#doing the lighting for this one was a journey

[xoxojuyo]

Out of reach pt.1 - jungkook

𐙚 summary: you meet the man of your dreams during a flight, but he seems to be out of reach…

𐙚 pairing: lawyer!jungkook x nepobaby!reader

𐙚 MINORS DO NOT INTERACT, THIS SERIES CONTAIN MATURE CONTENT

𐙚 word count: 1,8k words

𐙚 warnings: jungkook is older than reader, they get very comfy with each other super quick, hold ing hands, kissing, jungkook has a gf, infidelity

𐙚 a/n: this is meant to be a series, it’ll get filthy in the future. Hope you enjoy it 🤍

The soft hum of the airplane engines filled the air as you settled into your seat in the first-class cabin of Flight KE902 from Paris to Incheon. You tucked your Hermès blanket neatly around your lap, ready for the long journey home. The lavish seat next to you was meant to remain vacant—an indulgence your parents had arranged for your privacy. After all, the daughter of South Korea’s leading pharmaceutical magnates and Cartier’s latest muse wasn’t accustomed to sharing space, much less during a 12-hour flight.

You glanced out the window, watching the Paris night fade into streaks of neon blue runway lights. You had just begun flipping through the latest issue of Vogue when a deep, polite voice interrupted your tranquility.

“Excuse me, miss. It seems this is my seat.”

You looked up, momentarily caught off guard. A man stood before you, tall and striking, with features so sharp they might have been carved from marble. His tailored suit spoke of understated luxury, and the faint shadow of a smile hinted at an effortless charm.

“There must be a mistake,” you said, your voice calm but firm. “This seat wasn’t supposed to be occupied.”

The flight attendant quickly stepped in, bowing apologetically. “Ms. Choi, I’m terribly sorry. This is Mr. Jeon Jungkook, one of our Diamond members. Due to unforeseen circumstances, we had to reassign this seat to accommodate him. I assure you it won’t affect your experience.”

You hesitated, your mind whirring. Jeon Jungkook? The name sounded familiar, but before you could piece it together, he spoke again.

“I apologize for the inconvenience,” Jungkook said, his tone professional yet warm. “I’ll do my best not to intrude.”

Your eyes narrowed slightly. “Jeon Jungkook? The lawyer?”

A flicker of surprise crossed his face, followed by a modest nod. “I see my reputation precedes me. And you must be Choi Y/N. I’ve read about you in Forbes.”

You raised an eyebrow. “You read Forbes?”

“I do my homework,” he replied, settling into the seat beside you. “It’s useful to know the people shaping the world around me.”

You couldn’t suppress a small smile. “Flattery doesn’t work on me, Mr. Jeon.”

“Good to know,” he said, leaning back. “But who said I was trying to flatter you?”

The tension melted into a curious ease as the plane taxied for takeoff. As the flight attendants began their safety demonstration, Jungkook turned to you.

“Paris, huh? Business or pleasure?”

“An event with Cartier,” you replied, your voice laced with practiced grace. “And you?”

“Business, mostly. Though I was hoping for some pleasure before a client emergency pulled me back.”

You tilted your head, intrigued. “You don’t strike me as someone who gets flustered by emergencies.”

“I don’t. But I’ve learned that flying halfway across the world is part of the job description,” he said with a rueful smile. “And you? Flying solo?”

You hesitated for a moment. “It’s… just a preference of mine.”

Jungkook chuckled softly. “Fair enough. Let’s just say the airline played matchmaker tonight.”

You smirked, feeling the ice between you dissolve. “A bold assumption, Mr. Jeon.”

“Call me Jungkook,” he said. “If we’re stuck together for the next 12 hours, we might as well get comfortable.”

As the plane ascended into the midnight sky, the cabin lights dimmed to a soft amber glow. You adjusted the recline of your seat, sneaking a glance at Jungkook as he loosened his tie and rolled up his sleeves. He caught you looking and smiled, the corners of his eyes crinkling.

