#celebrity female anchor

[shivblog111]

Celebrity Female Anchors in Mumbai: Bringing Events to Life

Anchoring Services in Mumbai Why They Count Mumbai, frequently appertained to as the megacity of dreams, is also the center of grand fests and high- profile events. From elaborate marriages to star- speckled commercial functions, the megacity hosts a myriad of events that demand exceptional association and indefectible prosecution. This is where the part of an anchor becomes necessary. A womanish anchor in Mumbai is n't only a presenter but also an imitator, middleman, and occasionally indeed a extremity director. Her liabilities range from drinking guests, introducing speakers, and managing stage dynamics, to handling improvisational situations with poise and charm. The presence of a seasoned anchor ensures that the event progresses easily and remains engaging for the followership. significance of womanish Anchors for marriage Events marriages in Mumbai are synonymous with majesty and extravagance. They are n't just observances; they're fests of love, culture, and heritage. A womanish anchor in Mumbai for a marriage event is frequently preferred for her capability to connect with different cult and manage the event's inflow in a culturally sensitive manner. Her part is critical in making sure that the guests are engaged and entertained, the rituals are admired, and the overall vibe of the marriage remains joyful.

[graynvmbr]

The Alchemy | Harry Potter

pairing: harry james potter x female!reader (no use of y/n)

summary: inspired by one line from taylor swift's "the alchemy"

word count: 1.3k

The May sun dipped low on the horizon, bathing the Quidditch pitch in hues of gold and pink. The air was crisp but warm, a perfect evening to cap off an exhilarating match. The Gryffindor team had just claimed the Quidditch Cup in a match so intense it left the crowd breathless and on the edge of their seats. Harry stood at the centre of the pitch, his fingers wrapped tightly around the golden Snitch, his heart pounding not just from the game but from something far greater.

Around him, chaos reigned. Teammates tackled him in celebration, red and gold banners fluttered wildly in the stands, and the roar of the crowd was deafening. Yet Harry barely registered any of it. His focus was elsewhere.

He scanned the crowd, his green eyes darting over the sea of jubilant faces until they found yours. You were making your way down the steps of the stands, your bright eyes locked on his. Your radiant smile made his chest tighten. Unlike the bundled-up days of winter matches, tonight you wore a light jumper, the sleeves casually pushed up, your hair catching the last golden rays of sunlight. Harry’s breath hitched as he watched you wave at him, your pride and joy evident in every line of your face.

Without hesitation, Harry broke away from the throng of well-wishers and teammates. He brushed past congratulatory pats on the back and jubilant shouts, his sole focus on reaching you. As soon as you were within arm’s reach, he swept you into his arms, spinning you around in a move so carefree it felt like you two were the only ones on the pitch. Your laughter rang out, a sound that made Harry’s world feel whole.

“You did it, Harry!” you exclaimed as he set you down, your hands instinctively moving to cup his face, your thumbs brushing the dirt smudges on his cheekbones.

“We did it,” he corrected, his voice low. His forehead pressed gently against yours, and his grin was as breathless as yours. “You’re my good luck charm.”

You rolled your eyes playfully, your hands dropping to his chest, where his heart thundered beneath your palm. “Pretty sure it was all you. That dive at the end? Incredible.”

Harry tilted his head, his expression softening. “Couldn’t have done it without knowing you were watching.”

Before you could reply, he kissed you—a fleeting yet tender touch that sent warmth blooming through your chest. The crowd around you erupted in cheers again, as if Gryffindor’s victory was amplified by their captain’s public display of affection. You pulled back, your cheeks flushed, but Harry didn’t let go. Instead, his arms tightened around you, anchoring you to the moment.

—

The Gryffindor common room was alive with celebration by the time you returned to the castle. Someone had bewitched the lanterns to float and glow in Gryffindor colours, and music could be heard out of the old muggle radio someone had brought. Butterbeer flowed freely, and the room buzzed with stories of the match.

Harry, hoisted onto the shoulders of his teammates, looked every bit the hero. His messy hair glinted in the light, and the grin on his face was pure joy. You stood off to the side with Hermione, sipping butterbeer as Ron regaled a group with his animated retelling of the Quaffles he kept out of the Gryffindor rings.

“You’re the only one who can get him to leave this madness,” she joked, nudging you with her elbow.

As if he heard her, Harry’s eyes found yours across the room. His smile softened, the noise of the room fading as his attention honed in on you. Excusing himself from his teammates, he made his way through the crowd, his gaze never leaving yours.

When he reached you, he held out a hand. “Dance with me.”

You raised an eyebrow, amused. “We’re in the middle of a celebration, Harry. Everyone’s watching.”

He grinned, unfazed. “Doesn’t matter, let them watch. This is our moment.”

Laughing, you let him pull you into the middle of the room. The energy around you hummed with excitement, but in his arms, the chaos melted away. He wrapped his arms around your waist, pulling you close, swaying gently to the rhythm of the room.

“You’re ridiculous,” you teased, resting your head against his chest.

“And you love it,” he replied, his lips brushing the top of your hair.

You smiled to yourself, savouring the quiet intimacy in the middle of the party. The world fell away as you danced, and when Harry whispered, “I love you,” it wasn’t just words. It was a promise, woven into every beat of his heart that you felt beneath your cheek.

—

As the party wound down and the last of the laughter and cheers faded into the evening, the atmosphere in the common room shifted. The music softened, the lanterns dimmed, and the once lively chatter turned into quiet conversations. The Gryffindor common room, still glowing with a warm, celebratory aura, now felt peaceful, as if it had wrapped itself in a comfortable, familiar embrace.

You and Harry, both a little tired but content, found a quiet spot by the fire, away from the last few lingering guests. The flames crackled softly, casting flickering shadows on the walls as you sat together on the couch, your fingers entwined.

Harry leaned back, his head resting against the armrest, and you nestled beside him, your legs curled up underneath you. The silence between you was comfortable, the kind that came from years of knowing each other inside and out. You could hear the soft hum of the castle around you—the distant sound of footsteps in the hallways, the occasional flicker of magic, the calming night air that seemed to settle in after the frenzy of the match.

Harry shifted slightly, his eyes drifting to the fire as he let out a content sigh. "You know, it still feels unreal. All of it—the Cup, the victory... and you, here with me."

You smiled, resting your head on his shoulder, feeling the steady rhythm of his heartbeat beneath your cheek. "It’s real, Harry," you whispered, "and it’s exactly where we’re meant to be."

His hand found yours again, his thumb brushing over the back of your hand in a gentle caress. “I’m not sure how I got so lucky,” he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. “You’ve always been there, from the very start. Even when things seemed impossible.”

Your heart swelled at his words, and you lifted your head to look at him, your fingers gently tracing the line of his jaw. “You’ve always had a way of making everything feel possible, Harry. Even when the odds were against us.”

A soft smile tugged at his lips, and he leaned forward, kissing your forehead gently. “And you’ve always been my home.”

The room felt warmer now, as though your love had filled it completely, and you rested against him once more, the contentment of the day settling over you both. “I think we’ve earned some quiet time,” you said, closing your eyes for a moment, savouring the peace of being together.

Harry’s hand gently stroked your hair as he pulled you closer, his arms wrapping around you in a protective, comforting embrace. “Just us. No rush. We can take all the time we want.”

And so, as the last remnants of the celebration faded away, the two of you remained there in the quiet of the common room, surrounded by the warmth of your love. There was no need for grand gestures or loud celebrations now—just the two of you, together, in the soft glow of the fire, with the rest of the world waiting patiently outside.

In that moment, it was perfect. And nothing else mattered.

back to my harry potter masterlist

[avocado-writing]

Astarion x Reader

Astarion x Mage Apprentice!Reader* & Pt2*

Mistaken Identity

heart, home*

chilly

Astarion x Rogue!Tav Headcanons

Astarion’s Pre-Cazador Love

Virgin!Reader Feeding*

Gentle Cuddles

Pampered

Scotophobia

Anchor

Fangless

Training*

Where He’d Take You In The City

although I was burning, you’re the only light*

Gale x Reader

Good Boy* & pt2

Karlach x Reader

Burn Heals*

Halsin x Reader

Sneaking Off*

Bred*

Wyll x Reader

Giving In & Part 2

Teasing*

Misc

Kiddo (Gortash & Reader, platonic)

Lists

Supportive Headcanons

Shy Reader Kisses

Reader Often Ignored

Short Reader

Ascended Fiend Raphael HCs*

Dirty Headcanons*

Socially Anxious Reader

Companions help Reader in Pain

Pregnancy & Parenthood Headcanons

Reader Waiting for Rejection

Reader Worried Nobody Would Want Them

Reader Wearing His Clothes

Roadtrip AU

Comforting Headcanons

Trouble Sleeping

Reader Who Hides Their Face & Female Companions

Reader Who Says They’re Glad They Met Him

Reader With Skin Condition

Reactions to Calling Companions Mummy/Daddy*

Reactions to Companions Calling You Mummy/Daddy*

Reactions to You Hiding an Injury

Reader Sad About Being Ignored

BG3 Men Reactions When You Tease Them*

Companions Realising They’re In Love With You Mid-Battle & Reverse

Companion Reactions to a Reader Who Can Change Sex

Modern AU Picnic in the Park

Bard!Reader Serenading Them

Reactions When You’re Self-Conscious About Your Laugh

Halsin & Astarion Realising You’re Strong

Reactions When They See You Self-Destructing

Birthday Celebrations*

When You Think Your Love Is Unrequited

Reactions When You Say Their Love Will Pass

Reactions To You Drinking The Elixir of the Colossus*

How Female Companions Go Down*

Reactions When You’re a Selkie

Reactions When You Become Dominant*

Companions Help You Get Fit

Rainy Day Cuddles

Reactions to a Reader Who Loves to Cook

BG3 Ladies & Breast Play*

Reactions to You Coming Out as Ace

BG3 Ladies’ Reaction to a New Facial Scar

Pregnancy Cravings

How the BG3 Ladies Cuddle

Companions Falling For You Mid-Performance

How the BG3 Ladies Talk in Bed

BG3 Men & Reader Who Can't Read

Reactions to Awkward Comforting

Saying You Love Them Mid-Argument

[its-avalon-08]

bound by heartbreak (cl16)

✦ pairing - charles leclerc x female!reader

✦ genre - coping with death, angst, alot of tears, happy ending

summary: bound by tragedy, charles leclerc and y/n bianchi, sister to the late jules bianchi, find solace in each other. on the somber anniversary of jules’ passing, their grief collides, pushing them to the brink. as they navigate the complexities of loss and guilt, their love and support become their only lifeline.

The weight of the world seemed to press down on Charles as he stared out of the Monaco apartment window. The city, usually a vibrant tapestry of lights and life, appeared muted, a reflection of the somber day. Today was the anniversary of Jules Bianchi’s death, a scar that wouldn’t heal, a wound that reopened with every tick of the clock.

His phone buzzed, pulling him from the abyss. It was Y/N, Jules’ younger sister, his anchor in the storm. "Hey, are you okay bebe?" her voice was a gentle caress, a soft whisper in the chaos of his mind.

"I’m trying cherie," he managed, his voice barely audible.

There was a long pause, the kind that held more meaning than words. "I know," she replied, her voice trembling slightly. "I know charlie. I just want you to know that Maman is having a lunch tonight to celebrate Jules. He would want you to come." Charles swallowed a lump in his throat and then agreed. The loss was unbearable but Y/N made everything better.

They had shared a bond forged in grief, a silent understanding that transcended words. Y/N was more than just Jules’ sister; she was his confidante, his solace, his love. Their relationship, born from tragedy, had blossomed into an oasis of support in the desert of their shared pain.

Later that evening, they sat on the terrace, the city lights twinkling like distant stars. A gentle breeze carried the salty scent of the Mediterranean. Y/N reached out, her hand finding his.

"Remember that time Jules taught us how to make pasta?" she asked, a small smile playing on her lips.

A wave of nostalgia washed over Charles. He could almost hear Jules’ infectious laughter, see his eyes sparkling with mischief. "Yeah," he replied, his voice thick with emotion. "He was a terrible chef, but we had fun."

They laughed, a bittersweet sound that echoed the complexity of their feelings. Sharing memories of Jules was their way of keeping him alive, of honoring his spirit.

As the night deepened, a silence fell between them. It was a heavy silence, filled with unspoken words and unyielding grief. Y/N stood up and walked to the edge of the terrace. She looked out at the vast expanse of the sea, her silhouette a stark contrast against the city lights.

Charles watched her, his heart aching. He knew that look, the mask of composure slipping, revealing the raw pain beneath. He stood up and joined her, wrapping his arms around her from behind.

"It’s okay to not be okay," he whispered, his voice barely audible.

Y/N leaned into his embrace, tears silently tracing paths down her cheeks. "I miss him so much, Charlie, it's not fair. Why was he taken away so young? He never got to see me grow up, fall in love with you or make a family. I'll never get to see him again and it hurts." she sobbed, her voice muffled against his chest.

He held her tighter, offering silent comfort. Charles spoke up after a moment, "You know cherie, Jules spoke about you every second he could. He loved his little sister and I know for a fact that he is looking down at us smiling, knowing that you'll be okay. Maybe even wanting to chase me with a broom for dating you." They laughed as they cuddles closer. They stood there for what felt like an eternity, the city lights blurring into a kaleidoscope of emotions.

Later that night, as Y/N slept peacefully, Charles woke with a start. A cold sweat drenched his body, his breath coming in ragged gasps. The nightmare, a recurring visitor, had returned. It was always the same – the car, the crash, the helplessness. He remembered watching the screen, as Jules's car went under the safety vehicle and the pure agony on Y/N's face.

He stumbled out onto the terrace, the cool night air providing a momentary respite. He leaned against the railing, his gaze fixed on the horizon. The pain was overwhelming, a physical ache that consumed him. He was strong, he was Charles Leclerc, but even he had his limits. His body trembled, a silent earthquake within. The memory of Jules, sharp and vivid, was a relentless tormentor. His mind replayed the accident on an endless loop, a horror film he couldn’t escape.

He was alone, or so he thought. The weight of the world was crushing him, and he couldn’t breathe. The guilt was a suffocating fog, a constant reminder of his own survival. He was a Formula 1 driver, a man of speed and precision, but in this moment, he was nothing but a broken vessel.

A soft touch on his arm startled him. He turned to find Y/N standing there, her eyes filled with concern. She had woken up, sensing his absence from the bed.

"Charles?" Her voice was soft, a gentle anchor in the storm.

He tried to compose himself, to mask the turmoil within, but the facade crumbled. Tears, hot and uncontrolled, streamed down his face.

"I’m so selfish Y/N," he whispered, his voice barely audible over the city's hum. "I’m the worst kind of person. You lost your brother and I'm crying and making this about me. What kind of person does that?"

Y/N stepped closer, her arms opening wide. Without hesitation, Charles fell into her embrace, his body shaking with sobs. She held him tightly, her warmth a comforting shield against the storm raging within him.

"You’re not selfish, Charlie," she said softly, stroking his hair. "You’re hurting, and that’s okay. We’re hurting together. You lost Jules just as much as I did. He was your godfather bebe. You loved him and he loved you. Of course you're in pain."

"But it’s different for me," he protested, his voice muffled against her shoulder. "I survived. I’m still here, living my life, while he... he’s gone."

"And that’s incredibly hard," Y/N acknowledged, her voice filled with empathy. "But that doesn’t make you selfish. You’re grieving, Charles. You’re allowed to feel everything you’re feeling."

"I just want to make it stop," he confessed, his voice barely a whisper.

"I know," she replied, her voice steady. "But it won’t stop overnight. Healing takes time, and it’s a journey we have to take together."

They stood there for what felt like hours, the city lights a distant blur. In the quiet of the night, they found solace in each other's presence. It was in these shared moments of vulnerability that their bond deepened, a testament to their resilience.

Eventually, the intensity of Charles’ emotions began to subside. Y/N continued to hold him, her presence a constant source of comfort. Slowly, the storm within him began to calm.

"Thank you Y/N, I don't know what I could do without you." he whispered, his voice hoarse.

"Always cherie," she replied, squeezing him tighter.

They stood there for a few more moments, the silence between them filled with unspoken understanding. And as the first light of dawn touched the horizon, they returned to the apartment, hand in hand, facing the new day with a renewed strength, born from their shared sorrow and unwavering support.

As the first rays of dawn painted the sky, a sense of calm washed over him. He took a deep breath, the salty air filling his lungs. He would face the day, one step at a time. He would be there for Y/N, as she had always been there for him. Together, they would carry on, honoring Jules’ memory by living their lives to the fullest.

The sun rose, casting its golden light on the city. A new day was dawning, filled with hope and resilience. And as the world woke up, so did Charles and Y/N, their hearts heavy but unbroken, their love for each other a beacon in the darkness.

[dreaming-medium]

Thanksgiving With You

Relationship: Lee Minho x reader

Tags: Pure fluff

Summary: Your plans to go home to America for Thanksgiving are uprooted the night before you're supposed to leave. Unable to stand seeing you upset, Minho decides to take matters into his own hands and make sure you get to celebrate no matter what.

------------------------------------------

The TV was on in the shared apartment, all of the boys were laying all over the couches in various comfy positions. Legs tangled up in knots, blankets draped over different laps. 

Living in the same building as one another definitely had its perks, that’s for sure. Even if everyone starts their days in their own apartments, by dinner time, everyone congregates to one. 

Today, you and Minho’s apartment was the lucky winner.

When you answered a roommate ad two years ago, you didn’t know it would come with seven other men on top of that. But, you wouldn’t change anything that’s happened since then.

Felix’s head rests on Hyunjin’s lap while he plays on his phone with Changbin watching over his shoulder. Seungmin takes up two seats while Jeongin sits on the ground next to his legs. Minho is lounging in the corner seat of the couch, Chan on his left, Jisung on his right. 

