend’s direction.

Charles snorted. "Your press officer had a shouting match with Ferrari's,“ he said simply.

If Max wasn’t so focused on not completely losing it, he might’ve been amused with the mental image. But at the moment, he could only shake his head.

Next to him, Charles let out a sigh. "Are you alright?" he asked quietly.

"No. You?" he gave back.

"I don't have a bad feeling," Charles said quietly. “Not worse than it has been for days at least.”

Twin Telepathy was apparently a thing as far as Charles and Colette were concerned. 

Quite frankly, till this day, it still weirded Max out. They just seemed to know when the other one wasn't feeling well. 95% of the time, they got sick at the same time. They communicated more easily with each other than with anyone else, and regardless of what game they played...they needed to be put on opposite teams, because otherwise nobody had a chance against them.

Max was well aware of Colette and Charles' strange connection. Even if he didn’t fully understand it. They both had some sort of sixth sense when it came to the other one, and it sometimes felt like they were talking in secret code.

"What’s it telling you right now?" he asked, his voice barely above a rough whisper.

Charles turned to him fully at that, and Max saw the way his eyes swept over him, taking in every aspect of his appearance.

Max could only imagine what Charles was seeing. He felt like a walking wreck, and there was no doubt his appearance was mirroring that.

"Colette is in pain," Charles finally said, his voice strangely quiet. "She’s scared."

That answer felt like somebody shoved a knife into Max’s stomach. He inhaled sharply, the breath catching in his throat. “Of course, she is,” he hissed through clenched teeth.

Charles seemed to sense what he was thinking, even without being telepathically connected through whatever the hell Colette and him had going on. The Monégasque reached out and took a firmer hold of his hand, the grip almost crushing.

"Don’t," Charles said firmly, his voice leaving no room for arguments. "Don’t go there. We’re gonna get to her as fast as we can."

There was a brief moment of silence, as Max tried to collect himself. He focused all his attention on the pressure of Charles' hand on his, and somehow, it actually helped.

"I feel so goddamn useless," he finally admitted, his voice rough with emotion. "I want to be with her."

"You want to try calling her before we are in the air?" Charles suggested.

That was not a bad idea, not at all. Max let out a low and slightly shaky exhale, swallowing hard. “Yeah,” he nodded. “Yeah, I…” he had to stop and clear his throat. “Yeah, I’ll try to call her.”

His hands were shaking when he pulled out his phone out of the backpack that somebody had handed off to him, already packed. Regardless of all the drama that had gone on in the RedBull garage during the year… if it really mattered, the people in there pulled off minor miracles.

Within minutes, his entire day - hell, his entire week - had been packed for him, with all the essentials of clothes and everything else he would need.

He had almost forgotten about the phone in his shaking hands, but now he just stared at the screen for a moment. His fingers were trembling so badly that just unlocking the phone was a challenge in itself.

Jimmy and Sassy were on his lockscreen...a picture that Colette had once sent him when he had been away for one of his races...the two of them laying on top of her on their couch...

Every other time Max saw the photo, it made his heart do a little funny jump. Now though, it made his chest ache. It felt like a sharp stabbing pain, and for a moment, he just sat there and stared at the picture.

Then he called her.

It rang. And it rang, and it rang again. With each passing second, that horrible knot in his stomach tightened a little more. With every ring of the bell, it got harder to breathe.

Finally, to Max’s immense and enormous relief, the line connected.

"Hey, Maxie. I put you on speaker," Victoria's voice came over the phone, sounding surprisingly calm.

A shiver of something resembling dread ran through Max, at the sound of Victoria’s voice. But he pushed past the feeling.

His thoughts were once again running wild - was it a bad sign that Colette wasn’t the one speaking to him? Or was he just overreacting..?

“Hey,” he forced the word out past the lump in his throat. "How are you feeling?" he asked, pleading for Colette's voice. Was it selfish that he just wanted to hear her tell him that everything was going to be okay?