“Long flight ahead,” he said. “What’s your go-to in-flight entertainment? Movies? Reading? Sleeping?”

“None,” you replied, crossing your legs elegantly. “I usually work or… just stare out the window.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Workaholic?”

“Efficient,” you corrected, your lips curving into a small smirk. “What about you?”

“Depends on the company,” he said, a teasing lilt to his voice.

You felt a blush rise to your cheeks but masked it with a soft laugh. “And here I thought lawyers were all business.”

“We are,” he admitted. “But even we need a break every now and then. Maybe this is mine.”

You talked intermittently for the next hour, the conversation flowing effortlessly from topics like your favorite cities to your least favorite airline meals. Jungkook’s laugh was infectious, and you found yourself smiling more than you had in days.

At one point, the flight attendant approached with the dinner menu. Jungkook, ever the gentleman, gestured for you to choose first.

“The lobster risotto.”

“Good choice,” Jungkook said, handing his menu back. “I’ll have the same. Can’t go wrong with a classic.”

“You’re copying me?” you teased.

“Or I trust your taste,” he countered smoothly.

As the hours passed, your initial formality faded into a comfortable camaraderie. After dinner, Jungkook leaned back in his seat, glancing at the champagne flute in your hand.

“Celebrating something?” he asked.

“Maybe,” you said, swirling the golden liquid. “It’s not every day you survive a Cartier event without collapsing from exhaustion.”

“Impressive,” he said, lifting his own glass in a mock toast. “To surviving the glamorous life.”

“And to lawyers who manage to look good while working too hard,” you quipped.

You clinked glasses, your eyes locking briefly. You felt your heart skip a beat, a warmth spreading in your chest that had nothing to do with the champagne.

By the time the plane was over Siberia, the cabin had grown quiet. Most passengers were asleep, but you and Jungkook were wide awake, leaning toward each other as you whispered.

“So, what’s the first thing you’ll do when you get back to Seoul?” Jungkook asked, his voice low and soothing.

“Probably dinner with my dads,” you said. “We have this tradition where our chef cooks my favorite meal whenever I come back from a trip.”

“That sounds nice,” he said, his expression genuinely interested. “What’s the dish?”

“Kimchi jjigae, with extra tofu,” you said. “And you? What’s the first thing you’ll do?”

“Go straight to the office,” he said with a wry grin. “Not as exciting, huh?”

You shook your head. “I don’t know. Something about you being so dedicated is… admirable.”

Your gazes lingered, the silence between you charged with an unspoken tension. Jungkook reached for the blanket draped over his seat and, without a word, tucked it around your shoulders.

“You looked cold,” he murmured.

“Thank you,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper.

It felt natural when your hands brushed against each other on the armrest. Neither pulled away, and moments later, Jungkook laced his fingers gently with yours.

“This doesn’t feel real,” you admitted, your cheeks flushing.

“Maybe it’s the altitude,” he joked, though his voice was soft, sincere. “Or maybe it’s just you.”

Your heart raced as you looked down at your entwined hands. “Do you always move this fast, Jungkook?”

“Only when it feels right,” he said, his eyes meeting yours.

You and Jungkook were still wrapped in each other’s warmth, your voices a murmur as you traded soft laughs and tender glances. His hand rested over yours, his thumb tracing slow circles on your skin.

But then, Jungkook’s phone buzzed against the tray table. His expression stiffened as he glanced at the screen, his lips pressing into a thin line.

“I need to take this,” he said, his voice tinged with regret.

You frowned slightly, sensing the shift in his mood. “Is everything okay?”

“Yeah,” he said, though his tone didn’t quite match his words. “It’s work. I’ll be back in a minute.”

He stood and slipped toward the bathroom, phone in hand. You watched him go, a strange unease settling in your chest.

Inside the restroom, Jungkook answered the FaceTime call. The face of a woman appeared on the screen.

“Jungkook,” she said, her voice gentle. “I was worried when you didn’t answer earlier. Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” he replied, his tone measured. “Just caught up with work.”