For the first time, they’re all silent. Each of their conversations were cut short when a news broadcast cut through the movie they were “watching”.

A female news anchor sat behind a desk looking directly into the camera. 

“We interrupt your program with a breaking news report from The National Weather Service. Please be advised that there is extreme adverse weather expected to affect Seoul beginning tomorrow. All airports, roads, and businesses will remain closed starting tomorrow, November 22nd, until further notice.”

Normally, none of the boys would care about a storm. This meant time off from work, time to relax and stay inside while everyone gets some much needed rest but…

“Minho!” your voice calls out into the living room. Your roommate perks up off the couch, tearing his eyes away from the news broadcast. “Can I borrow your neck pillow? I’m going to need it for the flight. Sixteen hours on the plane is going to be killer without it.”

His jaw clenches and he looks around at the other boys on the couch who all have equally flustered expressions. They each stare at one another like deer in headlights. 

“Ah,” he hums and looks around the room. 

Oh, you were so excited to go home for Thanksgiving, how was he going to tell you that the airport is closed due to the incoming storm? Why does he have to be the one to break the news to you? 

The news anchor continues talking about the snowstorm, predicting record levels of snowfall and high speed winds. 

All month, all you could talk about was how much you missed Thanksgiving: the turkey, the parade, the pie, everything. 

He didn’t really understand it.

“Minho?” You ask again when he doesn’t answer. Your figure appears in the doorway into the living room. 

As soon as you stand in front of all of them, their heads snap towards you.

Your eyes widen, obviously startled. “Guys?” You ask, laughing nervously. “Why are you all looking at me like that?”

Felix moves a bit, his mouth opening to say something before the news anchor cuts him off again. 

“Again, we repeat the broadcast:  Please be advised that there is extreme adverse weather expected to affect Seoul beginning tomorrow. All airports, roads, and businesses will remain closed starting tomorrow, November 22nd, until further notice.”

Your mouth drops open and you step further into the room to look at the TV. 

“What?” You say to yourself, your heart dropping to your stomach. Everyone else’s does as well from your devastated tone.

Chan reaches forward with the remote, turning the volume up for you to hear. 

“No, no…” you whisper.

Minho watches you, feeling his own heart break for you. 

“M-Maybe I can book a flight for tonight. The storm starts tomorrow, maybe I can get out at the last minute.” You practically run back to your room, frantically looking for your phone. 

All of the boys stay silent. 

Apple pie this, mashed potatoes that, homemade pineapple … something. Minho couldn’t remember what you had said. You would always talk too fast when you were excited. 

It only got harder for him to understand when you would go into English. 

On top of all of this, you haven’t been back to America since you moved here two years ago. It was going to be your first time home.

You were just so busy when you started your new job that there was never any time to take off. 

And now that you finally could? It’s falling through your fingers. 

“Such a shame…” Hyunjin is the first one to break the silence. His voice carries the same sadness that they all hold on their shoulders. 

Minho keeps looking down the hall where your room is, hoping to try and hear anything— any news of an earlier flight, a phone call, anything. 

Only a few moments pass before Minho gets too antsy to sit still. He stands up from the couch and makes his way down the hallway. 

Your door is cracked open a bit. 

When he gets closer, he hears you on the phone. “N-No, you don’t understand, I was going home for the holidays— Yes… Yes I understand that everyone else is too, b-but I haven’t been home in two years.”

You sound so heartbroken, it’s physically killing him. 

“There are no open seats? ….. the 5:30 flight? That’s in… that’s in ten minutes I live forty minutes away from the airport!”

Minho leans against the wall behind him, your open door to his left. 

“There’s nothing else? … No, I understand. Thank you very much for your time... You as well.”

There’s a long moment of silence and a thump against your mattress. 

Ten more seconds pass before he hears hiccups and sniffles coming from inside your room. That’s when Minho caves in, coming up to your door frame. 

He can never withstand hearing you cry, on the rare occasions that you do.

You look so small curled up on the edge of your bed, your head in your hands. Your suitcase is open on top of your bed with various clothes and toiletries all over the place. 

Your shoulders shake as you sob quietly into your hands. 

A frown pulls at his face. Minho reaches up and knocks gently on the doorframe. 

Your head shoots up in surprise, hands furiously wiping away the tears under your eyes. 

“Oh, hey Minho!” You try to smile, but the tears won’t stop, but you continue wiping them away. “Sorry, um… I don’t think I need your neck pillow after all.”

A sob wracks your chest. 

“Sorry,” you apologize again and wipe the tears some more. 

His frown depends and he walks over to the bed, taking a seat directly next to you. 

“You don’t need to apologize, Y/N.” 

You sniffle and look down at your lap, the sleeves of your sweater coming over your hands. “It’s dumb to be this upset, I know. I was just really looking forward to Thanksgiving, you know?”

His entire side is pressed against yours. His warmth seeps into you in a comforting manner. 

Minho listens to you carefully. He’s never been the best at comforting a crying person, he knows that, but he’s learned that all you ever crave when you’re upset is someone to listen. 

“We have this tradition in my family, god, it’s been so long since I’ve been able to do it,” you sniffle and wipe your eyes. “We wake up around nine, and my sister and I make cinnamon rolls and watch the Macy’s parade from New York while we eat them. Then, while we get ready we watch the National dog show and ugh…” 

He leans back on one of his hands placed behind you on your bed. The cogs in his brain are already turning. 

Cinnamon rolls… Parade…

“God, I really missed my mom’s Pecan Pie.”

“Pecan Pie.” Minho mouths to himself. You don’t see it. 

You sniffle. 

“I’m so sorry, Y/N,” he whispers to you, his hand coming up to rub your back gently. 

“It’s alright, there’s always Christmas. The airline said they can move my ticket without me losing money. I guess it’s better to go then.” You hum and wipe the tears off your face again. 

Not knowing what else to say, Minho stays quiet, his hand continuing to rub up and down your spine. 

He knows next to nothing about Thanksgiving; it’s an American holiday. All he knows are the little things he’s seen in movies: turkey, hats with buckles on them, eating until you explode. 

What parade did you say? Macy’s Parade? Okay…

Minho loses track of how long you both sit there, you trying to pull yourself together while he rubs your back. 

His eyes dart around the floor unfocused as he makes a mental checklist in his head. He’s definitely going to need to employ the help of the seven other men in his living room if he hopes to pull this off. 

“Thank you, Minho.” Your voice pulls his attention. He looks over at your face, hand pausing between your shoulder blades. 

Your eyes are red rimmed and cheeks are rosy from all your crying. A sad smile sits on your face that doesn’t meet your eyes. 

“You don’t have to thank me,” he responds, getting a bit flustered under your gaze. 

You move your head to rest on his shoulder, like second nature, his arm wraps around your shoulders and keeps you close. 

Butterflies swirl in his stomach at the contact. Yes, you’re his roommate, but it was in the last six months or so that his heart started seeing you as so much more. 

It all started with you cooking his favorite dinner when you knew he had just had one of the worst days of his life. 

He had texted you around noon complaining about the rough day he was having, you consoled him shortly, and that was that. 

The day had dragged on, getting worse and worse; he opened the door to your shared apartment around midnight to find you moving around the kitchen. 

When he peered over your shoulder and saw his favorite meal, his heart melted. 

“To cure your bad day,” you smiled at him. 

He fell so hard for you, there was no coming back.  

Minho turns his head to rest his chin on the crown of your hair. 

“Well, I have off work; maybe I can take the day to catch up on a project without being bothered to join meetings.” You trail off. 

“Or you could take the day to relax.” He chuckles. 

You pause. “Nah.”

He laughs again and hugs you close. 

“I better unpack everything.” You peel yourself out of his arms. Minho’s body already feels so much colder without you pressed against him. 

“I’ll leave you to it.” Minho stands up from your bed and makes towards the door. 

“Minho,” you grab his attention. He turns back to look at you. 

You’re smiling at him again, but the sparkle is missing from your eyes. 

“Thank you, really.” 

“Of course, Y/N.”

Minho pulls your door closed behind him and makes his way down the hall. He has a mission and a checklist. 

And he needed to get to the grocery store tonight if he wanted to pull it off.

----------------------------------------------

Three quick knocks rap against your door at 9:00 AM sharp on November 23rd. 

With a disgruntled groan, you shift around in bed and pull the blankets up over your shoulder more. 

After a few seconds, the door cracks open slowly, the hinges creaking loudly in the silent morning air. 

A huff-like laugh forced through the invader’s nose. 

Slippers pad against the carpet of your room and the mattress dips down on the side of your bed. 

Gentle, warm fingers push your hair off your forehead. Your eyes squint a bit and you snuggle further into your blanket. 

“Minhooo…” you whine without opening your eyes. “I have the day off, remember? I don’t need to wake up.”

“Ah,” he hums, fingers still carding through your hair. “But the parade is on.”

Your brain is still booting up. All your movements pause, your eyes snap open and you look at the man sitting on the side of your bed. 

He’s in his cooking apron; the blue one you got him for his birthday last year. 

“What?”

That smirk of his spreads over his face, his eyes squint the more he smiles down at you. “The parade is on, Y/N, don’t you want to watch it?”

With wide eyes, you stare at your roommate. “The.. parade? The Macy’s Day Parade?”

He hums with a beautiful, genuine smile. “I didn’t think you wanted to miss it.”

You sit up and kick the blankets off, leaping out of bed and down the hallway. Minho’s laughter follows you. 

Sure enough, playing on your TV, is the Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade, from New York City. 

“Wha…” you trail off. If it’s 9 AM here… it’s only 7 PM the night before Thanksgiving in New York, how is he…?

Your eyes scan the TV to see the small graphic that displays “2022” in the corner. 

He’s playing a recorded broadcast of last year's parade. A laugh of disbelief bubbles out of your chest and you whirl around to look at your roommate standing in the hallway. 

“Minho!” You squeal. 

“We still have to bake cinnamon rolls, come on.” He waves you to follow him to the kitchen. Your jaw drops and you can only stare at him. 

Minho looks over his shoulder and sees you’re not following him. “Are you coming? I’m not baking them by myself!”

Another snort of disbelief forces its way out. Your one hand reaches over and pinches your arm. 

“No, I’m awake,” you whisper to yourself. 

The sound of the parade announcers talking in their thick New York accent makes you feel right at home. There was a specific sound quality of audio that comes from these events and it brings you right back to the East Coast. 

Minho walks into the kitchen and you follow after him with an extra spring in your step. 

———————————————

“And here comes Snoopy and his good friend Woodstock!”  The TV announcer says happily. 

You take another bite of your cinnamon roll, chewing happily and watching the TV. Doongie  curled up next to you, tail swishing around. 

Minho can’t decide what he wants to watch more: you or the TV. You’re positively beaming, and he hasn’t even told you the best part yet. 

He scratches Soonie’s head absentmindedly.

There’s a couple knocks on the door.

“Come in!” Minho calls out. 

The door creaks open. “Minho, your timer went off. I think you need to baste the turkey.”

Your head whips around to see Felix poking his head into the apartment. He makes eye contact with you and his smile brightens instantly. 

“Hi, Y/N! Happy Thanksgiving!” Felix chirps from the door. 

“Thank you?” 

Minho stands up off the couch, “Thanks, Felix, I’ll be right over.”

“Gotcha, see you soon, Y/N!” Felix closes the door behind him. 

You look up at Minho. “Turkey? You’re making a turkey?”

He stands in front of you and smiles. “I am, you can’t have Thanksgiving dinner without turkey, right?”

“You– Are we..?”

“We are. But not until after the parade, and the dog show, of course. I told everyone to come around 2:00, that works, right?”

You stare up at him, cinnamon roll still in your hand. 

“Y… Yeah, that works.” You truly cannot believe your ears. Are you sure you’re not still sleeping? Do you need to pinch yourself again?

“Good, I’ll be right back.”

Minho moves past you towards the door, scratching your head a few times as he passes by. You make no move to fix your hair after he leaves. 

Slowly, you take another bite of the roll, eyes spacing out watching the parade. 

Inside your chest, you can feel your heart stutter and swell, heat rising to your cheeks and turning your ears red. He’s really doing so much for you, isn’t he?

----------------------------------------------

“Y/N! Come on out, Chan and Jisung are here and Jeongin needs help with the mashed potatoes!” Minho calls down the hall. 

Like a kid on Christmas, you peel down the hall, adjusting the earring you’re wearing. 

You’re in a black turtleneck tucked into a cute light brown pencil skirt with black tights and fuzzy socks. The most typical Thanksgiving outfit. 

Your favorite jewelry adorning your body. 

The four boys turn around and greet you happily. Each of them in their own fuzzy sweaters and comfy pants. 

“Happy Thanksgiving!” They all say to you in unison. 

“Ah, happy Thanksgiving!” You cheer back and wrap Jisung and Chan into a tight hug since they were the closest. “Thank you so much for this!”

Both of them wrap an arm around you with giddy smiles. “It was all Minho’s idea,” says Chan. “If you wanna thank anyone, thank him.”

“Or you could help, instead.” Minho teases from behind the kitchen counter, sliding over a can of cranberry sauce.

“Oh my god!” You squeal and come around to grab it. “Where did you find this? I didn’t think any stores in Korea sold this!”

Minho hums happily and stirs a pot on the stove. “There’s an American store a few blocks away. It’s where I got most of the groceries for today.”

A timer beeps at the same time the door swings open. 

“Hot bird coming through!” Felix calls into the room. “I have a turkey too!”

Everyone gives Felix a pity laugh as briskly walks towards the kitchen and places the cooked turkey onto the counter. The smell that wafts through the house is heavenly. 

Jisung hands you a glass of sangria with a wink. You clink glasses and take a small sip. 

Changbin walks through the door after Felix, holding a stack of about three pies in one hand and a bottle of wine in the other. 

“Happy Thanksgiving!” he calls inside as he kicks his shoes off.

Everyone responds with the same greeting. 

 “Minho, where do you want desserts?” 

“Just put them on the side by the main table for now!”

There’s more hustle and bustle next to you while Jisung attempts to use the can opener for the cranberry sauce. 

“Y/N, could you help me? I don’t think I’ve ever made mashed potatoes before…” Jeongin trails off in front of a pot of boiled potatoes. 

You beam at him and skip over to his side. “I absolutely can, it’s a lot easier than you think!”

Chan walks over to the living area with the couches. 

“What do you usually have on the TV at home?” he calls in to you.

You’re dumping all of the potatoes into a mixing bowl while you answer him. “Typically, my dad commandeers the TV and has football playing all day, but I really don’t want to watch old football reruns.”

Jeongin watches over your shoulder as you shake the bowl to settle the potatoes. “Could you grab the butter and milk from the fridge?” You ask him and he nods and walks off.

Seungmin comes in with Hyunjin, both of them holding trays of food.

You greet the two of them happily.

While Jeongin is gathering the ingredients from the fridge, you take a moment to look around at all of the boys in your apartment. 

They must have looked up ‘What to wear to Thanksgiving’; each of them is in a sweater and dress pants. Some of them have turtlenecks underneath the sweater, some don’t, but they all look like the same font as one another. 

“What can I do to help?” Seungmin asks, him and Hyunjin further crowding the kitchen.

“Go set the table with Hyunjin.” Minho points to the long dining room table, shooing them out of the already small space. Plates, napkins, forks, knives, glasses– everything you can think of, is placed on the corner of the table in stacks and piles.

“I’ll help too!” Felix chirps and makes his way over with the two men.

“Y/N!” Changbin calls your attention. Both him and Chan have beer bottles in their hands, bodies facing the TV. The two of them look like dads with the way they’re standing. “What about a Christmas movie? Is that allowed on Thanksgiving?”

Jeongin plops the milk and butter on the counter next to you. 

You call back into the living room. “Yeah, that’s fine! But make it a good one– a classic! Oh! What about Christmas Vacation? That’s my favorite!”

“I’ll find it, don’t worry!” Chan responds. 

Another timer beeps, Minho opens the oven and pulls out a tray full of fresh rolls. Jisung finally wrestles the can of cranberry sauce open. 

Your heart grows three sizes. 

“Ten more minutes on the Pineapple Bake.” Minho says to himself but you hear it.

Your head snaps around so fast it might tumble off your shoulders. “Pineapple Bake? You made Pineapple Bake?”

A flush crawls up Minho’s neck to his ears when he turns and meets your sparkly eyes. 

“You had mentioned it…” he trails off and finds something else on the counter to fidget with.

“How did you get the recipe?”

“Ah, well,” he rubs the back of his neck nervously. “I have your mother’s number from when you first moved in and all.”

“You texted my mom?”

“Is that alright?”

The hustle and bustle of the seven other bodies around your apartment fades into the background. Even with Jeongin standing directly next to you, he seems to disappear. 

“You texted my mom and asked for her Pineapple Bake recipe?” You choke out again, your eyebrows raising, lips parting in an emotionally shocked expression.

Minho visibly gets a bit more nervous at your repeated question. His jaw clenches and he plays with the tie of the apron. “Did I overstep?”

Without any warning, you cross the few steps of the kitchen towards him and throw your arms around your roommate, burying your face into his shoulder. Small tears of joy well in the corners of your eyes, throat constricting with so many emotions.

After a moment of hesitation, Minho wraps his arms around you and rests his cheek on top of your hair. 

“Thank you, Minho,” you whisper to him, squeezing him even tighter. 

Minho’s shoulders visibly react from your hug, relaxing from the tension of the past few moments. 

He smells like the holidays, the softness of his sweater is so comforting against your cheek. You just want to bury your nose in it and drown in the scent.

“This means so much to me.” Your words are so sincere, he could cry from hearing them. His arms tighten around you, eyes closing to relish in your hold.

He basks in it. Despite a third timer screaming in his ear, he continues to hold you like if he let go, you would disappear forever.