"Better now," Colette's voice came, sounding slightly hoarse.

The words were like a shot of adrenaline, and for a moment, Max actually felt a little lightheaded. “Liefje.” He closed his eyes, just hearing her voice sending another wave of relief through him. “Are you okay? How is Bébé?”

"Bébé has decided that they would rather be born today, so I would suggest you hurry up," Victoria said drily.

"Seems like the kid already inherited Max's need for speed," Charles quipped. "How are you doing, Coco?"

"I'm good," Colette's voice replied, and Max could only imagine the eye-roll that was currently happening. He knew his girlfriend, and he had no doubt that she had been glaring at Victoria ever since the phone was put on speaker.

"Where are you?" she asked, her voice suddenly turning much softer. "You're coming, right?"

"Coming," he assured her, his heart aching. "We're coming, I promise."

"I know. I’m not worried." She sounded like she meant it, but Max could easily imagine the anxiety in her eyes.

"You'd better not worry," Charles said, and then added, "I’m keeping him from doing anything dumb."

Max shot Charles a dirty look at that, bt he swallowed down the annoyed protest and focused back on Colette instead. “Just…hold on a little longer, okay?”

"It's not like I can go anywhere else," Colette replied, her voice slightly amused. "I’ll keep our little speed demon in there a little lo...." She broke off and let out a quiet hiss of pain, her voice once again cut off by what Max suspected to be a particularly painful contraction.

“Colette,” he said sharply, all kinds of emotions washing over him, one by one. “Liefje, just…just breathe through it, okay?”

There was a second of panting, then, he heard her take a deep breath. “Yeah. Yeah, I’m okay,” she finally said. “Just…hurts like hell.”

He swallowed and clenched his free hand tightly into a fist, fighting against the urge to just jump out of the car and start running towards the airport.

Colette being in pain was not something he could deal with.

He heard her take a few more deep breaths, and he just sat there, waiting and listening and feeling absolutely useless.

"How long until you get here?" she asked after a moment, her voice breathless. He could see her in his mind, his sweet girl, sitting on the bed and clutching her belly as another contraction hit her.

"We're not even at the airport yet," he told her, and damn it, why were his eyes suddenly burning. "We’ll get there as soon as we can, okay? Just...hold on a little longer."

"What your dad said..." Colette said with a shaky voice.

"I know," he said simply, the grief raw in his voice. Neither of them were ever really going to get over the two babies they had lost. They had learnt to live with the pain, they had dealt with the heartbreak an grief...but it was always going to be scar for them.

"Max, if something…" she began, her voice a little wobbly. He could tell that she was crying, by the way her breathing got a little more hitched and ragged.

But she suddenly cut off and gasped, letting out an even breath. Another contraction..."Hey, nothing is gonna happen," he quickly said, trying to soothe her. "Nothing. I'll be there soon. I'll be there before you know, and our child will meet their parents. We will be fine, we will get through this. You, and me. Together."

"If something happens," Colette continues. "If..."

"No," he cut her off, the word coming out as a growl. "Nothing is gonna happen. You will not talk that way. You’re going to deliver a gorgeous and healthy baby, and I won’t hear anything else."

"Max..." she protested, but Max wasn’t having it.

"You’re not going anywhere," he said firmly, putting as much steel in his voice as he could. "You will be fine. Our baby will be fine, and I will be there soon and I will hold your hand and you can threaten to geld me and all of it will be okay. Just breathe.” 

He could hear the sound of her breathing, deep and even. She was trying to steady it, and Max gripped his phone tighter. He didn’t know if he was trying to hold himself together, or if he was trying to hold on to the sound of her voice.

The seconds ticked by, and then another contraction hit, and he heard her gasp out another ragged breath. Max felt like he was going to crawl out of his own skin. The idea of her in pain was like an invisible knife twisting a little deeper in his gut, each time.