The woman smiled faintly. “I can’t wait to see you. We have so much to talk about.”

He forced a small smile. “Me too.”

The call ended, and Jungkook stared at his reflection in the mirror, his expression conflicted. He lingered for a moment before returning to his seat.

You looked up as he sat down, your eyes scanning his face. “Everything alright?”

Jungkook hesitated, his hand brushing the back of his neck. “Y/N… there’s something I need to tell you.”

Your stomach tightened. “What is it?”

He exhaled deeply, unable to meet your gaze. “I have a girlfriend.”

The words hit you like a cold gust of wind. You blinked, processing, before narrowing your eyes. “What?!”

“I didn’t mean for this to happen,” he said, his voice tinged with regret. “But I can’t ignore how… how good it felt to be with you tonight.”

Your jaw tightened. “So you just conveniently forgot about her while holding my hand and—” you stopped, shaking your head. “Unbelievable.”

“I��m sorry,” he said, his voice breaking slightly. “I didn’t want to lie to you.”

You turned away, staring out the window as anger and hurt bubbled inside you. But even as the rational part of you screamed to push him away, your heart ached to stay close.

“Don’t say another word,” you said, turning back to him. “For the next hour, I’m going to pretend you didn’t say that. Just… don’t ruin this.”

Jungkook’s eyes widened slightly, but he nodded. “Y/N—”

“Shh,” you interrupted, leaning closer. Your hands found his, and despite the anger simmering beneath your skin, you couldn’t stop yourself from pulling him into a hug.

You stayed like that for a moment, the world outside the plane shrinking away. Then, almost without thinking, you tilted your face up toward his. Your lips met in a slow, hesitant kiss that deepened as you clung to each other, as if trying to capture something fleeting.

~

The announcement of your descent broke the spell. As you disembarked and retrieved your bags, an awkward silence stretched between you. Jungkook carried your carry-on for you as you walked toward the airport exit.

“I’m sorry,” he said quietly, stopping in the middle of the terminal.

“For what?” You asked, your tone sharp. “For kissing me? For holding my hand? Or for confessing you have a girlfriend after letting things get this far?”

“All of it,” Jungkook said, his eyes downcast. “I shouldn’t have let it escalate. But I’ve never felt this way about anyone before.”

Your breath hitched. “Then why can’t we—”

“Because I can’t walk out on her like that,” he interrupted, his voice heavy with guilt. “It wouldn’t be right.”

You stared at him, anger and heartbreak warring within you. “And what about me? It’s okay to just walk out on me like nothing happened?”

Jungkook’s gaze softened, but he took a step back, shaking his head. “I’m sorry y/n, If destiny brings us together again, I promise you I’ll make it up to you.”

With that, he turned and walked away, his figure disappearing into the crowd.

You stood frozen, your hands clutching the strap of your bag as your mind raced. You were furious, confused, and utterly disappointed. Yet, beneath it all, a part of you longed for the man who had just walked out of your life.

[punkshort]

Red Lace & Holiday Cheer

Thank you anon for this prompt!

Pairing: (ex)pornstar!joel miller x f!reader (established relationship)

Summary: While visiting him at work, you decide to give Joel his Christmas present early.

Warnings: language, alcohol consumption, smut (18+ MDNI), unprotected piv sex, fingering, reader wears lingerie

WC: 4K

Roommates Masterlist

The bar was loud.

It was three days before Christmas. Students on break from college had come home to visit their families for the holidays but the first chance they got, they made plans to connect with friends they hadn't seen since summer. The entire street was packed with twenty-something year olds, every bar was filled to the brim, including the one Joel owned.

You had helped him decorate it for the holidays just two weeks prior. A small Christmas tree with chunky, multi-colored lights sat in the front. Twinkling white lights framed each large window and a garland was wrapped around the door. You even managed to find a spot for a couple large wreaths above the bar.

From your spot on the dance floor with Maria, you could just barely see Tommy's head. He was pouring drinks as fast as possible, hardly giving himself a chance to breathe. Surprisingly, Joel was no where to be found. If you had to guess, he was either bringing up a keg or doing his rounds on the floor, checking in with patrons and seeing if they needed anything while also keeping an eye out for trouble makers.