Having you in his arms like this has always been the equivalent of drinking warm tea before bed. It sends a wave of comfort and safety through his entire being.

The timer continues to beep.

“You can thank me after you eat.” 

You giggle, any sadness he’s ever felt disappears for a split second.

Hyunjin calls into this kitchen. “Can you please turn that thing off before I go insane?”

Minho sighs, the air blowing into your hair. He keeps you close for a few more heartbeats before letting go.

“It’s time for dinner anyway.”

----------------------------------------------

Everyone was quiet, the TV still playing Christmas movies in the background. The streaming service that Chan had put on had autoplayed movie after movie while you ate dinner and then dessert.

The last surprise Minho had for you was that he also had asked your mother for her Pecan Pie recipe two nights ago. 

Everything about today left you floored and speechless. Your heart has never felt this full in your life. 

All eight of them sat around the table looking uncomfortably full. The table that was once filled with every side dish known to Thanksgiving enjoyers, every dessert you could dream of, was now littered with empty dishes. 

“We should just be thankful for being together. I think that’s what they mean by Thanksgiving, Charlie Brown.” Marcie’s animated voice rings through the apartment.

Again, your throat tightens up with so many happy emotions, you clench your jaw to keep them down.

From directly next to you, Minho must’ve noticed your expression, his hand reaching under the table and resting on your knee, squeezing it once to comfort you.

You look over at him.

His heart catches in his chest.

There’s that sparkle in your eyes. The one that disappeared two nights ago, he got it back. His entire face softens as he stares at you as if you hung the moon and vice versa.

“I need a nap,” Felix groans from his chair.

You hum and look over at him. He’s slumped in his seat, head back, eyes closed. 

“That’s the best part of Thanksgiving, sleeping with a full stomach.” You tell him.

“Full is an understatement.” Jeongin adds.

“I think I found a new favorite holiday…” Changbin trails off.

“Ditto,” adds Chan.

“Yeah? Well maybe we can have a Friendsgiving next year and do it all over again.” You tell the table.

Minho groans. “I’ll need more help next time, then!”

Everyone grunts in agreement.

You reach under the table and take a hold of Minho’s hand still on your leg. Your fingers wind together and you beam at him again with that dazzling smile. 

“I would do anything to do this again.”

----------------------------------------------

“I still can’t believe they took that many leftovers,” Minho mutters, dipping the sponge in the sink.

“I can’t believe we had that many leftovers.” You dry a dish with the towel and place it on the other clean ones. 

The exhaustion from eating is still heavy in your bones; but both you and Minho decided it was better to get all the washing out of the way so that you could just relax for the rest of the night.

It felt like you’ve been washing dishes for hours. 

Soft twinkling of Christmas music plays through the speakers of the TV from the movie. 

“Minho?” You ask suddenly, your voice is a bit weak and unconfident.

He looks over at you with his undivided attention, one eyebrow raised.

“There’s one more Thanksgiving tradition I didn’t tell you about.”

His eyebrows furrow more and he puts the dish down in the sink full of sudsy water. “What is it?”

Smiling, you put the towel down.

“Will you dance to Christmas music with me? To ring in the Holiday Season.”

Minho’s taken aback for a moment, he laughs– almost in disbelief. “Really?”

You bite your lip nervously, nodding once.

With a playful smile, he grabs the towel and dries his hands. “You want to dance? We can dance, Y/N.”

Squealing, you happily skip to the living room. “Alexa, play Christmas music!” You call out and she immediately begins to play music at the perfect volume.

Frank Sinatra’s ‘I’ve Got My Love to Keep Me Warm’ plays through the speaker. The happy saxophones and trumpets blare and your spirits lift even more than you thought they could.

You bounce on your heels to the beat a few times, swaying with the rhythm in a silly way. 

When you turn around, you see Minho stepping towards you to the beat. One of the happiest looks ever on his face. His hair still slightly styled from this morning, just a bit more relaxed as the day went on.

His sweater is so cozy with a black turtleneck underneath, heather gray dress pants on the bottom. Lee Minho looks like the Holidays wrapped up in a warm, cable knit package, and he’s currently dancing towards you.

Once he is up on you, he takes your one hand and places the other on your waist. Both of you look like absolute goof balls, swaying and bobbing to the rhythm of Frank Sinatra in your living room. 

The scent of Thanksgiving dinner still hangs in the air; the warmth from the ovens and stove hasn’t faded one bit.

Minho leads you all around the living room in a beautifully clumsy dance. The smiles on your faces never drop, even for a moment. They only grow with each giggle passed from one to another.

His eyes stay locked with yours the entire time. Nothing could interrupt your moment,

You mouth the lyrics to him; it’s English, so he’s not really able to keep up as much. But the emotion is there. And just the idea that you’re singing to him makes his heart soar. 

“What do I care how much it may storm,” you sing, “I’ve got my love to keep me warm.”

Minho spins you around, you squeal with happiness with your arm above your head. He brings you back in and grabs your waist with both hands, lifting you into the air and twirling more as the music swells. You place both of your hands on his shoulders for balance.

He gently places you back on the ground, the song ending and fading into the next one. 

Michael Buble’s ‘I’ll Be Home For Christmas’ follows it up. The rhythm of the song slows down the energy in the room dramatically.

Neither you nor Minho let go of one another. Instead of backing away, the two of you step even closer. Your arms wind around his neck, his hands interlock on your lower back.

Your eyes look all around his perfect face, meanwhile his stay locked on your eyes. He’s so enchanted by you, it feels like you placed him under some sort of spell.

If he could, Minho would do this entire day over and over again until he died, just to see this beautiful look in your eye each time, to hear your glee filled laughter after each surprise. 

Instead of moving around the room, the two of you simply sway side to side in time with the beat of the song. Minho spins the two of you very slowly in place.

A beautiful, festive, Christmas bubble begins forming around the two of you. 

“I cannot even begin to tell you how much today meant to me, Minho.” You break the silence between the two of you.

He chuckles. “I’m glad I was able to do it for you, Y/N. I don’t think I’ve ever run to the store that fast in my life.”

Mirroring him, you laugh softly. “I can only imagine what you looked like trying to get everything together.”

He moves his head side to side. “I had a lot of help.”

You shake your head. “This was quite possibly the nicest thing anyone has ever done for me.”

“You deserve it.”

Another laugh from you. He just watches you. He watches each emotion cross your face with such admiration, with such a fond, sweet gaze, it could rot your teeth. 

Piano keys tinkle in the music. Michael Buble’s smooth voice wrapping around your private bubble.

“I am endlessly thankful for you, Lee Minho.” 

His gaze softens even more. 

You’re his soft spot. You– beautiful, wonderful, joyous you– are Lee Minho’s weak point. 

Slowly, the swaying to the song begins to slow down as you both get lost within one another. Everything about the scene was like a movie, down to the storm swelling outside your window.

Minho’s eyes flicker down to your lips for a split second.

You grin. His heart thuds in his chest.

“I don’t suppose you got any mistletoe?” you ask cheekily.

His eyes widen for a second, but he quickly catches on to your joke. “That wasn’t on any of the Thanksgiving websites I found.”

“Oh well.”

Without another word, and with the goofiest of grins on both of your faces, you pull Minho in for a kiss. 

His entire world stops when his lips meet yours, everything pauses and the only thing that exists is you. Nothing else matters except for the girl in his arms.

The world could end right now and he would be the happiest man on Earth.

Both of his arms tighten around you, one hand comes up to cup your cheek, cradling it softly. 

Your arms around his neck bring him even closer to you.

His kiss is everything, it’s sugar cookies rising in the oven, it’s a sunrise on the beach, it’s waking up to the smell of cinnamon rolls on Thanksgiving– everything.

It’s everything you’ve always needed. He is everything you’ve always needed.

Eventually, the two of you pull away from one another, but not without a last few stolen pecks on the other’s lips. 

The kisses end up short, you both keep smiling and pulling away, too happy to continue. 

Minho keeps his eyes closed, his thumb brushes over your cheekbone. “I think I have a new favorite holiday.” Another peck to your lips. 

You giggle and kiss him again and again, “Me too, Lee Minho.”

[violentdelightsandviolentends]

42. "I can't do this anymore." + Carmem (The Bear) + Smut :)

Denial.

42. "I can't do this anymore."

Author's Note - this is a drabble written as part of my 500 Followers Celebration!! find that post here. always happy to write a carmen request. man, those biceps. i've been a jeremy girl since shameless and it's so wonderful to see his evolution <3

Pairing - Carmen Berzatto x Female Reader

Age Rating - 18+

Warnings - smut!! + cursing

Word Count - 775

Masterlist. 500 Follower Celebration Masterlist.

It isn't unusual for the two of you to be the only ones left in the restaurant.

Carmen's cleaning the kitchen, while you're mopping front of house. Between you, you'll be done in record time.

He emerges from the back to stand in the doorway. You can feel him staring at you from where he's leaning against the frame, eyes burning into the back of your body. You try not to turn around for as long as possible, but it's becoming unbearable.

"Quit staring, creep."

He chuckles, and the sound makes you smile.

"I'm not."

"So now you're a creep and a gaslighter?"

He laughs, and you can picture it perfectly, even with your back to him. Head thrown back, gorgeous neck exposed, chest vibrating.

You continue your mopping, very aware of the eyes on you. You finally turn around, and he's closer than you thought. He's silently moved to perch against a booth table, still looking at you intently. You meet his gaze, and shudder instinctively. There's a look in his eyes you've never seen before. He looks hungry.

His eyes are dark and reflective, boring into you intensely. His eyelids are hooded, body weirdly relaxed. He's borderline feral.

"So, I figured something out a minute ago."

"Oh yeah?" you question, propping your mop against a table. "And what's that, Carmen?"

"I can't do this anymore."

He stalks towards you, all cleaning abandoned.

"... Can't do what?" you whisper.

Carmen twirls a strand of your hair around his finger, moving so he's almost pressed to your front.

"I can't keep pretending that I don't wanna rip your clothes off everytime I look at you."

You're rendered speechless. You've had the most ridiculous crush on Carmen since you started waitressing at the restaurant, almost 2 years ago. You've had one too many dreams about him saying these exact words to you.

"So why don't you?"

With that, he lunges at you, ripping open your blouse and tearing his shirt over his head. He scrambles to unbutton your pants, slipping his hand into your underwear.

"Oh, fuck. Are you this wet from me just looking at you?"

If you weren't so turned on, you'd probably be embarrassed. You can't bring yourself to care.

Carmy grabs your thighs, and hoists you onto the table. You become suddenly aware of how wrong this is.

"Carmen, you can't fuck me on this table. Customers eat here."

"Watch me, honey. It's my restaurant. My fucking table."

He shoves his trousers down and pulls himself out his underwear. You take one look at him, and your mouth waters. He must see it on your face, because he chuckles.

"Not now, baby. Another time, okay?"

"Okay," you whine, breathy and impatient.

"You ready?" he asks, lining himself up between your legs.

You nod frantically, hands clawing at his shoulders.

"I need to hear you say it. Use your words, sweetheart."

"I'm ready, Carmy," you whinge. "Please, please. Fuck me. Now."

That was all the confirmation he needed. He slides home in one careful thrust, and both of you groan in unison.

"Oh, fuck. Better than I ever dreamed."

"You've dreamt about this?" you ask breathlessly.

"All. The. Damn. Time."

He punctuates each word with a thrust of his hips, knocking you backwards on the table. He places one hand at the base of your throat as an anchor point, the other grabbing at your thigh to hitch it up.

He doesn't break eye contact once, his gaze full of lust and hunger. You've never seen this side of Carmy. Usually, he's a little avoidant, sometimes shy, always conscious of taking up too much space. But now, he's possessive. He's open, he's commanding, he's confident. He's so sexy.

"You're close, aren't you?" he teases.

You can only whine in response, grabbing at his forearms for leverage.

"It's okay, baby. Let go. Come for me. I want it. Give it to me, that's it. Atta girl. You got it."

He's rambling, babbling nonsense as you squeeze and clench around him. Your whole body tightens, back arching off the table, and it sends him over the edge. Both of your climaxes are white hot and electric, mixed groans reverberating around the restaurant.

You're panting, his chest heaving, breathing into each others mouths. After a minute, you speak.

"Carmy?" you ask.

"Yeah, baby?"

"Will you kiss me?"

"Of course I will," he grins. "I can't believe I waited this long."

He presses his lips to yours, tongue moving to tangle with your own. You've never been kissed like this. It's electric, it's instinctive, it's so right.

There's no point denying it any longer. Everything's fallen into place.

[hotvintagepoll]

Propaganda

Kathryn Grayson (Anchors Aweigh, Kiss Me Kate)— Gorgeous brunette whose singing voice was one of the best. Could've been an opera star.

Setsuko Hara (Tokyo Story, Late Spring, The Idiot)— "'The only time I saw Susan Sontag cry,' a writer once told me, his voice hushed, 'was at a screening of a Setsuko film.' What Setsuko had wasn’t glamour—she was just too sensible for that—it was glow, one that ebbed away and left you concerned, involved. You got the sense that this glow, like that of dawn, couldn’t be bought. But her smiles were human and held minute-long acts, ones with important intermissions. When she looked away, she absented herself; you felt that she’d dimmed a fire and clapped a lid on something about to spill. Over the last decade, whenever anyone brought up her lips—'Setsuko’s eternal smile,' critics said, that day we learned that she’d died—I thought instead of the thing she made us feel when she let it fall." - Moeko Fujii

This is round 1 of the tournament. All other polls in this bracket can be found here. Please reblog with further support of your beloved hot sexy vintage woman.

[additional propaganda submitted under the cut.]

Setsuko Hara:

One of the best Japanese actresses of all time; a symbol of the golden era of Japanese cinema of the 1950s After seeing a Setsuko Hara film, the novelist Shūsaku Endō wrote: "We would sigh or let out a great breath from the depths of our hearts, for what we felt was precisely this: Can it be possible that there is such a woman in this world?"

One of the greatest Japanese actresses of all time!! Best known for acting in many of Yasujiro Ozu's films of the 40s and 50s. Also she has a stunning smile and beautiful charm!

Linked gifset

Linked gifset 2

She's considered by some to be the greatest Japanese actress of all time! In Kurosawa's The Idiot she haunts the screen, and TOTALLY steals the show from Mifune every time she appears.

"No other actor has ever mastered the art of the smile to the same extent as Setsuko Hara (1920–2015), a celebrated star and highly regarded idol who was one of the outstanding actors of 40s and 50s Japanese cinema. Her radiant smile floods whole scenes and at times cautiously undermines the expectations made of her in coy, ironic fashion. Yet her smile's impressive range also encompasses its darker shades: Hara's delicate, dignified, melancholy smile with which she responds to disappointments, papers over the emotions churning under the surface, and flanks life's sobering realizations. Her smiles don't just function as a condensed version of her ever-precise, expressive, yet understated acting ability, they also allow the very essence of the films they appear in to shine through for a brief moment, often studies of the everyday, post-war dramas which revolve around the break-up of family structures or the failure of marriages. Her performances tread a fine line between social expectation and personal desire in post-war Japan, as Hara attempts to lay claim to the autonomy of the female characters she plays – frequently with a smile." [link]

Leading lady of classic Japanese cinema with a million dollar smile

Maybe the most iconic Japanese actress ever? She rose to fame making films with Yasujiro Ozu, becoming one of the most well-known and beloved actresses in Japan, working from the 30s through the 60s in over 100 hundred. She is still considered one of the greatest Japanese actresses ever, and in my opinion, just one of the greatest actresses of all time. And she was HOT! Satoshi Kon's film Millennium Actress was largely based on her life and her career.

[societyfolklore]

Thunderstruck

Title: Thunderstruck (Prompt: fake dating becomes too real) Pairing: Dark!Thor x Female Reader

Summary: At the SHIELD NYE party, Thor jokingly claims the two of you are dating. The lie spirals out of control when people believe him, and he convinces you to keep up the charade.   Word Count:  5.5k

Warnings:  // Explicit Content //18+, Minors DNI, smut, Dark, Dub/Con, Unprotected sex (DON’T!), Fingering, Oral (M receiving) NO BETA

A/N: Another entry for @the-slumberparty December daze challenge – Day 29.. Also haven’t written for Thor before so be gentle, he’s speaking style is hard for me

The SHIELD New Year’s Eve party was an annual spectacle, an event that seemed to grow more extravagant with each passing year. Hosted, as always, at Stark Tower, the venue was a breathtaking display of Tony Stark’s penchant for flair and excess. The massive atrium gleamed with shimmering silver and gold, reflecting the twinkling lights of an oversized crystal chandelier. Every surface seemed to sparkle, from the floor polished to a mirror shine to the massive clock projected onto the far wall, counting down the minutes until midnight.

The crowd was a sea of sophistication and celebration, filled with some of the world’s most brilliant minds and powerful figures. Avengers, fellow agents, scientists, dignitaries, and an assortment of Stark’s high-profile acquaintances mingled beneath the glittering decor. Glasses of champagne sparkled in the ambient light, the clink of crystal blending seamlessly with the lively hum of conversation and bursts of laughter. It was a night of indulgence, camaraderie, and for some, strategic networking.

It was also the last place you wanted to be.

Parties weren’t your thing. Crowded rooms, loud conversations, the unspoken pressure to be sociable-it all grated on your nerves. You’d much rather have spent the evening at home, wrapped in a cozy blanket, watching the New Year’s Eve ball drop on TV. But Natasha Romanoff had other ideas.

“Come on,” she’d said earlier that evening, standing in your apartment with her hands on her hips and a dress draped over one arm. “You’ve dodged this party for two years now. It’s time to show your face, have a little fun for once.”

“I have fun,” you’d protested weakly, clutching your favourite oversized sweater like a security blanket.