"We need to go," Charles said suddenly. "We need to get into the plane." The car slowed down at that moment. "Coco, listen to me. I am going to be absolutely fucking furious with you if something happens to you," Charles told her fiercely. 

"Trust me," Colette’s voice said, sounding slightly tired. "I am very, very motivated to stay alive."

That was good. That was a good sign. If she was still being sarcastic and even a little bit cheeky…it was good.

"Just hold on," he told her again, the familiar feeling of helplessness seeping into his bones. "Just keep hanging on, for me. I love you."

“I love you too,” the words were as immediate and as fast as the sunrise each morning. "Hurry up, dammit."

"I’m trying," he replied, his voice hoarse. "I’m trying. We’re at the airport now. We’ll get there as fast as we can-" he had to stop, when he heard her let out another pained gasping sound, as another contraction clearly hit her hard.

“Goddamn,” he exclaimed, all of his muscles tense with the urge to do something. He wanted to help her, he wanted to be there to comfort her…but more than anything,  he was terrified of losing her. "Liefje, just keep breathing, okay? Breathe and stay calm."

"I’m trying to," her voice was breathless, and he knew that she was probably trying hard to fight the urge to cry out. Oh God, he hated that. He hated seeing her in pain, he loathed feeling this utterly useless.

"Go. Love you," she told him.

"I love you," he told her emphatically, wanting to say something more, but then Charles impatiently gestured at him to hurry up and get out of the car. "I...I’ll see you soon, okay? Just hang on, okay?"

"Yeah," he could tell that she was trying even harder to control her voice, trying to put on a calm and steady front for his benefit. "Just..." she cut off and let out a gasp, another contraction evidently hitting her hard. "...just hurry up before this baby decides to make their way out before you arrive, okay?"

"I will," he promised through gritted teeth. "I will, goddammit, I will, just…hang on."

He heard Colette’s pained panting, and each of her breaths was like a stab in the gut.He hated having to hang up on her

Everything in him rebelled at that. How could he, how could he possibly abandon her like that, how could he let her take on this pain and fear all by herself, without him there to hold her hand...but goddamnit, he had no choice.

He took a shuddering breath and pushed past the urge to scream, to slam his fist into something, anything. His mind was a whirlwind of emotions, ranging from the desperate need to get to her, to overwhelming panic, to anger at the universe for forcing them apart and for putting her through this pain.

Into the plane they went…it was probably the shortest amount of time between entering a plane and taking off Max had ever experienced. 

Before too long they were up in the air, flying towards Nice.

The minutes ticked by, each one passing by like a century. Max would sit in restless agitation at his seat, his mind racing back and forth. Every thought and memory came back to Colette. He just wanted to be at her side, he just wanted everything to be okay…

And instead he would be stuck on this plane for 6 hours.

He would be stuck on this goddamn plane for six hours. Six hours, each one of them filled with the knowledge that the love of his life was giving birth to their child, and he was not there to support her, to hold her hand and reassure her that everything was okay.

It was driving him absolutely insane. He couldn’t take it, he just wanted to be there, with her. He could vividly picture her, sitting in the hospital bed and gripping the rails, her face screwed up in pain as she fought through another contraction. And he was not there to comfort her.

"Maman is with her. Your sister is with her. Lorenzo and Arthur too." Charles said at that moment. “We aren't there but everybody else is."

"How can you be this calm?" Max asked him, dragging a hand through sweat damp hair.

"Don't mistake calm for not being worried," Charles said evenly, his eyes tracking Max's restless pacing of the plane. "I am worried. For her, for you and for the little one. But freaking out isn't gonna do anyone any favours right now."

"I know,” Max said, his voice still strangled tight with stress. He just couldn't get any of the images out of his mind - her struggling and fighting her way through the pain, looking more vulnerable and pale than he had ever seen her...and he was not there.