He had really grown into the role as a bar owner. It seemed like the perfect fit after he had quit the adult film industry. Not only was he his own boss, but he got to work with his brother. Your only complaint was the long nights, although you and Maria tried to frequent the bar at least once a week to see them while they worked. Typically, there was plenty of time to talk, but the week of Christmas had the bar feeling like more of a nightclub.

"Where's Joel?" Maria shouted over the music. You fanned your sweaty chest with your hand and scanned the crowded room.

"I don't know! Don't think I've seen him all night!" you yelled back. You checked the time and frowned. You always saw him at least once, even when it's busy, before midnight. He always sought you out, no matter what. You turned back to Maria with a look of concern.

"I'm gonna go see if I can find him!"

She nodded and gave you a thumbs up before turning her back, still swaying along with the music.

You pushed your way through the crowd, making a face when drunk frat boys or some familiar looking locals who were trying their luck with the college girls accidentally bumped into you. After what felt like an eternity of almost getting beer sloshed down your bright red dress from clueless patrons, you finally bellied up to the bar. You leaned over the edge of the wood, catching Tommy's eye. He nodded in your direction and you sat back on your heels as you waited for him to finish up at the other end of the bar.

"What you need, sugar?" Tommy yelled over the noise. Your gaze flickered down to his cheesy Christmas shirt and grinned.

"Is that thing getting you any extra tips?"

He shook his head and you laughed. "Nah, but it's fun. Tryin' to get into the spirit!"

"It was Maria's idea, wasn't it?" you yelled.

"Hundred percent!" he shouted back. You heard others off to your right trying to get his attention so you cut to the chase.

"Where's Joel?"

"Office! He was on the phone with some vendor last I saw 'em."

You nodded and shot him a thumbs up before you began your second journey, although mercifully it was shorter. His office was just down a short hallway behind the bar. Still, the crowd was thickest and rowdiest right where you were trying to walk. You had almost made it unscathed when you heard a curse and felt a splash of some cold liquid down your arm.

"Shit!" you exclaimed. You began to flick your arm of any excess when a young man's voice shouted out to you.

"I'm sorry!" he slurred, but when you looked up and your eyes locked, a slow smirk stretched across his face. He couldn't have been more than twenty-two, surrounded by his buddies who were giving him little shoves in your direction. He took a few steps forward and held out his hand.

"I'm Chris," he offered. "Lemme buy you a drink, make it up to you."

His eyes slithered up and down your body, clearly appreciating the short red Christmas dress you had chosen to wear that night.

"Thanks, but I'm fine," you said, giving him a wave and turning back towards the bar. He tapped your shoulder and you swiveled around.

"C'mon, it's the least I could do. Almost ruined that gorgeous dress of yours," he tried while licking his lips.

You sighed and crossed your arms.

"I'm dating the guy who owns this place. I can drink for free," you snapped, patience growing thin when you added, "And have anyone thrown out."

Chris whistled and rose his hands in defeat.

"Alright, suit yourself."

He backed away towards his friends and you made quick work of pushing through the remaining crowd to get back behind the bar. The moment you stepped foot in the small hallway, it already felt calmer. You sashayed a little drunkenly past the breakroom and employee bathroom before stopping at the closed door at the end of the hall that had a stocking hanging from it with Joel's name painted in glitter. With excitement tingling under your skin, you rapped your knuckles softly against the wood and pressed your ear against the door.

"It's open!"

The old door squeaked on its hinges when you opened it and slipped inside, smiling when you saw Joel hunched over his desk, scribbling something on an invoice. His office wasn't much to look at; dingy old laminate floors, a desk that looked like it was from the seventies, two tall file cabinets that were overflowing and shoved in a corner, and one measly light above your head that had one bulb burnt out. But it was peaceful. It was quiet. And by that point, it reminded you of Joel. His cologne hung in the air, even when he hadn't been in the room for hours. On top of one filing cabinet was a decorative Christmas tree and on the back of his door was a wreath, both of which you put in there when he wasn't paying attention.