Natasha had merely smirked, shaking her head as if you were a particularly stubborn case she was determined to crack. “Sitting at home in pajamas eating takeout is not ‘fun.’ You’re coming with me. End of discussion.”

An hour later, you found yourself standing in front of the mirror in a dress that clung to your figure in ways that left you feeling vulnerable, if not outright exposed. It was sleek, elegant, and undeniably out of your comfort zone. Natasha, of course, looked effortlessly stunning in her own dress, her confidence as sharp as the blade she kept tucked in her thigh holster.

“Trust me,” she’d said, adjusting the straps of your dress and giving you an approving once-over. “You’ll thank me later.”

Now, standing by the bar with a drink in hand, you weren’t so sure. The room was alive with energy, but the glitz and glamour only heightened your discomfort. You nursed your drink, letting the cool glass anchor you as you scanned the crowd for familiar faces. Sam and Natasha were somewhere nearby, but the sheer volume of the party made it difficult to pinpoint them.

You weren’t sure what you were searching for-maybe a quiet corner to disappear into, or a conversation that didn’t feel forced. Anything to make the evening less overwhelming.

That’s when your gaze landed on him.

Thor Odinson, the God of Thunder, was impossible to miss. Towering over the crowd, he moved through the room with the kind of confidence that only someone truly larger than life could possess. His perfectly tailored suit emphasized his broad shoulders and powerful build, while the golden strands of his hair, tied neatly at the nape of his neck, gleamed like molten sunlight in the soft glow of the chandeliers. He was laughing, his rich, booming voice cutting effortlessly through the noise as he clapped Clint Barton on the back.

You rolled your eyes. Of course Thor was here. The man was practically a walking spectacle, his presence commanding attention wherever he went. His charm was undeniable, but his intensity was something else entirely-a force of nature that could be as overwhelming as the storms he commanded.

The last thing you wanted tonight was to get caught up in his orbit.

Turning back to your drink, you tried to focus on the glass in your hand and the low hum of the music. The God of Thunder had a way of pulling everyone into his gravitational pull, and you weren’t in the mood to be swept away. A conversation with Sam and Natasha, a quick hello to the logistics team, and then you’d slip out unnoticed. That was the plan.

Thor, it seemed, had other plans.

His approach felt like a coming storm even with that grin on his face as bright as the lights above.

“M’lady,” he boomed, his voice carrying over the music. “You grace this gathering with your presence! A most pleasant surprise.”

Your returning smile barely made it past polite the grip on your glass tightening. “Thor. Enjoying yourself?”

“Indeed,” he replied, his eyes twinkling with something you’d when your father had had one too many drinks at Thanksgiving. “Though the night grows even brighter in your company.”

Natasha arched an eyebrow, a smirk tugging at her lips. “Smooth, Odinson. Very smooth.”

Sam chuckled, elbowing you lightly. “Looks like someone’s got an admirer.”

Before you could respond, Thor’s gaze turned sharp, his grin widening as though he’d just had an idea. “Aye, perhaps they do. In fact…” He turned to the small group of agents nearby who had clearly been eavesdropping, their curiosity plain on their faces. “M’Lady and I are courting.”

The words hung in the air, and you froze, your mind racing in an attempt to process what he’d just said. Courting? Was he serious?

Nat and Sam exchanged glances, their interest immediately piqued. Natasha’s smirk grew, while Sam’s laughter erupted beside you.

“Wait-what?” you spluttered, turning to Thor with wide eyes. “We’re what?”

Thor looked down at you, his expression the picture of innocence. “A jest. To ward off prying eyes and overly curious admirers.”

You glared at him, heat rising in your cheeks. “That’s not funny.”

“It is effective,” he countered smoothly, his grin never faltering. “Unless you object?”

Before you could respond, Natasha stepped in. “You know what? I like it. Makes things interesting.”

“Agreed,” Sam added with a chuckle. “Let’s see how long it takes for the rumour mill to run wild.”

“Wait what?” Your cheeks flushed red, these people were supposed to be your friends and they were just…just turning you into some sort of joke? “Oh come on, it’ll be funny. Relax, no one is going to honestly believe it.” Part of you wasn’t sure if you should be offended by Natasha's remark or not.  You stood in stunned silence as suddenly Natasha and Sam were placing bets amongst themselves about who they could convince of this whole charade while you just felt yourself shrink up inside.

By the time the clock struck eleven, the entire room seemed to know about your supposed relationship with Thor. Everywhere you went, you caught whispers and sly smiles, agents and staff alike casting curious glances your way. Natasha and Sam were doing a fantastic job of helping things along. It was infuriating-and Thor wasn’t helping.

He played the part far too well. His hand found the small of your back whenever you were in reach, something he seemed to make sure you always where. His rich laughter carrying over the crowd as he introduced you as ‘His Lady’  He brought you drinks, engaged you in conversation, and even danced with you under the glittering lights, his touch firm yet gentle as he led you across the floor.

“You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?” you muttered as he spun you effortlessly, his grin never fading.

“Immensely,” he admitted, his eyes gleaming with amusement. “And you, my Lady, are a most excellent partner in deception.”

The words were harmless on the surface, but there was something in the way he said them, in the way his eyes held yours, that made your skin prickle. His usual warmth was still there, but beneath it lingered the quiet, unmistakable reminder of what he was-a god. Larger than life, overwhelming in both presence and charm, he exuded a kind of power that made him impossible to ignore.

“Thor,” you said softly, trying to pull back, but his hand slid to your waist, holding you steady.

“Yes, my Lady?” he replied, voice low and velvety, laced with amusement but also a weight that made your heart race. His grip was light enough not to alarm, but firm enough to remind you that you weren’t going anywhere unless he allowed it.

You wanted to argue, to tell him to cut it out, but the way he looked at you-those stormy eyes full of mischief, a sly curve to his lips-made it frustratingly difficult to form the words. It was still just a game, you told yourself, a bit of fun at your expense. But the intensity with which he played his part made it hard to shake the feeling that, joke or not, he was enjoying this far too much. And maybe, against your better judgment, a small, traitorous part of you was, too.

As the countdown to midnight began, the crowd pressed toward the massive clock projected onto the far wall, voices rising in anticipation. You seized the opportunity to slip away, weaving through the throng in search of refuge from the growing tension. But you barely made it a few steps before a hand caught your wrist, firm and unyielding, pulling you back.

“Leaving so soon?” Thor’s voice was low, rich, and tinged with an authority that sent a shiver down your spine. He didn’t need to raise his voice to command attention.

You forced a lightness into your tone. “I thought I’d avoid the spectacle.”

He chuckled, a sound that rolled over you like distant thunder, his grip firm but not cruel. “Stay,” he said, his stormy blue eyes fixed on yours, an undercurrent of something almost possessive in their depths. “I cannot see the New Year without you.”

It wasn’t a request. It never was with him.

You opened your mouth to protest, but the crowd began the countdown, their voices swelling in unison. Thor’s gaze didn’t waver, the intensity of it rooting you in place, making you feel as though the world had narrowed to just the two of you.

“Ten! Nine!”

The noise of the crowd faded to a distant hum as Thor stepped closer, the heat of his presence washing over you. He loomed, his broad frame both sheltering and suffocating, his hand rising to cup your cheek. His touch was deceptively gentle, his thumb brushing against your skin with unnerving familiarity.

“Eight! Seven!”

“This is a bad idea,” you murmured, your voice barely above a whisper. But even as you spoke, you couldn’t bring yourself to pull away, your body betraying you by leaning into him.

“Nonsense,” he said softly, his lips curling into a faint, knowing smile. “I see no better idea.”

“Six! Five!”

The air seemed to thicken, the space between you vanishing as his face inched closer. His breath was warm against your lips, the promise of his kiss sending your pulse into a frantic rhythm.

“Four! Three!”

You should have stopped him. You should have walked away. But you didn’t. Couldn’t. The pull of him was as inevitable as the tide, a force of nature too powerful to resist.

“Two! One!”

His lips claimed yours, slow and deliberate, as though he had all the time in the world to remind you of just how much power he held. The kiss was consuming, a deliberate act of dominance wrapped in warmth, and it left no room for doubt-he was in control. The room erupted into cheers, but the sound barely registered over the pounding of your heart and the way his hands anchored you to the moment, unyielding yet careful, as if daring you to move.

When he finally pulled back, his gaze lingered on yours, his expression unreadable but charged with an intensity that made it impossible to breathe. His thumb brushed your cheek.

“Happy New Year, my lady.” “H-Happy New Year Thor.”  Had the kiss really left you so breathless? Thor’s smile widened at your stammered response, his hand lingering at your cheek for a moment longer than necessary. There was a flicker of satisfaction in his eyes-a god who knew the effect he had on you, who thrived on it. Before you could gather your thoughts, he stepped closer, his hand slipping to your waist.

“You look pale, my Lady,” he said, his voice soft but weighted with implication. “Perhaps some air would do you well.”

His hand slid down to your wrist, his grip as unyielding as iron. Before you could protest, he was already leading you away, his towering presence parting the crowd as effortlessly as a storm cutting through the sky. The other partygoers barely spared a glance, their laughter and chatter uninterrupted. To them, this was nothing more than a natural progression of what they believed to be an established relationship.

“Thor, wait-I’m fine,” you said, trying to pull back. Your protests were futile against the sheer strength of his grip, his pace steady and unrelenting.

“Nonsense,” he replied, glancing over his shoulder with a calm, almost amused expression. “You’ve given me your company all evening. It’s only fair I offer you mine.”

His words were smooth, his tone almost teasing, but there was no mistaking the finality in them. He wasn’t giving you a choice. The halls outside the party grew quieter as he led you away from the noise, his steps purposeful. You felt your heart pounding, the reality of the situation sinking in with every passing second.

“Thor, people will talk-”

“Let them,” he interrupted, his voice a low rumble that silenced any further argument. “They already believe what they wish. It changes nothing.”

By the time you realized where he was leading you, it was too late. The door to his room loomed ahead, and with a swift motion, he opened it, pulling you inside before closing it behind him. The lock clicked, the sound loud and final in the quiet of the room.

You turned to face him, breathless and unsure, your mind racing for something-anything-to say. But Thor was already moving, his broad frame advancing on you with the same quiet confidence he’d displayed all evening. His hands found your waist, pulling you closer, his strength impossible to resist.

“Do not fear, my Lady,” he murmured, his tone softer now but no less commanding. His thumb brushed over your hip, the heat of his touch bleeding through the fabric of your dress. “You are mine tonight.”

“Thor, wait-” The protest fell from your lips as his hands found your waist again, his grip firm but not bruising. His sheer presence was overwhelming, an undeniable reminder of his power, of his dominance. He loomed over you, his piercing gaze fixed on yours, as though daring you to resist.

“My Lady, you deserve so much more then to be just a silly joke.” he said softly, his voice like the distant roll of thunder. His hand moved to cup your chin, tilting your face upward. “You spent the evening by my side, all out there believe this to be-”

Your breath hitched as he leaned in, his lips ghosting over yours, not kissing you but letting the anticipation build, the air between you thick and charged. Your heart raced, a mixture of defiance and something darker, something you couldn’t bring yourself to name.

“Thor-this… this isn’t-”

“Shhh,” he interrupted, his thumb brushing over your lower lip. His smile was faint, predatory. “No need for words, my Lady. Let me show you how a god worships.”

Before you could reply, he lifted you effortlessly into his arms, his strength undeniable. You gasped, your hands instinctively clutching his shoulders, but he didn’t falter. Instead, he carried you further into the room, the door a forgotten barrier behind you. Your protests felt small, swallowed by the sheer force of his presence, the intensity in his gaze as he laid you down on the bed as though you belonged there.

“You’re trembling,” he murmured, his voice a velvety growl as he traced a finger along your jawline. “Do not fret, I will not break you-”

Your cheeks burned, and you turned your head, but his hand caught your chin, forcing you to meet his gaze. His expression softened for the briefest moment, a flicker of something you couldn’t quite place before the hunger returned.

His hands moved with purpose, trailing down your sides as he leaned over you, his lips finding the sensitive skin of your neck. The heat of his breath sent shivers down your spine, his kisses deliberate, claiming. Your body betrayed you, arching into his touch even as your mind screamed at you to stop this, to push him away. But he was unrelenting, his hands exploring, his lips pulling soft gasps and reluctant whimpers from your throat.

“You feel it, don’t you?” he murmured against your skin, his voice a low rumble. “The pull between us. You cannot deny it.”

His lips found yours again, this time deeper, more consuming. His hands roamed with a purpose that left no room for doubt-he wasn’t going to stop, and you weren’t sure you wanted him to.

Thor’s lips descended on yours again, harder this time, with the weight of a storm behind them. There was no hesitance in his actions, no room for second-guessing. His hand slid up your thigh, you wanted to protest, to push him away, but who were you to deny a god.

“Thor, please,” you whispered, though even you weren’t sure if it was a plea for him to stop or to continue.

His thumb brushed over your lower lip again, a teasing touch that sent a jolt of heat through you. The smile tugging at the corners of his mouth told you he had decided the answer.  His lips found the hollow of your throat, kissing and biting gently, enough to make you gasp and arch against him.

“It’s alright-” he murmured, his voice a deep growl that sent shivers down your spine.

His fingers brushed against the edge of your underwear, a featherlight touch that made you tense beneath him. He paused, his stormy blue eyes locking onto yours, watching every flicker of emotion that crossed your face. “You’re trembling again,” he said softly “So sensitive.”

You couldn’t answer; your voice had abandoned you. Thor didn’t wait for a response, his fingers slipping beneath the fabric, finding your heat with an ease that made your breath hitch. He explored you with deliberate slowness, his touch skilled and confident, as though he had all the time in the world to unravel you.

“Do you see now?” he murmured, his lips brushing against your temple. “Even Gods are gentle.”

Your protests, feeble and half-hearted, were swallowed by the overwhelming intensity of his actions. His fingers moved expertly, drawing soft gasps and whimpers from you despite your attempts to stifle them. The tension in the room thickened, his dominance palpable as he claimed every inch of your focus, leaving no room for thought, no space to resist.

When he finally withdrew, his hand moved to his belt, the sound of the buckle unfastening sharp in the quiet room. His gaze never left yours, and the weight of it pinned you in place, making your breath catch as he bared himself before you.

“I will show you what you deserve,” he said, his voice a low, dangerous promise. “And you will thank me for it.”

Thor’s hands gripped your thighs, pulling you closer to the edge of the bed as he positioned himself, his movements slow and deliberate, giving you no time to process, no room to escape.

You couldn’t even remember him telling you to open your mouth as you felt him push past your lips his length filled your mouth, the head of his arousal brushing against the back of your throat. You felt a surge of panic, your body instinctively trying to pull back, but his hands gripped your shoulders, holding you in place.

“No, no- stay for me.” His eyes burned with intensity, watching you as he slowly began to move, his hips rocking back and forth. The sensation was overwhelming, his length stretching your mouth, his tip hitting the back of your throat with each thrust. You felt a gag reflex rising, but he seemed to sense it, his movements slowing, his eyes never leaving yours. He leaned in closer, his voice a low growl,

"You will learn, just relax, breath deep.” His words of coaching praise filling the while his hands moved, one releasing your shoulder to grasp your hair, pulling your head back, exposing your throat. Thors’s eyes flashed with hunger as he began to move again, his thrusts slow and deliberate, filling your mouth with each stroke. You felt your body responding, your lips and tongue working to accommodate him, your throat relaxing to take him deeper, tears pricking at your eyes. “That’s it, good girl.”

The sound of his breathing filled the air, his groans low and husky, as he moved, his hips rocking back and forth. His eyes never left yours, burning with intensity, as he claimed your mouth, his touch sending sparks of pleasure through your body. You felt yourself getting lost in the sensation, your body responding to his touch, as he took you, surly it was the champagne going to your head and not the act of being used like this that made your pussy soak the fabric between legs.

It had to be? Not the way texture of his skin smooth felt, the taste of him salty and musky seemed to make your head spin. The Gods veins pulsing against your tongue, his arousal throbbing with each beat of his heart and it seemed to match the way your own cunt now throbbed. His hands held you in place, his grip firm but not bruising, as he moved, his thrusts slow and deliberate, filling your mouth with each stroke.

As he moved, his tip hit the back of your throat, sending a surge of pleasure through your body. You felt your lips and tongue working to accommodate him, your throat relaxing to take him deeper. His eyes flashed with hunger, his gaze burning with intensity, as he claimed your mouth, his touch sending sparks of pleasure through your body.

Suddenly, he pulled out, his length slipping from your lips, leaving you gasping for air. His eyes never left yours, burning with intensity, as his hand brushed through your hair and stroked your neck, "Not yet, my sweet lady..” His finger played with the straps of your dress, a you felt a shiver run down your spine. “I think it’s time this found my floor.”

Your hands didn’t move fast enough as he waited for you to comply. "Take it off," he whispered, his voice low and husky. "I want to see you." Slowly reached up, your hands grasping the straps, and slid them down your shoulders. The dress fell away, moving so it the fabric was left in a pool on the floor.

Thor's gaze roamed over your body, his eyes drinking in the sight of you. He seemed to savor every curve, every contour, his eyes burning with hunger, no one looked at you like that. As he took you, he began to strip, his movements slow and deliberate. Removing his already unfastened pants, letting them fall to the floor, and then reached up, pulling his shirt over his head.

You couldn't help but stare at him, his body a masterpiece of muscle and strength. His chest was broad, his shoulders wide, and his abdomen rippled with definition. His arousal jutting out from his body still wet in places from your mouth. He took a step closer, his hands reaching out to grasp your hips. His fingers slid under the waistband of your underwear, pulling them down, leaving you as naked as him. While his face expression nothing but adoration, you had never felt so vulnerable, so small.

His hands moved, one grasping your hip, holding you in place, while the other slid down, his fingers brushing against your core. You felt a jolt of pleasure, your body responding to his touch, as he slid a thick finger inside you, his touch sending sparks of pleasure through your body.