“Besides, I shouted at Ferrari’s PR and got it out of my system, so currently, I am feeling quite calm.” Charles said darkly. “I imagine that’s going to change again when I am sure that Colette and the baby are alright.”

Max just stared at him. Charles had done what?

If there was a religion that Charles Leclerc believed in then it was Ferrari.

Charles Leclerc was their golden boy. Their Il Predestinato. There was no good-natured fobbing to be had about Ferrari regardless of what issues there had been had through the years, and there had been a lot.

Charles worshipped Ferrari like a malevolent goddess. He didn’t want to hear any criticism of his team and Max had given up on that a very long time ago. 

Charles and Colette both could be the most stubborn people Max had ever match. The only one who could match their stubbornness were each other. 

"You did what?" Max stared at him, utterly flabbergasted. Charles was an absolute Ferrari fan and loyal to the very core…why the hell would he yell at the PR people?

"Why...? What did they do?"

"They weren't even going to tell me that something was wrong with Colette," Charles said darkly. "I knew it. I knew that something was off. But they didn't say anything. It was one of Red Bull's PR Staff that got me out of the cooldown room. Ferrari wouldn't have said anything to me. Ferrari didn't want me to leave either. They wanted to debrief, they wanted me to give interviews,"

Max had to resist the urge to swear. He had been so focused on the fact that he was not with Colette that he hadn't even processed the fact that Ferrari had actually kept her labour a secret from Charles, simply to make him stay and do his goddamn job for them.

"You know that that is not normal, right?" he asked him drily. "I am not telling you that everything is perfect at Red Bull but Christian would never fucking stand for that."

"You know I never expected it," Charles told him, his mouth a thin hard line. "We are the drivers. We are the stars. But we come second. First and foremost, we are assets to the team. What Ferrari wants, Ferrari gets. We drive, we get podiums, we hold the trophies, and we smile for the cameras. Everything else comes second. It doesn’t matter to them. To them, only the trophies matter. "

"That's what they want," Max told him, anger seeping into his voice. "But that's not how it should be. Ferrari is wrong. If something is wrong with your loved ones, they have no right to keep it from you like that. Especially not for the sake of a goddamn interview."

"I know," Charles said, his lips thin with bitterness. "But there's not much I can do about it, is there? We may be the top drivers on the grid, but we drive the car that the teams give us. There's only so much that we can do when the team has power over pretty much every aspect of our career. And believe me, I am going to pay a fucking price for doing what I did. I just don't care at all. It's Colette," he said sharply. "I love all my siblings. I do. I love Lorenzo and Arthur. I would do everything for them. But they aren't my twin. They aren't the second half of me," Charles said simply. "Ferrari be damned."

Max hadn't thought that he was ever going to hear these words out of Charles' mouth but here they were.

"What the fuck did Jos say by the way? What did Coco mean?" Charles demanded.

"He gave an interview to Sky Sports," Max said, fury still embering deep in his gut.

"Of course he did." Charles said, not sounding surprised at all. "What did he say?"

"Confirmed the relationship...and the pregnancy," Max said clenching his teeth. "And if that wasn't enough...he made a...comment about how it had taken us long enough to have a baby."

There was a sharp indrawn breath as Charles absorbed that. "...What?" Charles said after a moment, his voice strangled. "...he made that comment in public? Are - are you serious?"

"I never told him about the two...miscarriages," Max said quietly. "I couldn't deal with whatever well meant advice he was going to have...but I...We lost two babies," Max said weakly. "My father went out there and confirmed our relationship and the pregnancy without talking to either of us. He just made that decision because it's "ridiculous" that we kept it a secret for so long. An it’s making me furious. This wasn't his decision to make. This was ours."

"Yes," Charles said, his jaw clenching. "It was. Your decision. Nobody else’s. He had absolutely no right to do that. Goddamn it, I have never liked that man, but I've never had the urge to punch him as much as I do this very moment."