He finally looked up and you saw the tension instantly drain from his face when he saw it was you.

"Hey," he said softly, dropping his pen so he could stand to greet you, chair groaning from the loss. He rounded the desk and pulled you into his arms. Your mouths sought each other out like magnets and you wrapped your arms around the back of his neck with a contented sigh when you finally felt his lips on you once again.

"Where have you been?" you pouted, gazing up at him while still hanging around his neck. His hands flattened against your back, the material of your dress bunching a little and exposing your legs even more.

"Been busy workin'. Sorry, darlin'. Lost track of time," he told you, but his eyes were drifting down your dress. "You been here this whole time wearin' this thing?"

"What? You don't like it?" you teased.

Joel scoffed and shook his head. "Like it a little too much. What's the occasion?" He finally dragged his eyes back up to meet yours.

"The occasion is it's Christmas," you said while your fingers began to fiddle with the short hairs on the back of his neck.

"Christmas ain't for a few more days."

"Well, maybe I wanted to give you your gift early," you smirked. Joel groaned in the back of his throat and pulled you closer so your body was pressed tightly against his. You began to pepper kisses along his neck, pausing when you reached his pulse to whisper, "Unless, that is, you're too busy."

"Lock the fuckin' door," he said lowly. A shiver rolled down your spine and you spun out of his hold to do exactly as he asked.

"Can't just wait, huh?" Joel scolded while he undid his belt and dropped it to the floor. You bit your lip, heart skipping excitedly in your chest as you backed up towards his desk. You stopped when you felt the edge press into the backs of your thighs and grinned.

"Sorry. I just thought you'd really want to open it now." You reached one arm behind you and slowly tugged at your zipper. Joel's eyes darted to lock onto the movement while his hands worked on opening his pants. You could tell he was loving every second of your little show. His lips were parted, breath coming in short pants, and his neck was already growing flush.

When your dress felt loose, you knew you reached the end of the zipper. Your chest heaved with anticipation before finally wiggling out of your dress and letting it fall to your feet.

You weren't lying. You really did have something for him under your clothes, although scraps of material like a see-through red teddy with a plunging neckline was difficult to define as anything substantial.

His eyes immediately bugged out of his head.

"Oh, Christ," he choked out. You giggled, pleased to have taken him by surprise. You hardly ever had the upper hand in the bedroom, not with the experience he brought by being an ex-pornstar, but on that day, you did.

His face paled when he saw your body in that teddy. Well, considering how much skin he could actually see through it, it hardly felt like you were wearing much at all, but Joel didn't seem to see it that way. He was absolutely hypnotized, completely unable to look away. His eyes greedily raked over every inch of you and you smiled to yourself when you realized he hadn't even yet noticed the panties you were wearing were crotchless.

"You like it?" you asked when his gawking had gone on long enough. You twirled so he could see the back, his throat bobbing when he saw the way your ass was exposed in your barely there panties. Joel forced his eyes up when you stood before him expectantly, feeling so excited and nervous that you had to bounce from foot to foot.

"You look beautiful," he finally whispered. You grinned and reached out both hands for him, laughing a little when he stumbled over his own feet to join you. As thrilled as you were to throw Joel off his game, it incited something deep within you when he took control again. He crowded you against his desk and dragged his hands fucking everywhere. Down your arms, over your stomach, across your back, feeling the lacy material under his big hands. And only when one hand cupped your breast and the other reached down to squeeze your ass did your own breath get stolen away.

"You're a bad girl," he murmured against the shell of your ear. Your eyelids fluttered closed as heat pooled between your legs, torturous and aching. "Wearin' this all night while I sat back here fightin' on the phone 'bout goddamn shipping rates?"

A small smile tugged at the corner of your mouth but it quickly melted into a gasp when his teeth pinched your skin, right under your ear.