“That’s it, relax.”

He added another finger, his touch deliberate, stretching you open. You felt yourself getting lost in the sensation, your body responding to his touch, but even like this you felt overwhelming.  his movements slow and deliberate. His fingers moved, preparing you for him, pushing against your walls, as he watched you taking in your face as blood rushed to your cheeks as he went to add a third.

“Thor, I-this is too much-”

“Too much? I have barely begun, my Lady. And you will take all of it. You are not used to such worship that is all. You do not need to run from pleasure.”

He pressed his lips into your swallowing the whimper as he made his third digit slid in with the others, the sting around your entrance almost enough to cause tears. You wanted to protest but it was lost again when his thumb brushed against your clit, sending a surge of pleasure through your body. You felt yourself arching into his touch, your hips rising to meet his hand now, as he stretched you open. Thor pulling back a pleased smile on his face at your response to him.

“See? Eager for it now aren’t you?”  His thumb pressed harder again taking the ach away his fingers caused.   Thor’s pleased smile deepened as he watched you writhe beneath him, his thumb circling your clit with calculated precision. The tears threatening to spill from your eyes didn’t seem to bother him-in fact, they only seemed to encourage him. His other hand rested possessively on your hip, holding you in place as he continued his deliberate assault on your senses.

“You feel that?” he murmured, his voice low and rich, sending a shiver down your spine. “How perfectly your body mold’s to my touch.  I will teach you to cherish it.”

His thumb pressed harder against your clit, the pleasure blurring the edges of your thoughts and stealing the words from your lips. His fingers worked inside you, stretching and teasing, coaxing your body to open for him even as the sting lingered. The wetness coming from you now seemed to please him more.

“That’s it,” he murmured, his voice a rumble of satisfaction. “I will worship you here and you will give me yourself in return.”

You shivered at his words, a mix of defiance and submission warring within you. He leaned down, his lips brushing against your ear as he whispered, “Tell me, do you feel it? The way your body craves what only I can give you? There’s no shame in surrendering to a god.  I’ve seen how you all look at me. I will make more then the joke they all thought you to be.”

You couldn’t form a response, your breaths coming in short, sharp gasps as your hips moved against his hand, chasing the relief his touch promised. He smile widening, his teeth grazing the sensitive skin of your neck.

“You’re ready...” Withdrawing his fingers suddenly and leaving you gasping at the emptiness. “And you’ll take me beautifully.”

Before you could process his words, Thor shifted, his hands gripping your thighs and spreading them wider. The weight of his arousal pressed against your entrance, hot and unyielding, as he positioned himself.

“Thor-wait, I-” The words came out in a rush, but he silenced you with a kiss, his lips demanding and consuming. The stretch was immediate and overwhelming as he entered, your body fighting to adjust to his sheer size. The sharp sting from his fingers was nothing to this, yet you could not deny that under all the sharp pain pleasure thrummed.

“Thor-” you gasped against his lips, your nails digging into his shoulders.

“That’s it,” he murmured, his voice dark and soothing as he stilled for a moment, giving you a chance to adjust. “Feel me, little one. All of me. Do not fight it-you are made to take this, I know you can.”

Tears pricked at the corners of your eyes as you tried to breathe through the intensity, but Thor’s hands never faltered, his thumbs rubbing soothing circles into your hips as though he was calming a restless storm. “Good,” he rumbled, his tone almost reverent. “You’re doing so well. Let yourself feel it. Accept it.”

He leaned down, pressing his forehead to yours, his breath warm against your skin.  You whimpered in response, unsure if the sound came from the lingering ache or the undeniable pull of his presence. He began to move, slow and deliberate, his body pressing deeper into yours with each measured thrust. Every inch of him demanded your focus, filling you so completely that it left no room for thought, no space to question.

“I-Thor, I-” The words dissolved into a gasp as he shifted, his angle driving deeper, sparking a wave of sensation that stole the air from your lungs.

“Shhh,” he soothed, his hand sliding up your body to cup your jaw. “You don’t need words, my Lady. Let your body speak for you.”

He claimed you with an unrelenting rhythm, his movements slow and controlled, as though he was savoring every second. His free hand trailed down to your clit, his thumb brushing over the sensitive bundle of nerves with just enough pressure to send sparks shooting through your body. Your hips bucked against him involuntarily, a soft cry escaping your lips.

“See?” he murmured, his voice a low growl of approval. “Your body knows, trust yourself.”

The praise was intoxicating, and despite yourself, you felt your walls clenching around him, your body betraying the conflict in your mind. Thor’s smile deepened, his dominance radiating in every deliberate thrust. He leaned down, capturing your lips in a kiss that was both tender and overwhelming, a contradiction that left you breathless. His pace quickened slightly, each thrust driving you closer to the edge, the pleasure building with an intensity that threatened to consume you entirely. You started to get lost in the feeling now, his strength was undeniable, as his hips pushed up and into you. His commanding dominance absolute, outside that room ceased to exist. It was only him-his touch, his voice, his overwhelming presence-consuming you entirely.

Thor’s grip on your hips tightened, his fingers digging into your flesh as he anchored you in place, each thrust deliberate and unrelenting. His movements left no room for resistance, no space to think beyond the way he filled you, the way he moved against you with a precision that made your body betray every doubt you had.

“You feel it, don’t you?” he murmured, his voice a dark rumble that seemed to vibrate through your very core. “The way your body bends to me, yields to me..”

You couldn’t answer, your breaths coming in ragged tight pants as his pace intensified, the sound of his skin meeting yours filling the room. Your body felt as though it was on fire, every nerve alive under his touch, your felt every vein drag against slick velvet walls. Every move from him sparked new sensation, this was what it was to be taken by a God.

“Thor,” you gasped, his name slipping from your lips.

“That’s it,” he said, his tone shifting into something almost tender, though it was lust clouding though normally clear blue eyes of his. “Say my name.”

The circling on your clit just enough to make your hips buck involuntarily against him. He growled softly, his hand sliding up your body to press against your stomach, holding you firmly in place as he drove deeper. God you felt him in your stomach as he tip nudged against your cervix.

The room felt smaller, hotter, his presence overwhelming every corner as he pulled you closer to the edge. Your cunt tightens around him, the pleasure building to a point that left you gasping for air, your mind spinning as he continued to push you further. The intensity of it was almost too much, yet not enough, your body caught in a storm you couldn’t escape-and didn’t want to.

His thumb pressing harder against your clit as his thrusts grew more forceful, more deliberate. “Do not fight it. I feel you, so tight for me, so wet.”  

His words broke something inside you, the final push that sent you over the edge. Your body tensed, a cry escaping your lips as the wave of pleasure crashed over you, leaving you trembling and gasping beneath him. Thor didn’t stop, his pace unrelenting as he chased his own release, his growls deepening, the sound raw and primal.

When he finally reached his peak, he buried himself fully, his body stiffening as a guttural groan tore from his throat. His hands gripped you tightly you knew your bruise. The room fell silent save for the sound of your ragged breaths and his low murmurs of satisfaction. His weight pressed against you, his forehead resting against yours as his fingers brushed against your cheek. “You see now, my Lady,” he said softly, his voice dark but strangely soothing. “You are not joke to me, I meant it when I declared you mine.”

[submissiveebrat]

When you're a star, they let you do it. You can do anything." He adds seconds later: "Grab them by the pussy. You can do anything." — Trump in a previously unreleased recording made by "Access Hollywood" in 2005, published Friday by The Washington Post and NBC News

"If Hillary Clinton can't satisfy her husband what makes her think she can satisfy America #MakeAmericaGreatAgain." — Trump tweeted in April 2015. He later deleted the post.

"It must be a pretty picture, you dropping to your knees." — Trump to a female contestant in 2013 on an episode of "Celebrity Apprentice."

"Did Crooked Hillary help disgusting (check out sex tape and past) Alicia M become a U.S. citizen so she could use her in the debate?" — Trump tweeted in September 2016. He was referring to former Miss Universe winner Alicia Machado, whom he publicly shamed for gaining weight when he owned the contest

"It's certainly not groundbreaking news that the early victories by the women on 'The Apprentice' were, to a very large extent, dependent on their sex appeal." — Trump wrote in his 2004 book, "How To Get Rich."

"All of the women on 'The Apprentice' flirted with me — consciously or unconsciously. That's to be expected. A sexual dynamic is always present between people, unless you are asexual." — Trump, also from "How To Get Rich."

"You could see there was blood coming out of her eyes. Blood coming out of her wherever." — Trump in an interview with CNN in August 2015, referring to Fox News Channel anchor Megyn Kelly.

"Look at that face! Would anyone vote for that? Can you imagine that, the face of our next president? I mean, she's a woman, and I'm not s'posedta say bad things, but really, folks, come on. Are we serious?" — Trump in a September 2015 interview with Rolling Stone, speaking about then-primary rival Carly Fiorina.

"It doesn't really matter what (the media) write as long as you've got a young and beautiful piece of ass." — Trump in an interview with Esquire Magazine in 1991.

"A person who's flat-chested is very hard to be a 10, OK?" — Trump in an interview with shock jock Howard Stern in September 2005.

"I saw a woman who was totally beautiful. She was angry that so many men were calling her. 'How dare they call me! It's terrible! They're all looking at my breasts.' So she had a major breast reduction. The good news: Nobody calls her anymore — nobody even looks — and not only that, it was a terrible job." — Trump to Stern in 2008.

Congratulations America, this is who is now president AGAIN. A misogynist, sexist, vile pig. Good Job. 👏👏

[ayrtonswnna]

ʚïɞ "OSCAR WINS!" OP81

↳ masterlist ↳ drop a request! ↳ more osc! <3

✧₊⁺ oscar piastri x renée smith (autistic!female oc)

✧₊⁺ summary: renée gets too overwhelmed at the abu dhabi gp; her boyfriend has to work it out.

✧₊⁺ warnings: overstimulated character, character pushing past her own boundaries, self-harming regulation methods, verbal stims, the ending could be a bit better.

✧₊⁺ a/n: i wrote a few autistic characters before but i am well aware this is not my ground to step in, have in mind that i am an educator, i study for that and have and had neurodivergent students, i took several classes and courses under the theme, a lot of researches and studies. i tried to portray renée as accurate as possible and took my time reading from neurodivergent people, but in case you know better, feel completely free to talk to me and let me know any possible mistake!

Oscar and Renée have been together for eleven months now; they're nearing their one-year anniversary. By this point, they have found their way around each other's routines and ways.

He understood her in ways few people did and as fast as he drives. Having a neurodivergent girlfriend brought a lot to the table for the sweetest boyfriend. He knew she wouldn’t mind the paddock if she could arrive early and miss the crowd, dodge the attention and hang out in the box, the papaya headphones wrapping her curls, and the fidgeting toy hanging between her fingers. It would work just fine.

They'd have lunch together, and she'd stay around with his sister, who was also very kind and made it easy to just be. But it's Abu Dhabi, it's the title race. Of course, the box would be heated, and of course, she had to keep it together. It was Oscar's moment; he worked towards that and deserved a perfect night.

So by the last lap, everyone is going crazy. The mechanics and engineers were all so happy and excited. She found it incredibly amazing how they were all just family and bouncy. But it could never be her. Even though she tried. The headphones couldn't keep out the noise, and the corner she found herself in started feeling only smaller and smaller.

As the noise in the paddock rose, Renée felt the familiar pressure building in her chest. The sounds were like an avalanche, each one crashing down and piling on top of the last. She squeezed her fidget toy, trying to focus on its texture, but the edges of her vision blurred. "Just a few more hours," she told herself, her mind racing to find an anchor in the chaos.

She just had to make it out alive and wait until it was time to go back to the hotel.

"Put on a shirt, Miss Piastri! It’s a world-champion’s environment!" one of the mechanics said, throwing a papaya piece of fabric she had to focus on to catch. He was just being nice, trying to include her in the celebration.

"Thanks," she tried, unfolding the shirt and cursing herself once she saw the tag in the back of the collar.

Alright, just a few more hours. So she put on the shirt, watching as the people got ready to welcome the drivers back in the box.

Oscar took longer to show up; it was a tough race. He was received in the crew's arms, and Renée just focused on the happy moment. He might be feeling so many things right now she couldn't just interrupt that. The thing is she also couldn't unravel her mind from the unsettling feeling, and the tag at the back of her neck kept tickling her skin.

"Heeey, baby! World champion, huh?" he said, approaching with open arms, a wide smile on his face as he put a cap on. "Look at you! All in papaya!"

She smiled through her thoughts, wrapping her arms around his waist before pecking his lips. But he noticed, he always did.

"Congratulations, baby. I knew you'd make it. Best in the world."

"Your words, not mine," he smiled, fixing the headphones over her head and touching the shirt so casually it felt natural. "Are you alright? It’s so noisy out here," he said nicely, while twirling the piece of harder fabric before pulling the tag off like it was a thin piece of paper.

"It's alright," Renée smiled again. "I am just happy. Really happy. I know how much you wanted this. How are you feeling?"

"So great! It’s better than I thought it would be; I can’t even describe." His bunny-teethed smile almost made her forget how overwhelming it all felt. "Really, really happy you're here with me; I don’t think I’d make it without you."

"Of course you would, you're Oscar Piastri! F3 and F2 back to back, McLaren driver. It's you," she shoved him softly, unconsciously flinching when she heard the team screaming over something.

"Love you."

"I love you too, baby. Are you sure you want to stay? I can dodge it for a bit if you want me to."

"No! No, it's ok. You're a world champ! You gotta celebrate."

"But I can always—"

"Oscar! You can celebrate with your girlfriend later! Pop more champagne, you know? Now come here!" Of course, Lando Norris.

A fun one.

"Go, baby. I'll be here, ok? It's your moment."

"Are you—"

"Yes! Yes, I am. Now go!"

"Alright, but if you need to… We can head off. Alright? Promise you're gonna tell me if anything happens. Please," he insisted, kissing her lips once again.

"Yes. Promise."

"Great. Love you, bub. I'll be back." One more kiss, and then he's off. And Renée can only hold herself together for the next few hours. The fidgeting toy couldn't handle the job anymore, and by the end of the night, her skin had bruises all over her hands from picking it between her fingers repeatedly for self-regulation.

At this point, she was already non-verbal, and the small cuts around her hands were being overcut. Oscar cursed himself once he saw his girlfriend sitting on one of the couches in the corner, the cold wind almost unnoticed by her numbed brain. Like she could just disassociate.

He knew she couldn't, though. He knew her mind was racing too fast, and they should've left hours ago.

"Hey, bub. Hey. Let's go, ok? I am taking you to the hotel, alright? Yes or no?"

Oscar could guess everything at this point; she probably wouldn't talk, but they worked just fine with yes or no questions and head nods. So she nodded her head yes, and he offered his hand, now noticing hers were just too busy.

"Baby, hey. It's alright. Let's just… Just leave. Do you want a paper sheet?"

He knew some alternatives for the self-harming stims; paper for her to rip into small pieces, a warm bag. He took his time finding out what worked better, and when she didn't react, he knew it had to go his way. She was not going to answer, and he wouldn't let her keep hurting herself. So he just wandered off to the engineering table and grabbed any sheet of paper, putting it in between her hands. A sigh of relief left his chest as she accepted the paper.

"Great, there you go, darling… You're doing great. Let's go? Take a shower?"

Now she nodded. Renée got to her feet, accepting being cooed until they were on their way to the car that awaited them, making him remember he had to deal with Lando, who was also going to take the ride.

"Lan, look. Renée isn't ok, I think she's overstimulated. Can you take another car? I need to take her back, and she needs to calm down," he said, making sure to let his teammate get close enough before talking.

"Oh—sure!" He glanced quickly and automatically at the girl, getting the situation right away. "It's just fine, I can go with Andrea or one of the guys. It's alright, go. Call me if you need anything."

"Thanks, mate. You're the best."

"I know." He broke the ice his way around, stopping halfway to give them some space. "See you tomorrow!"

Oscar nodded before opening the car door, still cooing his girlfriend inside and exchanging a few words with the driver. The piece of paper was now shattered and missing parts, so he improvised with a bold one, his own hand. Renée was always cautious when he offered her that, not wanting to hurt her boyfriend.

So she just kept moving his fingertips up and down, looking out the window until they were at the hotel room.

Finally, there was silence. Oscar closed the windows and emptied the bed, knowing really well Renée would be lying on the floor as soon as he turned around.

"Doing great, bub. Really great. I'm taking your shoes off, ok?"

She nodded. Fingers still fighting between themselves, her mind just too clouded to process anything. Damn, it was Oscar's night; it was supposed to be his moment, and she felt like she ruined it all. Such a bother, an inconvenience.

Oscar would never think of it like that, though. He was just too focused on taking her shoes off and checking on her properly, just to make sure she was not hurting herself.

"Do you want to stay on the floor? It’s pretty chill, right?" His patience was always one of his best virtues. It’d allow her to get comfortable, and it’d be one less pressure.

"Yes," she managed to say, her boyfriend smiling softly as the word left her lips. "Oscar wins!"

Renée had some verbal stims; she made her way around them often, and Oscar could be surprised sometimes, once she saw a TikTok video about his contract story with Alpine and kept saying, "I understand that… Without my agreement…" every now and then.

But the "Oscar wins!" was the cutest; Oscar loved it.

"Yeah, sometimes he does." He chuckled. "Are we ok? Do you need something?"

"Hu-hum." She hiccupped. "Don’t want to bother."

"You never bother me, bub. Is there something I can do right now? Or do we like the floor?"

"We like it," she kept the few words dynamic. "And Oscar wins!"

"Oscar wins, yes." Again, he let out a soft chuckle, looking around for what to do next. "Can I take the headphones off? It’s quiet in here."