"You and me both," Max said. The anger he was feeling would have been burning through him like a damn inferno if he hadn't been so worried about Colette.

"This should have come from us," Max repeated quietly. "Not from anybody else."

"It still can come from you," Charles said.

Max paused, looking up at him. "Are you saying we should..." he began uncertainly.

"You want to tell the entire world that you love my sister and that she is having your baby? You have an Instagram account and a phone with an internet connection," Charles said drily. "Tell them the truth. Your truth."

Max opened his mouth and then closed it again. Charles had a point. It was obvious what the news was going to be now if people had seen Jos's interview.

But he wanted to be the one to tell the world. He wanted it to be on his terms. He wanted it to be public but on his public terms. Not his father's.

"Are you ever going to ask my sister to marry you?" Charles asked him suddenly.

The question caught him completely off guard. "...What?" He said blankly, stunned by the change of the conversation.

"You gave her a ring when you were both 18 that you both insisted was only a promise ring," Charles said drily. "Are you ever going to replace it with the real thing?"

He thought back to that ring that still sat on Colette's finger to this day. A simply gold band with a tiny heart-shaped diamond.

He had given it to her in 2016, after his very first Grand Prix win in Spain. He had gone out and bought it that very same day to be exact.

He had bought Victoira a handbag the first time he had scored his championship points...but the first time he had won...he had bought Colette that ring.

"Apparently the baby is only going to have your surname too, because you have an agreement," Charles continued. "Do I actually want to know what that agreement was?"

"We were 18. Both our father's would have probably killed us, if we came to them and told them that we were engaged," Max said with a sigh. The Leclerc's had always been supportive of their relationship but Hervè Leclerc had very much thought that both Colette and him were far too young to get married. 

Jos on the other hand...Max didn't even want to imagine that screaming fit.  "So I gave her that ring and we agreed that..."

"You agreed that..." Charles repeated slowly, silently urging him to continue.

Max let out a deep sigh and dragged a hand through his already messy hair, mussing it up even more. "We agreed that we didn't really need a piece of paper to tell us what we already knew," he said simply. "Colette and I had been together for 6 years at that point, we already knew and accepted that we were going to be together for the rest of our lives. It was just a matter of when. So we decided that we didn't need a damn piece of paper to know that we were committed to each other. We already knew that, without a doubt," Max said simply. "It was a promise ring. To love and to cherish, till death us do part. One day we would do it properly, but till then...that ring was a promise."

Charles stared at him. "Let me get this straight. You have been married to my sister for 10 years?" he asked him sharply.

Max winced. Okay. Put like that, it sounded kinda bad. "We never had the actual wedding," he said sheepishly. "We both know it wasn't necessary for us, so...we kinda just...never got around to it."

"I mean, I did ask your father for her hand in marriage when it was clear that he wasn't going to be there...when we eventually did it properly...but...for us that ring was… It was more than enough," Max said quietly. "I knew damn well that I would be with her for the rest of my life. She knew it. We both knew it. And that ring was a symbol between us that sealed the deal. We both knew that it was going to be for forever and always. It was a promise. A promise to always stay by each other’s side. No matter how badly things fell apart around us. No matter how much the world wanted to tear us to apart. We were going to stay together, come hell or high water. We didn't need a paper to prove that to us or the rest of the world," Max said firmly.

Charles stared at him for a couple of long moments, processing this. Max was well aware that, from an outside perspective, it might sound weird. That they had been so young, but so utterly certain that they were going to spend their lives together.

But he and Colette had been together for years. And he had seen how strongly they had bonded over the years, seen what they had been able to deal with as a team, as one, and how they had come through every single thing that the life had thrown at them together.

"You two are utterly ridiculous," Charles finally said drily. "You didn't get engaged because as far as you two were concerned you already got married years ago."

Max winced a little bit and couldn't really refute it. If he were to be honest, he'd have admit it did sound utterly ridiculous, when Charles spelled it out like that.

But that just...that was how badly they had known right from the very beginning that this was it for them. They didn't need a piece of paper to tell them what they already knew.

"I'll ask her properly," he promised Charles. "I already got the ring. But Colette doesn't want to overshadow Lorenzo and Charlotte and I knew that she wasn't going to want to have a big party while pregnant so I figured I would just wait."

Charles was slightly taken aback by his words, before he gave a small smile. "She'll definitely say yes, you know," he said, the corner of his eyes crinkling with affection.

Max smiled in return. His heart ached with the thought of her. "I hope so," he said quietly, feeling like there was a hole in his chest where his heart was supposed to be. "I really, really hope so."

[allhopesforlove]

Farewell, my love

Summary: In the midst of a battle, y/n realizes that their only way to victory would be through her sacrifice. Determined with her decision to lead an army of soldiers to the frontlines, there was nothing that could hold her back. Because she was sure that if she continued living on she wouldn’t survive any more of what was blooming between Elain and Azriel.

Pairing: Azriel x reader, Azriel x Elain

Word count: 2.2k

Warnings: Angst, self-hate (idk tbh pls forgive me)

part 2 part 3

———————

“Someone has to lead them to the frontline to allow an opening for us.”

Freezing, thats all she felt. Her blood stopped rushing and burning in her veins, no sound and no pounding. Just a serene calm washing over her as she let the wind breeze through her blood and mud smeared hair. Ah, she thought, this is it, this is where it all ends. She was aware. She thought all of them were aware of what would happen to the group taking responsibility to charge full on towards Hybern’s forces. Without a doubt, she decided, she would do it. No second thought. It had to be her.

She closed her eyes, took a deep breath and opened her eyes to only see what made her take the decision of bringing an end to all of it herself.

There, in all of the chaos, in all of the war afflicted damage around them, in all the sorrow and pain, in all the helplessness and suffering, there, she only saw those hazel golden eyes. Those eyes she saw before sleeping and waking up when morning came. Those eyes she was mesmerized by, eyes that always managed to take away all the pain in mere seconds, eyes that made the pounding in her head stop, eyes that promised hope.

Though, they were the eyes that never seemed to look at her, lingering at the doe brown eyes of the one he was cradling to his chest.

In all her 458 years of living, only three times she saw his eyes filled with such worry. The first being when Mor was captured. The second being Rhys’ sacrifice to keep Velaris safe from Amarantha’s wrath. And the third, well the third time was the moment he realized that they actually might not be able to win this war. And that he possibly could lose her.

The ringing in her ears stopped and her vision became clear again, as the sight made her decision final, brought her back to the reality they all were facing now.

“Rhys.. are you aware of what you are suggesting right now.. this.. fuck.. this is a whole on suicide mission..”

silence passed through and then in an almost hushed but assertive voice

“I know, Cassian. I am .. god I am aware. However, this is the only way we could outmaneuver them. We are already outnumbered as it is.”

And the warlord knew. Hell, he might be the best strategist his court ever had. With all his experiences over the years as a general of the Night Court, with all his knowledge, he knew that what Rhys was saying may be their only shot at victory. But he was in denial, because it had to be someone amongst them as they barely stood in a circle. All of them carrying wounds of different degree.

He looked over towards Mor’s blood smeared face supporting Emerie with her left arm, as the latter took a deep blow on her right wing. He winced at that as he knew how sacred wings were to them. He felt for Emerie in that moment, but was brought back by a soft voice, he might have not heard if he didn’t focus just enough

“Its just as I have seen… it wasn’t this clear, but, but I think I saw how this will go, which is why I agree with what Rhysand is saying.”

Its not that she was the first person who spoke up after Rhys’s declaration or the thoughts everyone else was too scared of to voice besides Cassian, that surprised y/n. It also wasn’t that Elain saw a vision and didn’t tell a soul about it, well other than besides maybe the one at her side looking at her as if he already knew of this assertion.