"Yes, it's fine." Renée did the job herself, taking the piece away and letting Oscar grab it. "I'm sorry, okay?"

"Nothing to be sorry about, baby. We need to rest anyways." Oscar wanted to say he's the one who should be apologizing; he imagined she'd get overstimulated and overwhelmed inside the garage and still, he let her stay, trusting her words even knowing damn well she wouldn't want to interrupt his celebration.

So he just understood he had to try to make it up. Renée was all about space, he knew she'd come around for contact when she wanted to and it was just them on a regular basis. She loved cuddling, but Oscar would just wait until she approached by herself. Always making it clear when touching, always asking. The kindest of the kinds.

"Oscar wins!" she repeated, taking a bit of impulse until she could flip and lay on her belly, making a pillow with her arms. "You are amazing, Osc. I don't deserve you, you can't do all of that for me."

"Don't say that," he mouthed, keeping the tone serious but trying to be chill. "Don't say that, I love you and you deserve every care in the world. You deserve every bit of my time."

"Love you too," it was the first thing her mind caught. "Not every bit… Because Oscar wins! And I can't be with you inside the car."

"Yeah, bub. Unfortunately, you won't fit inside the car." He chuckled, laughing at how simple this talk could be. "But you fit right into my bed! Do you want to shower so we can sleep?"

"Yes, I think I have champagne on me. Can we have a cold shower?"

"You can have your cold shower and then I can take my warm one. No cold water for me." He kept the chill voice tone, giving himself the job to grab her clothes and towels. "Let's go, baby. We are exhausted."

"Because Oscar wins!" she stimmed her way around as she stood up.

The verbal stims are usually her least favorite ones, they were noisy and they caught more attention. But this one was just a way to let Osc know she was really happy about the world title. And he could get that pretty easily.

"Oscar and the team win," he laughed, waiting for her by the bathroom door. "Go for your cold shower, I'll keep you company."

"Yes. Osc, you're the best boyfriend."

"And you are the best girlfriend."

ʚïɞ ayrtonswnna, 2024. requests are open (: reblogs and feedback are always welcome (:

[deliciousangelfestival]

Let Me Love You - 8 || End

Character: college!Bucky x Female!Reader

Summary: On a mysterious, rainy night, Bucky witnesses a distressing encounter involving his crush.

Chapter 1 , Chapter 2 , Chapter 3 , Chapter 4 , Chapter 5 , Chapter 6 , Chapter 7 , Chapter 8.

Main Masterlist || support: Ko-fi

Thank you to everyone who has read this chapter. Please let me know what your thoughts are. I'd love to hear your feedback. Thank you once again.

You only muttered a noncommittal "hmm" when you heard your father's words. Matthew, on the other side of the phone, could only sigh.

Before the divorce, you would chat with him, sharing your thoughts and feelings. But now, your responses were short and distant: "I'm fine," "Yeah," "No," and "Thanks."

"I'm sorry. It's all because of my mistakes," Matthew said, his voice heavy with regret.

'That's right,' you thought bitterly, your grip tightening around the phone.

Matthew's voice softened, filled with a sadness you couldn't ignore. "Don't think about it. Get some rest."

You nodded silently, even though he couldn't see you, feeling the emotional chasm between you both widen further.

After ending the call with your father, you felt lonely. Just then, your phone buzzed with a message from Bucky: "Good night."

Despite the earlier conversation, a small smile tugged at your lips, a warmth spreading through you. Bucky's simple message felt like a lifeline, a reminder that someone cared.

🎓

The next day, you felt a knot of nervousness in your stomach as you stepped onto the university campus. The thought of facing everyone, especially after the recent events, was daunting.

Bucky was beside you, his presence a comforting anchor in your anxiety. He glanced at you, noticing the tension in your expression.

"Hey," he said gently, "you've got this. I'm here with you."

You gave him a small, grateful smile, trying to draw strength from his support. "Thanks, Bucky. I don't know what I'd do without you."

He nodded, his eyes full of reassurance. "You don't have to worry about that. You're not alone in this."

While walking to class, you and Bucky noticed that nobody even glanced your way. It seemed like everyone was absorbed in their phones, gasping and starting animated discussions.

Suddenly, a cheering scream erupted from afar. You looked around, puzzled. "Something to celebrate?" you asked, glancing at Bucky.

Steve joined both of you, a wide grin on his face. "It's for the football team. Especially Ari." He held out his phone, showing you the photos.

You gasped, your eyes widening as you read the article.

"They chose Ari Levinson instead of Lloyd," said Steve. The headline and accompanying photos detailed the unexpected turn of events.

Bucky leaned in to get a better look, his eyebrows shooting up in surprise. "Wow, that's a big change. I wonder what happened."

The campus football team had two standout players: Lloyd Hansen and Ari Levinson.

Lloyd was the main star, possessing a charisma that the camera loved. He thrived in the spotlight, his confident demeanor drawing attention on and off the field.

In contrast, Ari preferred quiet, shying away from the limelight. Despite his reserved nature, his skills on the field were undeniable.

But how did such a sudden change occur when everyone knew Lloyd was the chosen one?

You remembered what your father had said the previous night.

Reaching for your phone, you called him. "Dad?"

Matthew answered, his voice calm yet firm. "No one will underestimate you this time."

Unbeknownst to you, your father was at the campus, standing in the headmaster's office with the football coach and Lloyd. He looked out from behind the blinds, looking at you from afar.

Matthew ended the call and turned his attention to Lloyd, who sat with his head down, looking pale and defeated.

Matthew stepped closer, his voice low and stern. "Is this how you repay me? You promised to protect my daughter."

Lloyd clenched his fist, his knuckles white with tension. He knew Matthew's history as a former NFL player and the football coach at their previous high school. He had never anticipated that Matthew had the power to derail his path to the professional league.

Matthew's presence was imposing, a silent reminder of his authority.

It was Matthew who had trained Lloyd and provided the recommendation that helped him secure the scholarship. Some called him biased since Lloyd was dating his daughter, but as long as Lloyd made you happy and showed big potential, Matthew was willing to support him.

But now, this kid had cheated on his daughter. This sinful mistake reminded Matthew of his own past missteps.

He decided to teach Lloyd a valuable lesson. Not everything could go as he planned.

Matthew adjusted his jacket buttons and looked at Lloyd with a steely gaze. "You're good. Keep training. Perhaps another team will scout you."

With that, he turned and left the room, leaving Lloyd to ponder the gravity of his actions and the consequences they had brought upon him.

Lloyd clenched his fists, frustration boiling as he punched his knees in anger. His life felt crumbling before his eyes, all because of that woman.

Where the heck was she now?

Nicky stood in the bustling airport, a knot of anxiety tightening in her stomach. She had paid the hacker to erase her digital footprint, to free herself from the consequences of her actions. Yet, despite her efforts, an ominous sense of impending doom lingered in the air.

As she went to the priority lounge, her phone buzzed with an incoming call. With trembling hands, she answered, her voice barely above a whisper. "Hi, Dad."

The voice on the other end was filled with disappointment and anger. "You still brave enough to talk? You idiot. I thought you had quit from those bullying things. Your mistakes will ruin the company."

Nicky gasped, feeling the weight of her father's words like a physical blow.

"I've received the files of your bad deeds," her father continued, accusing. "What the heck is wrong with you, Nicky?"

Desperation flooded Nicky's senses as she tried to find the right words to explain. "Dad... wait. I can explain—"

But her father's voice cut through her protestations. "You want to leave the country. Good. Don't ever come back."

The line went dead, leaving Nicky feeling as though her world had crumbled around her. Tears pricked at the corners of her eyes as she struggled to process the magnitude of her father's words.

As if on cue, the cashier at the priority lounge interrupted her thoughts with a grim announcement. "Miss, your credit card has been declined."

Nicky's heart sank further, the realization hitting her like a ton of bricks. Everything she had planned, her escape from the consequences of her actions, was slipping through her fingers.

Nicky wondered who had orchestrated this downfall and who had made such an effort to help Y/N.

It was all because of Bucky.

He had chosen an investigation team to find out, just as he had predicted. And the culprit was none other than Nicky herself.

Instead of resorting to public humiliation, Bucky had chosen a different path—blackmail. He understood the power dynamics at play, knowing that hitting Nicky where it hurt the most—her privileged lifestyle and her father's reputation—would be the most effective form of punishment.

Nicky had always been a spoiled princess, shielded from the consequences of her actions by her doting father. But now, with her pillars of support crumbling around her, she was left vulnerable and exposed.

Bucky remained at the university, orchestrating events from behind the scenes. He calculated his moves carefully, knowing that Nicky's downfall would have far-reaching consequences.

As Nicky's world began to crumble, Bucky couldn't help but feel a sense of satisfaction. Justice had been served, and he had played a crucial role in ensuring that the truth came to light.

Karma has hit her like a ton of bricks.

🏈

After the aftermath, you resumed attending classes like usual. However, you couldn't help but notice Lloyd's somber demeanor as he walked through the halls like a mere shadow of his former self. It tugged at your heartstrings, prompting you to take action.

A few days later, as you and Bucky walked side by side, you unexpectedly crossed paths with Lloyd. This time, there was a subtle shift in his demeanor. As he drew closer, he whispered a heartfelt "Thank you."

A small smile graced your lips in response.

The reason behind Lloyd's gratitude stemmed from your intervention. You had reached out to your father, pleading for Lloyd to be given a second chance. Lloyd received an offer from another team.

You understood that everyone makes mistakes, especially in their youth, and you couldn't bear to see Lloyd lose his passion and purpose.

Having grown up alongside Lloyd, you knew that football was more than just a game to him—it was his life and his dreams. If it were taken away from him, he would be left adrift, without direction or purpose.

So, you did what you could to help him reclaim his footing and pursue his aspirations once more.

You couldn't bear the thought of being the one to crush his dreams, not after everything you and he had been through together.

It was the least you could do to offer him this final gift, a chance to reignite the fire within him and pursue his aspirations once more.

🎓

As time passed, graduation day finally arrived. The campus buzzed with excitement as every student donned their caps, gowns, and proudly held their diplomas.

Amidst the sea of graduates, you watched with pride as your boyfriend, Bucky, took the stage as the valedictorian to deliver his speech.

It was a moment of triumph, made even sweeter by the journey you both had taken together. Bucky's patience and unwavering support had finally won you over, and he now held a special place in your heart as your boyfriend.

Turning around, you spotted your parents sitting together in the crowd. Despite the awkwardness that lingered between them, you were grateful that they managed to put aside their differences for this important day.

Your gaze then shifted to Lloyd, who had undergone a noticeable transformation. Gone was his once-smug attitude, replaced by a newfound humility and maturity.

Though you only caught glimpses of him from afar, you couldn't help but feel a sense of admiration for his growth, silently wishing him the best in his future endeavors.

And as for Nicky, rumors circulated that she was stuck in another country, working hard to find her way back home. While her fate remained uncertain, you couldn't help but hope that she would find redemption and a path forward.

As the ceremony drew close, you couldn't help but reflect on the tumultuous journey that had led you to this momentous day. From the heartbreak of discovering your first love's betrayal to the humiliation inflicted by his other girl, it had been a path fraught with pain and challenges.

Yet, amidst the darkness, there were glimmers of light—your father's unwavering support and the gentle presence of your new boyfriend, who was a beacon of sweetness and kindness in your life, like an angel sent from above.

Despite the trials and tribulations, you felt a sense of optimism. With the scars of the past serving as reminders of your strength and resilience, you looked towards the future with hope and determination.

Each step forward was a testament to your courage and resilience, and you knew that no matter what challenges lay ahead, you would face them head-on, guided by the love and support surrounding you.

-end-

Thank you for everyone who reading this stories🩷💙🩷

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Author Note:

Hey friends,

If you've been enjoying the content, I've set up a Ko-fi account. Your support through tips would mean the world and help me keep creating. Only if you feel like it!

Here's the link: Ko-fi

Thanks a bunch for being fabulous followers!

[equalopportunitysolas]

Equal Opportunity Solas week

Taking Place Oct 6th - Oct 12th

Equal Opportunity Solas Week seeks to promote the Solas romance as inclusive and diverse. We wish to celebrate the possibilities of the Solas romance for characters of all races, gender identities, gender expressions, sexual orientation, and disability.

The event supports content involving:

Solas rare-pair romances

Solas romances with queer characters

Queer Solas romances (in which Solas himself is queer)

Asexual & aromantic Solas pairings

Solas romances involving characters with mental or physical disabilities (beyond missing anchor arm)

Due to the tendency within the fandom to view the Solas romance within heterosexual and cisgendered norms, the event will exclude all depictions of heterosexual cisgendered (cishet) fem!Lavellan

Queer representations of fem!Lavellan or female-presenting Lavellans are valid and encouraged within this event, including:

poly romance with Solas and another character(s)

aromantic or asexual relationship with Solas

bisexual Lavellan

nonbinary Lavellan

trans Lavellan

gender fluid Lavellan

See Event Info & Rules for content guidelines as well as Themes for more information!

[inubaki]

The Sea Queen

Chapter 5

————

story commissioned by the amazing @libby-for-life! Based off one of the first pics @sir-tater-of-the-tot made that got me hooked on this fandom to began with. I blame them entirely.

——-

19 years layer

Adam stood proudly amongst his crew, the salty sea breeze whipping through his hair as they reveled in the aftermath of their latest conquest. The massive corpse of the Kraken lay sprawled across the deck of his ship, its tentacles still twitching in a feeble last gesture. This creature had proved to be as cunning as legends foretold, squirming and thrashing as it tried to evade capture. But with quick thinking and expert aim, his first mate, Lute, had plunged her harpoon into its flesh, sealing its fate with a triumphant cry that echoed over the waves.

Now, under the glow of the golden sun, the crew gathered around, their laughter ringing out like music over the gentle lapping of the ocean. They passed around tankards of rich, aged mead, its sweet aroma mingling with the briny scent of the sea. Each sip of their drink celebrated not only their victory but also the bond they shared—one forged through countless battles and nights spent under the stars, anchored far from the safety of land.

Adam surveyed the scene before him, his heart swelling with pride. Each member of his crew had their scars and stories, etched upon their skin and in their eyes—tales of bravery and hardship that had only made them stronger. He couldn’t have asked for a better team; they were fierce, loyal, and relentless, ready to face whatever menace the ocean threw at them.

"Come on, Sir!" Elara called out, her voice cutting through the salty sea air as she waved energetically from the deck. Adam couldn't help but smirk at her enthusiasm; she had a knack for making even the most mundane tasks feel exhilarating. With a few confident strides, he joined his all-female crew, each member displaying a mix of grit and camaraderie that always inspired him. 

Most captains would scoff at the idea of having a woman aboard their vessel, let alone an entirely female crew, but Adam was far from your average captain. He had handpicked these women not just for their formidable skills, but for their indomitable spirits. This was a crew forged in the fires of adversity—steeped in the kind of relentless discipline and bravado that would put even the most seasoned pirates to shame.

The crew had a reputation that preceded them. They were a fierce and ruthless bunch, capable of dispatching anyone who dared to underestimate their capabilities. Each had their own story, some even worse than Adam's. He knew that Lute was once a high-class lady whose family fell on hard times and in a desperate attempt to keep what little money her parents had left, sold their only child to prostitution. Adam had found her when she had burnt the man keeping her to death.

Elara had been a slave. Lucy had been an orphan, like Adam except there wasn't anyone to take pity on her like the islanders of Adam's former home did. Cicely was a thief who was wrongfully accused of murder and was going to be executed as a scapegoat. The list went on, some more gruesome than others, but they all found a family in each other.

Adam had navigated a winding path to justice, one that he had dedicated himself to for years. He had become a beacon of hope for those who had struggled to find their own footing in a world that often turned a blind eye to their suffering. His all-female crew, a tightly-knit group forged through shared struggles and victories, held a deep respect for him. They admired not only his courage and determination but also his unwavering commitment to helping them confront their personal battles.

As they sat together, recounting their past achievements, a common desire began to blossom among the crew members: they wanted to aid Adam in realizing his long-held dream. They knew the pain that lingered in his heart, stemming from the sea monsters that had ravaged his home and torn his life apart. Driven by loyalty, they decided to unite their skills and fierce spirits to support him in his quest to hunt down these behemoths of the deep, vowing to confront the nightmares of his past, together. This journey would not only seek vengeance but also healing, as they set sail toward a future determined by their shared resolve.

And now, they had hunted their 74th Kraken. They had slayed the beast and they reveled in the blood that soaked the deck. Adam had noticed that when the beasts were near, his bites would sting. He used that as his compass. This one wasn't the Kraken that had befriended a young and naive child so long ago. The pale monster continued to remain unseen. But, Adam wouldn't rest until the monster that had a hand in killing his people and destroying his home was dead.

Adam lifted his gaze to the horizon as a brisk wind whipped against his face, carrying with it a sense of impending change. As a seasoned pirate, he had spent years navigating the unpredictable temperament of the sea, and this current shift in the air was a familiar harbinger of trouble. He could taste the salt of the ocean mixed with something more ominous on his lips. It clung to his skin like an unwelcome warning.

Furrowing his brow, he scanned the azure sky above, seemingly uninterrupted by any clouds. The sun glimmered brightly, casting warm rays that danced across the waves. Yet, despite the deceptively tranquil appearance, a sense of unease settled in the pit of his stomach. The gentle lapping of the water against the ship's hull sounded almost mocking in the face of his instincts. After all, the ocean had a way of disguising its fury, and Adam knew all too well that storms often brewed silently, waiting for the right moment to unleash their wrath.

"Ladies, I believe we have a storm coming."