No, what surprised y/n was the one second Elain blinked over at her, a mere glance that made y/n’s blood boil again. A second which confirmed that it was obviously her that Elain saw. And what more was that Azriel probably knew, he probably knew and didn’t care to tell her. The shadowsinger did all but not dare to look her in the eyes, strengthening his grip around Elains waist and kicking some imaginary stones on the ground.

It made y/n sure in her decision. It had to be her, with all that was left of her, she had to be the one to do it. She knew it, Elain knew it and, this she wasnt sure of, but Azriel too probably knew it.

Without dwelling too much on what consequences Elains silence on her vision brought to them, Rhys was determined that it had to be him. It was his duty as their High Lord, as the most powerful being in all of Prythian, as a father to his beautiful child, as a devoted man to his only High Lady and as a loyal brother and friend to his circle, to the people of Prythian. Maybe this way, he would finally be able to forgive himself for all that he has and has not done, maybe this way he could finally stop the storm that was still alive inside of him.

With one final decision he looked over his circle, the people who were closest to him, for whose happiness he would even sacrifice himself

“Cassian, you and Amren will go over to Summer’s side, I already informed Thesan. You will lead our men from the right side at my command, after I charge with all the men left at our side-“

“You will what?!” He felt Feyres fury burning through him, “Absolutely not Rhysand, you will do no such thing!”

“Feyre, darling, there is no other way, I love you and I love our son so much that I am willing to pay this price so that all of you can-“

“You can go to hell with all of that bullshit-“

“That was kinda the plan”

“Shut up, this is no time to joke! Tell Thesan we have a change of plan! No one is going to play the sacrificial lamb, we will find another way.”

But there was no other way, y/n was sure of that, as was Elain. As the pair still continued to bicker, y/n glanced over to the shadowsinger, just to, maybe, she didn’t know, but all she ever wanted was for him to see her. Maybe it was a too wishful thought, maybe she was too naive to believe that in her possibly last moments he would finally spare her a glance. Because deep down she already knew that she was undeserving of his attention, undeserving of all his affection and love.

He deserved someone like Elain, someone who even in her darkest moments didn’t break, someone strong like her, someone whose softness and calmness was serenity to his soul. Unlike her own pathetic self waddling around the Shadowsinger to get his attention for decades only to exchange mere friendly gazes and words that she decided she was content with. But still, even for all that she was, she was thankful of one thing.

Loving Azriel.

Even if it plagued her and drove her mad at times, she was thankfuk that she got to love him at least from a distance. That she got to experience all the perfection that is all Azriel. From his soft dimples that appeared when Cassian was being his silly self to his inspiring determination to win a brawl. Or, she remembered, his calming voice that still brought chills to her when thinking of it. She hadn’t really heard what he said to her because all that she was focused on was the way Azriels lips were moving, accompanied by that voice that made all of her being tremble. That made her heart flutter faster and her face a little redder.

Oh, how she loved these little moments she had with him, these few minutes she had him all to herself until someone else got his attention.

In those moments she allowed herself to dream, she made herself believe that Azriel too looked at her with a lovers gaze, lied to her heart that he too wanted her. But reality always hit, whenever it was that Mor, and in recent years, Elain walked into the room. Reality was brutally honest which is why she never dared to take the next step, she knew her place.

Or maybe she was just a coward, because y/n knew, she knew the shadowsinger rejecting her would hurt more than what she had with him now. She’d rather love him from a distance without his knowledge than make a fool of herself and risk never seeing him again.