———

pervs:

Next:

[ricciardosheart]

Starry Serenade on the Riviera

pairings: Charles Leclerc X female (gf! reader)

The French Riviera basked in the golden glow of the afternoon sun, casting its warm embrace over the luxurious city of Monaco. Yachts gently swayed in the harbor, their sleek forms mirroring the indulgent lifestyle that defined this opulent corner of the world. In a stylish apartment overlooking the azure waters, (Y/N) awaited the return of her boyfriend, Charles Leclerc, the acclaimed Formula 1 driver.

As the door swung open, revealing Charles with a mischievous smile, (Y/N)'s face lit up with surprise. She hadn't expected him so soon. Charles approached with a bouquet of her favorite flowers, the scent of lilies filling the air as he handed them to her.

"Surprise, mon amour," he said, pressing a gentle kiss to her cheek. "How about a spontaneous adventure this afternoon?"

Intrigued, (Y/N) couldn't help but smile. "An adventure? I'm in. What do you have in mind?"

Charles winked playfully. "It's a secret. Just trust me."

They ventured down to the harbor, where a sleek yacht named "La Belle Vie" awaited them. Charles had arranged a private cruise along the French Riviera—an intimate escape from the bustling world of Formula 1 and a celebration of their love.

As the yacht set sail, the gentle hum of the engine accompanied the laughter and chatter of the couple. They sat on the deck, sipping champagne and enjoying the panoramic views of the coastline. The Mediterranean breeze carried the promise of an unforgettable day.

"I thought we could have our favorite meal together," Charles revealed, unveiling a picnic basket filled with delicacies. The aroma of truffle-infused dishes mingled with the salted sea air, creating a sensory symphony.

(Y/N) couldn't hide her delight. "You think of everything, Charles."

He grinned. "Only the best for you."

Their lunch turned into a culinary journey, with each bite a testament to the pleasures of indulgence. They laughed, shared stories, and savored the flavors of their favorite dishes, creating memories against the backdrop of the azure sea.

As the yacht cruised along the coastline, Charles suggested watching a movie under the open sky. A cozy setup awaited them on the deck, complete with blankets and a projector. They nestled together, the gentle rocking of the yacht adding to the cinematic experience.

The movie played, but their attention often wandered to the stars above. Charles pointed out constellations, weaving tales of the cosmos. Time seemed to stand still as they lost themselves in the magic of the moment, wrapped in each other's company.

As the afternoon sun began its descent, casting a warm hue over the sea, Charles spread a blanket on the deck. They lay down, hand in hand, gazing at the sky as if trying to capture the essence of the French Riviera in their hearts.

"I wanted today to be about us, away from the pressures of the racing world," Charles confessed. "You're my anchor, (Y/N), and moments like these make everything worthwhile."

(Y/N) smiled, her eyes reflecting the love she felt. "I wouldn't want to be anywhere else, Charles. This is perfect."

As the sun dipped below the horizon, painting the sky in a riot of colors, Charles and (Y/N) remained on the deck, the French Riviera embracing them in its timeless allure. The yacht continued its journey, carrying the couple through the twilight of the Mediterranean.

In the quiet of the evening, with the city lights of Monaco twinkling in the distance, Charles whispered promises of more adventures and shared dreams. (Y/N) nestled closer, feeling the heartbeat of their love resonating with the gentle rhythm of the sea.

The yacht sailed on, leaving behind a trail of shimmering reflections on the water—a testament to a love that found solace in the beauty of the French Riviera. Charles and (Y/N), wrapped in the serenity of the moment, sailed into the night, knowing that some memories are destined to linger like the stars in the Mediterranean sky.

As the night deepened, Charles and (Y/N) found themselves in the heart of the Mediterranean, far from the city lights. The yacht glided through the calm waters, the only sound being the gentle lapping of the waves against its hull. Above them, a canvas of stars stretched endlessly, creating a celestial spectacle that mirrored the depth of their connection.

Wrapped in a blanket on the deck, Charles and (Y/N) traced constellations with their fingers, lost in the vastness of the night sky. The quietude of the moment allowed the whispers of their hearts to become the only conversation that mattered.

"I never imagined Monaco could be so peaceful," (Y/N) mused, her eyes fixed on the stars. "It's a different world out here."

Charles nodded, his gaze reflecting the shimmering reflections of the stars. "Monaco is known for its glamour and excitement, but there's a serene beauty to it when you escape to the sea. Just like our love—thriving in the quiet moments."

They lay in silence, the yacht gently rocking them in a cradle of tranquility. The hum of the engine became a lullaby, and, in that cocoon of peace, they felt like the only two souls in the universe.

As the night progressed, Charles guided (Y/N) to the yacht's prow, where the vast expanse of the Mediterranean stretched before them. The moon, a radiant pearl in the velvet sky, cast a silver trail across the water, inviting them into its nocturnal dance.

"Shall we dance?" Charles extended his hand, a playful glint in his eyes.

(Y/N) laughed, taking his hand. "Why not? A moonlit dance under the stars—it sounds like a dream."

The yacht became their ballroom, and the soft music playing in the background set the rhythm for their dance. In the embrace of the night, with the stars as their witnesses, Charles and (Y/N) swayed to a melody that only they could hear.

Time lost its relevance as they danced under the cosmic chandelier, wrapped in the enchantment of the moment. Charles held (Y/N) close, their hearts beating in synchrony with the gentle ebb and flow of the sea.

As the dance came to an end, Charles whispered, "You're my favorite melody, (Y/N)."

They returned to their blanket, savoring the intimacy of the night. Charles reached into a small cooler and produced a box of chocolates—each piece a miniature work of art. Together, they indulged in the sweet symphony of flavors, savoring the richness of both the chocolates and the moment they shared.

With the yacht gently sailing back towards Monaco, Charles and (Y/N) found themselves on the deck once more. The city lights came into view, transforming the horizon into a glittering panorama. The French Riviera, with its blend of glamour and serenity, became the backdrop to a love story that unfolded like a cherished novel.

As the yacht docked, Charles and (Y/N) stepped onto the harbor, hand in hand. The night had woven a tapestry of memories that would forever be etched in their hearts. The adventure, initiated by a surprise visit, had transformed into a journey of love, intimacy, and shared dreams.

They walked along the moonlit promenade, the echoes of their laughter harmonizing with the gentle lull of the Mediterranean. Monaco, with its grandeur and sophistication, embraced them as they strolled through its enchanting streets.

On a secluded terrace overlooking the city, Charles and (Y/N) found a quiet corner to sit. The night unfolded before them—a canvas painted with the hues of their emotions. They spoke of dreams, of the future, and of the enduring love that had guided them through the labyrinth of life.

The city below seemed to hush in reverence as Charles took (Y/N)'s hand and looked into her eyes. "This night was about us, about the simplicity of love and the magic that happens when two hearts are in sync. Thank you for being my partner in this beautiful dance."

(Y/N) smiled, her eyes sparkling with affection. "Thank you for a night that feels like a fairytale, Charles. I wouldn't trade it for anything in the world."

As dawn approached, casting a gentle glow over the horizon, Charles and (Y/N) lingered on the terrace, watching the first light of morning paint the sky. The French Riviera, with its timeless allure, had witnessed a love story unfold—a story that began with a surprise visit and evolved into a symphony of shared moments, laughter, and the quiet magic of the night.

Monaco, with its yachts and city lights, stood as a testament to the grandeur of their love—a love that found beauty in simplicity, thrived in moments of serenity and danced under the stars of the French Riviera. As the sun rose over the Mediterranean, Charles and (Y/N) embraced the dawn of a new day, knowing that their love story would continue to unfold in the enchanting world they had created together.

[watchnrant]

Betrayal, Ballads, and Big Witch Energy: The Story of Agatha All Along

When Agatha All Along was announced as a spinoff to the acclaimed WandaVision, expectations soared. How could anything live up to the vibrant, genre-bending magic of its predecessor? The answer: by conjuring a show that embraces its own quirks, doubles down on emotional storytelling, and takes viewers on a spellbinding ride down the legendary Witches’ Road. Marvel Studios and creator Jac Schaeffer deliver a series that feels simultaneously intimate and expansive—a darkly whimsical tale with Kathryn Hahn’s devious charm at its center.

Plot and Characters: A Coven of Misfits

Picking up three years after WandaVision, the show begins with Agatha Harkness (Kathryn Hahn) still trapped in her Agnes persona, living a humdrum life as a Westview police detective. It’s a gritty setup with a supernatural twist, as a Jane Doe case and the arrival of Joe Locke’s mysterious Teen catalyze Agatha’s journey to reclaim her identity and power. Alongside her is an eclectic coven: Patti LuPone’s diviner Lilia Calderu, Sasheer Zamata’s potion-wielding Jennifer Kale, Ali Ahn’s haunted Alice Wu-Gulliver, and Aubrey Plaza’s enigmatic Rio Vidal (aka Lady Death). Each character brings a distinct energy, and their uneasy alliance is rife with tension and begrudging camaraderie.

Kathryn Hahn continues to dazzle as Agatha, infusing every line with delicious wit and layered vulnerability. Her scenes with Aubrey Plaza are a highlight, their simmering chemistry electric as they navigate a past steeped in betrayal. Plaza, playing the sardonic, chaotic Vidal, commands attention, especially when her true nature as Death is revealed in Episode 7. Joe Locke’s Teen provides a surprising emotional anchor, and his mysterious connection to Agatha hints at the deeper wounds she carries.

Themes and Tone: A Witchy Adventure with Depth

Jac Schaeffer’s magic lies in balancing spectacle with substance. While the Witches’ Road is a visually surreal marvel, complete with vivid colors and practical effects that evoke an ’80s horror vibe, the series shines brightest when exploring its themes. At its core, Agatha All Along is a story of redemption, self-discovery, and power. It doesn’t shy away from the darker roots of witchcraft, confronting themes like misogyny and generational trauma while celebrating the strength of its female characters.

This tonal balance extends to the writing, which skillfully marries campy humor with poignant moments. Agatha’s transformation back to herself in Episode 1 is a standout—a noir detective peeling away layers of forced personas to reclaim her truth. The show also embraces episodic storytelling, with trials on the Witches’ Road that test the coven’s unity and personal resilience. From Alice’s haunting family curse to Jennifer’s struggle to reclaim her bound powers, each arc adds richness to the overarching journey.

Standout Episodes: A Spellbinding Journey

Among the nine episodes, several stand out as masterclasses in storytelling:

Episode 1: “Seekest Thou the Road” establishes Agatha’s fragmented identity with a detective noir twist, culminating in her cathartic reawakening.

Episode 3: “Through Many Miles / Of Tricks and Trials” takes the coven to the eerie Witches’ Road Mansion, blending psychological horror with a trial of poison and hallucinations.

Episode 7: “Death’s Hand in Mine”delivers a haunting blend of sacrifice and revelation as Lilia Calderu’s ultimate act of redemption unravels her fragmented life, while Rio’s shocking identity as Death shatters the coven’s fragile trust in a tarot-laden trial of fate and free will.

Episode 9: “Maiden Mother Crone” wraps up the Witches’ Road saga with an emotional finale that leaves Agatha poised for future adventures while resolving the coven’s trials in deeply satisfying ways.

Visuals and Style: Practical Magic at Its Finest

Visually, Agatha All Along is a feast. Its practical effects—a conscious departure from CGI-heavy Marvel fare—lend the series a tactile, almost dreamlike quality. Every magical element, from the fog-draped Witches’ Road to the eerie glow of fireflies, was crafted with painstaking attention to detail. The commitment to practical effects extended to action sequences, such as Episode 7’s dramatic sword drop, where actual metal blades were dropped from the ceiling with precision mapping, adding an edge of realism and danger.

The Witches’ Road, in particular, stands out as a masterstroke of set design. Built twice to achieve the perfect scale, the final version is a rich tapestry of mud pits, mushrooms, and glowing flora—all filmed in-camera to enhance its tangible, studio-bound aesthetic. This hands-on approach immersed the actors in the environment, bringing authenticity to their performances and grounding the fantastical elements of the series in reality. The physical demands of navigating the road’s uneven terrain, paired with the magical atmosphere created by fog and glowing mushrooms, enhanced both the storytelling and the visual experience.

By embracing practical effects and studio-built sets, the series pays homage to the golden age of fantasy filmmaking while adding layers of depth to its narrative. This approach makes the Witches’ Road feel like a character in its own right—otherworldly, dangerous, and entirely unforgettable. Music plays a recurring role, too, with the Ballad of the Witches’ Road threading through key moments, adding a haunting resonance.

Final Thoughts: A Bewitching Success

While it doesn’t quite match WandaVision’s genre-defining brilliance, Agatha All Along forges its own path, embracing its quirks and delivering an emotionally resonant, spellbinding tale. It’s a bold entry in the MCU’s television experiment, proving that magic doesn’t always have to be about explosions and world-ending stakes—sometimes, it’s in the characters, the journey, and the haunting echo of a song.

If this truly marks the end of Kathryn Hahn’s tenure as Agatha, it’s a fitting, triumphant conclusion. But if the final notes are any hint, there’s still room for more cackling chaos—and honestly? We wouldn’t have it any other way.

[oceansssblue]

100 CELEBRATION – PROMPT 7. MERMAID AU

TECH/ FEMALE READER 💖

WARNINGS: This story alternates between reader's and third person (Tech'ish) pov. Seahorses can survive in cold temperatures in this fic because I say so. Fleeting mention of mer-child abandonment. Very tiny non-graphic shark attack. Otherwhise fluff, fluff and fluff!

Note: this is my third time –second for Tech– writing mermaids for our clones! In this one-shot, both Tech and female reader are mermaids, though from different sub-species. Hope you like it, let me know!

Link at a second (optional) part at the end.

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Below the surface, where the world is a myriad of blues and different marine kingdoms coexist, there are two subspecies of mermaids. Shallow mers mainly live in lakes and ponds; the few that not, never wander too far away into the cold, dark depths of the ocean. Their thin, iridiscent scales are more suited for warmer temperatures; while the thickness of the deep-water mers allows them to travel surprising distances down where the sun can no longer reach. Deep-water mers have strong powerful tails and sharp canines and claws that turn them into dangerous predators; shallow mers, though agile and fast, aren't a comparable threat.

You've never seen one of them.

You've heard the stories, of course; heard of their aggression and how they lurk in the darkness to hunt any poor creature that has dared to enter their waters alone. You've seen the scars that their claws and bites have left on some of your people; deep marks carved deep into scales and skin. They've appeared on your nightmares –when you were nothing but a kid–; bubbles tinged with the scarlet red of your blood. Everyone shares the same opinion about them; they're hostile, dangerous, and you should never, never, never, get close to any of them.

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It's a beautiful day. Rays of sunlight reflects the water in a way that makes it sparkle; almost as if thousends of tiny stars had fallen into it. The ocean is cold enough for a dive into it to feel refreshing; but not as much as to bring unpleasant shivers to your skin.

You spend most part of the morning exploring the reef and curiously observing different types of starfishes around the corals; pausing here and there to play with the ocasional mischiveous octopus or angry crab. After so many years living in the sea, you know by now when to interact with them and when to give them space; and you are very careful of respecting the sealife around you. It's a delicate balance for all of you to live in peace.

After a small but satisfying lunch you make your way to your best friend's home; a tiny seahorse you've long decided to name Yellow. Basic, you're aware; but well, your friendship started many, many years ago, when you were finally getting the trick on how to properly swim. When your mother left you. Once a shallow mer gives birth, the mother takes care of her child until the newborn has adquired the knowledge on how to survive on it's own; then, they follow different paths, so the young mer learns to face the difficulties of the ocean on it's own. If he's strong enough, he'll push through; and one day he may reunite with others and close the cycle with a child of it's own. Perhaps for some it may seem like a cruel thing; but that's how it has always been, how your subspecies still exists today. It's a solitary life; but there are so many unexpected places to find friends.

Yellow's home consists in an almost complete circle of redish and orange corals not too far away from the water's surface. There's a lot of plancton in this part of the reef; so it makes sense for the small seahorse to have settled here. He's as chirpy as always to greet you; swimming excitedly around you before anchoring his tail to a strand of your multicoloured hair. You chuckle at the thought of it looking almost like a tiny seatbelt for your hipocampus friend.

"Good afternoon, dear Yellow" you tell him affectionately, the knowledge that he doesn't understand your language never detering you into chatting with him. "What shall we do today, mm?"

You like to go on little adventures with Yellow; explore new parts of the reef or perhaps make new acquaintances together. He's a little energetic thing, and so adorable you never get bored with him.

"Wanna' try to find some parrot-fish?" You propose, and he moves his tiny dorsal fin in agreement.

He may not get your every word; but he can read into the way you move and talk. By the tone of your voice, he knows you're offering some exploring. If he didn't feel like it and he'd prefer to stay closer to home, he'd have let you know by staying completely immobile.

"Mision parrot-fish it is. Hold on to that seatbelt" you smile happily, and slowly begin to swim.

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

In the end, your innocent trip turns to be a heartbreaking disaster; an encounter with a triaenodon shark has an unexpected outcome. They're usually pacific creatures, but the blood slowly trickling from one of it's sides has evidently scare the animal enough to react agressively at the posibility of a second predator going in for the easy kill. You've got no time to try to difuse the situation; as the wounded shark inmediately lurches for you. A terrified Yellow abandons the now precarious cover of your hair; releasing air to quickly let himself sink into the ocean and away from the fighting scene.

It's a game of swim-dodge-redirect from there. Finally, to your relief, the shark exhausts herself and decides to cautiously leave; and panting, body aching from the effort, you let out a long sigh of relief. The terrifying part of the encounter isn't the minor wounds you now carry on your skin; not even the fear and adrenaline. No; the real scary part is that Yellow is nowhere to be seen, and you can't seem to find him after an exhaustive search.

Tears in your eyes at the thought of losing your tiny best friend, you continue swimming downwards in the direction you knew he escaped to; so anxiously focused on finding him you don't even notice the way the water darkens around you and the increasing cold that freezes your skin.

••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

"Yellow!" You call him in a happy cry when you finally get sight of him.

In just two quick ondulations of your tail you're floating right next to him; and the little seahorse inmediately goes to hide on your hair.

"Oh, Yellow" a tear finally manages to roll down your cheek. You talk to him in a hushed, tender whisper. "I was so worried for you! I thought I was never going to find you! Oh, dear friend, I think we're gonna' have to take a break from exploring for a while..."

You're so overwhelmed by being reunited with the small hipocampus that you don't even notice the way he seems to shrink away; and tug insistently at your hair. You don't even realise you're not alone anymore until you hear the sound of something big moving too close to you in the darkness of the water.

Fear instantly spreads through your body, and you tense scanning the ocean around you. It's then when you noticed that fuck, you're deep; the cold almost unbearable and your eyes having trouble adjusting to the lack of sunlight. You don't see the creature lurking until it's right in front of you.

It's a deep-water mer.

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Tech curiously observes the mer interacting with the tiny hipocampus. She's nothing like he has seen before. There are so many differences between them that the deep-water mer can't help but put a stop in his journey back home to study her. It's highly unusual to find one of them here; it's too cold, too dark, and their bodies aren't enough adapted to be permanently exposed to the depths of the ocean.

Tech has never come across a shallow mer before. Their subspecies live in different layers of their wide acuatic habitat; and shallow mers are incredibly timid, elusive creatures, always opting to flee without further questioning than to expose themselves to any danger. He can understand that; evolution hasn't gifted them with the same resources as deep-water mers. For the rumours he's heard, Tech knows shallow mers lack of pointy canines and their thick, resistent skin; tail also smaller, thinner, and less powerful than theirs. While the shallow mer subspecies had slowly adapted to a tranquil, mostly uneventful life on the surface, deep-water mers had had to perfectionate their hunting techniques; and any useful fighting traits had been inherited through generation after generation to what they are now.

Tech can't really understand her words; they sound similar to their language, though in a higher, more melodious register. Still, he can read the relief and melting worry in her body; the way she seems to sag upon finding the small yellow seahorse, who quickly hides in her hair. Tech observes them curiously; are they... friends?

She has a small heart-shaped face; her big expressive green eyes, plush lips, and button nose giving her an innocent look. Streaks of blue, green, red and yellow paints her long half-braided hair without an apparent order; perhaps trying to imitate the vibrant colours of the corals of the reefs above. Two pairs of small thin fins protrude from the tragus of each ear; probably vestigial and without real function. Her skin is much paler than his; and while deep-water mers have dark blue and black scales, colours shared as well with the tail, shallow mers apparently carry a very different canvas on their body. The scales on her upper chest begins with the same pale tone of her human skin, and transitions to a mint and persian green towards her tail. Tech notices it's much smaller and narrower than his; the flukes aren't as pointy, and there isn't a stinger at the end. It's a mix of the previous greens and some darker emerald colour as well.

Tech's own colours mostly mimetizes him with the depths of the ocean; but even with that advantage, he has remain staring for too long to pass completely unnoticed. At least by one of the two creatures barely twenty feet in front of him; the hipocampus trying to alert her fellow distracted friend.

Tech can tell when she exactly realises they're not alone. Her whole body tenses; eyes quickly scanning the water around them. They pass right over him once; then, her frightened gaze returns to his figure and transforms into terror. She freezes staring at him.

Tech understands her fear; it's only sensitive. She can barely see him from this distance in the depths of the ocean; his blue-black tail dissappearing in the darkness. Tech realises right then that, as much as he has heard stories of shallow mers been shy, mostly innocent creatures, it's possible she has heard stories about them as well; and by the mers reaction, Tech can guess the ones about deep-water mers aren't as pretty.

Still, Tech's endless curiosity hasn't been extinguished after one brief examination; so he very slowly aproaches her until they're nothing but three feet apart from each other. Tech's attention is again redirected to the creature's hair; the small underwater currents softly moving the few colourfull strands that escapes her braid in a half halo around her head. Up close, it holds an almost iridiscent hue; and Tech reaches a clawed finger to carefully trace a strand up and down, enthraced. His eyes scan the shallow mer again, and Tech has a sudden realisation that surprises himself; she's pretty, and he's so confused and lost at his own thoughts he can't do anything else but blink at her. There's endless beauty in the ocean, he has admired it countless of times before; and yet, no creature had personally called to his desires and perception of attraction like this.

Lost in his silent pondering, it takes Tech a few minutes to realise the level of stress the poor creature is experiencing at his presence. The shallow mer is uncontrollably shaking; eyes shut tight and heartbeat speeding at such a pace Tech can hear it in the quietness of the ocean. He had asumed she'd understand he meant no harm by now; but clearly there's another million options that are passing through the mer's mind, and Tech decides to give her space.

Upon the swoosh of his tail, the shallow-mer carefully opens her green eyes again; analysing him in what feels like an eternal second. Tech does his best in appearing relaxed and non-threatening.

The silent mutual observation lasts ten more seconds or so; then, the shallow mer makes an abrupt turn and sprints in a fast swim upwards, clearly running away. Tech can't help but feel dissapointed; but even if he's mostly sure he could catch up to her with a bit of effort -and something inside of him saddens at the thought of never seing her again-, he decides the best course of action is to let her go.

••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

You return to the reef and give your goodbyes to Yellow in a blurred daze. Once alone, the adrenaline of your friend's dissapearance and the encounter with the deep-water mer drops down; and you feel so exhausted and drained you inmediately curl up in the safe, hidden space between the rocks you call home.

That night you go to sleep thinking on him; on how unfairly stronger and powerful he looked with his sharp claws and muscled tail. It's a fitfull dream at first; though as the night advances and the fear grows distant, other details come to light. You suddenly remember his mesmerising amber eyes; how soft his bronze skin looked, tone much darker than those of shallow mers. The colours of his tail, so different to hers; a navy blue mixed with black, with just a hint of details in faded white and cyan. The impresive width of his two tail flukes and the sharp stinger in between. He made a fine mer.

The abrupt thought rips you of your light slumber. You wake up, panting in surprise. Surely you can't find the predator that almost made you have a heart attack atractive, right? He could have killed you; you'd like to think you're a bit more intelligent than that.

But he didn't.

The tiny little thought crawls like an unexpected visitor into your mind; and then, you can't think of anything else. He could have killed you, hurt you, but he didn't. Why?

At first you thought he was going to attack you. When you first felt his dangerous clawed hand reaching for you, you had shut your eyes in terror, waiting for the inevitable doom to come. Claws and canines biting and tearing delicate skin. But nothing had happened; nothing further than a... Could you call that a caress? Was that it?

Now, away from the danger and with your head in a clearer state, you picture the encounter again in your head. You try to remember the expresion on his face; realising there was more genuine, innocent curiosity than vicious agression. And he hadn't even tried to chase you when you had swam away. Could he hold the simple gentle curiosity for you you felt for the smaller creatures you often explored in the reef? Would he... Would he not attack you if you came across each other again?

It's a dangerous thought; and when the new day starts, you can't seem to quieten it inside your head.

••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

A rush of electrifying excitement zig-zags through Tech's body upon identifying the creature swimming in the distance. He interacts with orcas and whales enough to know the figure is somewhat unique; at least in this depths of the ocean. He hovers in place, patiently observing. He doesn't want to scare her away like last time. What is she doing down here again?

Tech scans the dark water in search for the hipocampus. He had the impresion the shallow mer had followed the small animal here last time; perhaps the situation has repeated itself. After a quick eye-search, though, he brushes the posibility away. She came her on her own. Why? There's no reason why a shallow mer would have to swim this deep.

Tech notices the way she swims in short bursts of energy and how her eyes constantly flicker around; like she's stubbornly looking for something. If not the hipocampus, what could that something be?

It has to be him.

It's the most logical answer; and yet, some part of Tech refuses to believe it, perhaps because he doesn't want to be hurt and dissapointed if it isn't. With a mix of hope and waryness, the deep-water mer swims towards the visitor; slowly announcing his presence to her.

The shallow mer's eyes widen in surprise; just a hint of fear and caution taking a grip on her. She doesn't make any move to run away, though; instead, she floats in place and stares.

Tech resists the urge to get closer and greet her, swim around her and gently brush his tail with hers as he does with his family. He doesn't want her to flee; so he patiently waits for her to make the first step.

Almost as if understanding this, the shallow mer flicks her flutes and cautiously shortens the distance between each other. Coming to a stop in front of him, she takes a deep breath; then, a high melodious voice breaks the silence of the ocean around them. She's talking to him.

Tech's inmediate surprise must be visible in his face. Frowning, he tries to make a sense to her words; but he doesn't get the full meaning of it, just an impresion of what she's saying. Tech thinks -or wants to believe- she's greeting him.

The shallow mer sighs quietly. Observing him for a few long seconds, she makes a move forward; a trembling hand extending towards Tech's face.

He tenses; not a product of fear. She doesn't have claws like him; Tech doesn't think the shallow mer can hurt him much with her bare hands. It's more of a wary reaction. He doesn't know what she wants; and the thought of her touching him admitedly sends a sort of carefull expectation to his body. Tech has shared a few kisses here and there with a female friend from another pod of deep-water mers; but it was sort of an agreement for them both to experience the situation together, and not out of real desire or attraction. Now, this mer... Not knowing where she stands, what her intentions are, being unable to talk to her about it, makes him nervous.

Breathing heavier and without tearing his eyes from her face, he let's her be. He shivers when he feels her soft fingertips playing with his hair; closing his eyes involuntarily before watching her with surprise.

She shows him a shy smile and then repeats the gesture in her own hair; exactly like he had done the day before. It's like she's trying to tell him something with it; and Tech flushes finally comfirming she came back because she's curious about him as well.

Tech nods; and calling his courage, he repeats the gesture on her. This time she just observes; she doesn't flinch.

It's a game of reconnaissance from there. They curiously study the other, hands no longer touching in order to try to respect their space; sometimes asking for a better perspective or trying to ask questions with mimics along the way. At one point, she opens her mouth and points with her index at his teeth, tilting her head. Tech answers showing her his sharp canines, and the shiver she gives him this time is clearly a joke, paired with an entertained smile. Tech chuckles and nods. They could look scary, he supposes. The deep-water mer makes a "no, no" sign with his hands before pointing back at her; indicating a clear "i'm not going to hurt you". The open, friendly smile she gives him is blinding.

They spend almost an hour interacting with each other. When she finally points upwards, signaling her need to return to the surface, Tech feels an instant urge to keep her with him a little longer. He knows he can't, though, shouldn't; perhaps she has other things to do.

He makes a "wait" sign and -upon her nod of acceptance- quickly dives down in the ocean; tail moving powerfully in order to take him to his home as fast as possible and back.

When he returns, he's got a mix of algae and zebrafish crushed scales in his left hand. Zebrafish are an incredibly species; they can regenerate a whole fin amputation and their own heart damage. It's one of the most interesting creatures Tech has spent his time studying.

He tries to convein this to her, his voice gentle and calm while he tries to represent his explanation with his spare hand. She frowns, completely lost at first, glancing down at the mix in his hand and back at his face. Then, he tries to draw a starfish with his index, and upon poiting to the still angry wound on her side and shoulder insistently, an "oh" of understanding washes over her expression. She nods with an appreciative smile.

Tech's hovering so close to her now that he can feel her breathing pattern in front of him; the tiny change of the water movement when it passes through her gills. Tech has them at both sides of his pectorals; while her's are positioned a bit lower, towards the end of her rib cage.

He studies her wounds with critical eye, wondering what could have caused them. There's a few scratches here and there; probably produced by the drag of skin against rocks and corals. A bigger one on one of her sides above the beginning of her tail looks like a shark bite. None are deep or particularly worrying; but Tech knows they must hurt, and if he can help her, he will.

Tech swipes some of the mix in two fingers and gently presses them against the indents of the bite. The shallow mer hisses in pain, her body reflexively trying to shy away; but he makes a soothing sound with his voice and the mer looks at him, breathing through it and regaining awareness of herself. She stays patiently put while he helps her.

Heartbeat speeding inside his chest, Tech slowly dares to trace the pad of his thumb over the scratch on her cheek. He knows the minor wound needs no medicine, it's already healing on itself; but he can't keep his hands to himself. She's beautiful; expresive eyes and cute nose, colourful hair and a elegant, delicate body he wishes he could further explore.

She shivers; but the deep-water mer doesn't detect any fear from her, can't smell anything of the sort in the ocean around them. Her eyes lock with his; and even if no words are exchanged, Tech can't help but feel there's some sort of silent conversation there. Wonder, desire, caution. A longing reflected in the other mer.

The moment has stretched too long, and Tech drops his hand back to his side. He nods, signaling that his work is finished; that she's free to go now if she wants to.

The shallow mer doesn't take her eyes off of him. Tentatively, almost as if testing his boundaries, she grazes her tail with his in a gentle, thankful gesture. Tech's aware that the gesture could be considered flirting in their species; and blushes slightly.

He hears her soft chuckle. Then, she swims up and they grow apart again.

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You grow fond of him. It's easy to do so, really; once the frigthening first impression is out of the way, you can see further than that, and every small thing you discover about him apeases you more and more as weeks pass by.

The first few days are just more of those cautious, curious interactions. As you slowly get used to the others presence, you both start to grow more relaxed and playful; Tech –his name is one of the first things he teaches you– eventually inviting you for a long swim, and you happily accepting. You can't help but observe the way he moves; the power and strength in his long blue tail, mesmerised. When he catches you gawking, a tiny satisfied and knowing smirk makes it's way to his face; and though you inmediately look away, embarassed, you can't help but think it looks good on him as well.

A month after your first encounter you ask him to follow you to the surface. You know it's not ideal for him, his scales and skin too thick to cope with such warmth for long periods of time; but you know he'll be okay for a couple of hours, just like you are able to cope with the depths of his comfort zone. Tech nods curiously and explores with you every inch of the reef just like a kid. It's him who stares at you enthraced this time; marvelling at the way the sunlight flickers off of your iridiscent scales, at how shiny and bright the greens become. When you glance at him in confusion as to why he had stopped, wondering if he felt tired, he stares straight at your eyes and whispers one of the few words he has learned in your language.

"Pretty".

It makes you blush and internally swoon for him. You answer with a radiant smile and quickly peck his cheek before swimming away. Tech looks at you in surprise before moving to catch up with you. He affectionately rubs his body against yours as he does and passes by.

He takes you to meet his pod. You're not going to lie, the first fears and doubts about Tech resurface with the intimidating group of deep-water mers; your instinct screaming at you at the obvious disadvantage, at the danger, encouraging you to run away. But Tech –sweet, intelligent Tech– inmediately notices it; and reassures you by constantly standing by your side and giving soft caresses to your hands and back. It helps that his family is openly friendly and accepting; with the exception of Crosshair. Tech brushes his reaction aside, telling you it's normal of him to behave like that. You hope you will grow on him with time.

The way they live, play and hunt is a spectacle to see and experience. Tech tries to give you a thorough explanation on why and how deep-water mers had had to learn and adapt like that; though with the small bunch of words he has managed to learn by now and his irrepresible excitement it's hard to follow him. Tech's patient, though, and you're curious; so with a bit of effort, you both make it work.

After his quiet, surprisingly normal and easy inclusion to his family, you take him to meet Yellow. You point at the small sea horse and tell him two words –"Friend. Pod"–; Tech's amber eyes filling with some sort of melancholic understanding before he's fiercely hugging you towards him. You tremble in his arms and press your forehead against the side of his neck, breathing him in; you haven't had this kind of contact in so long –it has been years since you last came across one of yours–, and it feels so devastatingly comforting you fear you'll grow addicted to it.

Your heart clenches when you see him interacting with Yellow. He's so big, and your friend so tiny; it's an adorable sight, and the way the seahorse quickly warms up to him and the mer gently treats him is simply adorable. With a fond smile on your face, you realise you're starting to fall in love with him.

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One of those nights when Tech can't help but feel alone, even with the knowledge that his pod is sleeping not far away from him, the deep-water mer follows his heart and thoughts and swims upwards towards the sky; towards where the stars seem to fall into the ocean. He knows his way around the reef by now; and with his speed, he's soon carefully peeking his head into the circle of rocks you sleep in and call home. You're curled up in yourself; arms crossed hugging your stomach. You look so small and vulnerable it tugs at the strings of his heart; and Tech carefully swims into your space and lays by your side.

The carefully brush of a tail against yours wakes you up; your gasp quickly growing silent when you realise it's Tech besides you. You look at him in surprise, quietly questioning him; and he answers in small melodious words in your mother tongue.

"Alone" he points at her, then at himself. "Worry. Miss".

You sigh and eliminate the tiny distance between your bodies, melting onto him.

"Miss you too" you whisper against his neck, tightening your embrace.

Tech hums happily and curls his tail around yours, softly caressing your hair. After a few minutes of memorising his embrace, when you stop hiding in his neck and glance up at him, he gently holds your chin in his grasp; amber eyes shinning with an unusual intensity.

"Love" he whispers delicately in front of your lips.

Your breathing hitches. Is he really telling you...?

Tech kisses you; a soft, reverent press of lips on lips that brands your soul with his name. It draws a sleepy, content sigh from you; and you answer him dreamily.

"I love you too, Tech".

You've finally found your mer.

THE END.

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This story has now a second part (fluff with a bit of smutt) here:

Tara! This one was so sweet, hope you' ve liked it, I love merfolk so fucking much!

Next up; prompt 8 with pirate!Hunter !! It might take me a little longer as I'm going on a trip with my friends soon.

Please, interact in tumblr! Wether if it's with a like, reblog or comment, it really helps the community to stay alive and personally make one feel more happy and appreciated. Can't deny I've felt a little ploff about it lately. Don't be a ghost, I promise I'm nice! ;)

See you in the next one. Take care.

Xx,

Blue.

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