With one final gaze towards her Shadowsinger, she sighed and finally spoke up:

“It wont be any good to just argue and waste our time. Someone clearly has to do it and to be frank I think it would be the wisest if it was me-“

“y/n no-“

“Please just listen to what I have to say Mor. I have trained for decades with Cassian and the shadowsinger, I know how to lead an army and I know my way with the soldiers. Sending Rhysand, Cassian or really any of you guys there would be the dumbest decision. We need you at the back, the people need you. And besides, we have to be honest with ourselves… all of you, well not all of you, but you have to understand that you all eventually would want to have your own families”

she glanced over at her friends, Emerie and Mor, Cassian, Feyre and Rhys

“a bright future I can see right before my eyes”

and finally at Azriels and Elains direction.

“It would be unfair for me to keep living on when you all have already found the person you want to spend the rest of your lives with and frankly-“

“That doesn’t make you any less deserving of living though.”

There goes her shadowsinger, mindful of others as always. He was scowling and panting as if he was holding off words that suffocated him. This bewildered look on his face made her heart clench but she had to step in before he could say anything more.

So she dared to look him in his eyes and with all her strength she mustered up her coldest stare she had

“You dont get to decide a thing on my life shadowsinger.”

Silence. And then

“You won’t get anywhere by trying to talk me out of it. We are already wasting so much time as it is and I have already made up my mind. I will lead them.”

Azriel wanted to say more, to tell her and convince her that it should not be her, that she still had so much left to do with her life. He remembered a time before the war, before everything, when they sat together after a training session and just talked about anything and everything. They weren’t the closest friends, no, but y/n was someone he trusted and whose company he enjoyed.

On that specific day she told him of how she dreamed of seeing the colbalt blue sea, how she wanted to just spend all day in flower fields and enjoy all the types of flowers Spring had to offer or see the enormous libraries that resided in the Day Court. She wanted to travel all of Prythian and beyond and she told him with such glee that the memory of it almost made him step forward and volunteer to take y/n’s place.

But a squeezing hand pulled him back from his thoughts. He looked down towards his hands and saw a mismatch of two clasping hands. His own scarred ones and Elain’s. His beautiful Elain.

And he remembered all the promises he made her just before this, how he would finally propose to her despite what opinions Rhysand had, how he would give her anything she asked of him.

He looked her in the eyes, although teary, she looked at him as if she was determined. She wouldn’t let him take that step forward, and frankly, he was flattered by her reaction. He finally had someone looking after him and caring for his wellbeing. Although he hadn’t dared to show all of him to her, he was content that Elain accepted him the way he was.

Elain loved him for who he was, well, for those parts she only knew of. But that was enough for him, because thats more than anyone has ever offered him.

He smiled at her and although he didn’t want to look, he turned his head back to y/n’s direction. He saw that she was arguing with the other’s, but a sudden ringing in his ears prevented him from hearing anything that was being said. The only thing he was aware of was his heart thumping faster and faster by the second and suddenly he heard another heartbeat.

It was like everything around him vanished, muffled voices and a blurry vision. And an intense smell of warm floral notes, but it wasn’t Elains, no.

Suddenly all he could feel was a deep rooted longing, similar to the one he had been feeling all those years, and fear. So much fear it nearly made him fall to the ground. He was confused. What was happening to him?

Unbeknownst to him he tightened his grip around Elain’s hand which made her wince

“Azriel are you okay?” Her voice brought him back and he tried to find the words for what has just transpired but Mor’s sudden cry made him look at y/n’s direction again

“Please dont do this y/n, please, I can’t lose you, I can’t lose my sister, someone… just someone please help.”

While Emerie , also with tears in her eyes, tried to calm her, something inside Azriel made him anxious and panic. It felt like those moments where he was on the brink of an anxiety attack, and his heart was racing so fast he felt like he was going to puke.

And this time, when he looked at y/n she was right looking back at him with wide eyes. And there, although small, he could see the first golden fibers of what seemed to be forming into one string connecting him with her.

———————

Part 2 Part 3

A/n: Ahh this was my first time writing ever 😭 I hope you guys enjoy it. Also, I would love some feedback :) Make sure to tell me if you’d like another part 🫶🏼