"Joel," you moaned his name, tipping your head back while his mouth dragged down the column of your throat. You reached between your bodies, fingers searching for the inevitable bulge you knew you would find, and smiling to yourself when you felt his cock jump under your touch.

"Gonna let me fuck you?" you heard him ask. His lips trailed across your collarbone to begin their ascent up the opposite side of your neck. "Right here? In the back of a dirty bar?"

"I'd let you fuck me anywhere," you rasped, hopping up onto his desk and spreading your legs. He stepped between your knees, face buried against your throat and hips pressing stubbornly against your center as he continued to leave red marks across your chest and neck. He chuckled, the vibration from his voice sending shockwaves from your pulse point to the bottom of your stomach.

"Gonna hold you to that one day."

You were in a lust filled haze, completely absorbed with the way Joel kissed you, deep and messy and urgent, to notice when his hand traveled lower. His fingertips grazed between your legs, right where a thin strip of fabric should have been, but to his shock and delight, found nothing except your bare, leaking pussy.

"Fuck me," he groaned, leaning back to get a good look. He swiped his thumb through your slit and you whimpered, causing his dark eyes to snap up to yours with a deadly smirk.

"You liked this, huh?" His fingers spread your folds while your arms began to shake, propped up behind you and ready to collapse. "You liked dancin' around in that short dress, knowin' this soft little pussy was naked under there, waitin' for me to fuck her?"

"Mhm," was all you could muster. Not a single word could be formed in that moment when his middle finger prodded at your opening, testing you, before sinking inside. You tossed your head back with a shaky moan and spread your legs wider, encouraging him to continue, to give you more.

You could only imagine how you looked in that moment; elbows holding you up with your head hanging back between your shoulders in bliss, legs spread wide while wearing slutty Christmas lingerie across his desk as music thumped steadily through the walls. However it looked, though, was worth the hungry way Joel stared down at you with his hand working slowly between your thighs, one thick finger curling but purposely not touching the spot that made you come undone.

Your hips wiggled as you tried to chase his hand, desperate for him to give you what you needed, but he held you down, stilling your movements.

"Quit it."

"Joel," you whined, but he shook his head.

"This is my gift, remember?" he tutted.

He pulled out his finger and you huffed, frustrated. With heavy lidded eyes, you watched him pop the finger that was just inside of you into his mouth. He made a satisfied noise while reaching inside his pants. The second he pulled out his cock, your eyes drifted down and watched as he slowly stroked himself up and down.

You should have been used to him by then, but it never failed to send a wave of nerves through you when you saw the sheer size of him, something that served him very well in his old career and now something only you benefitted from.

One of his hands planted itself at your hip when he came to stand between your legs and he began to drag the tip of his cock through your arousal. You sighed and went to lay down flat across his desk, but he stopped you.

"Nuh uh. Want you to watch," he muttered. You caught his eye and your heart flipped in your chest at the look he gave you. You swallowed tightly and gave him a brief nod, confirming you would do as he asked. Then and only then did he drop his gaze to between your legs, spreading your lips with his thumbs to make room for the thick head of his cock to rest at your opening.

You watched together as he pressed forward ever so slightly, just barely kissing your pussy before pulling back entirely. He did it again and when he shifted back a second time, you gave him a pathetic little whine. His eyes darted back up to yours and he grinned.

"Be patient."

"C'mon, Joel... it's Christmas," you pouted. He chuckled, his stern facade fading, and shook his head.

"Alright," he breathed, and half a second later jut his hips forward, feeding you half his length in one pass. You gasped sharply and fell backwards onto his desk, unable to hold yourself up any longer.

He cursed under his breath, dragging himself back until just his tip remained sheathed inside you, then pushed forward once again, but that time he gave you every devastating inch of his impressive cock. You both gasped, sucking all the air out of the room with your heavy, quick panting as you each struggled to adjust.

"Goddamn," he murmured. Your eyes were squeezed shut, mouth agape as you focused on the stretch, but you pried them open so you could confirm he was just as wrecked as you felt.

"Oh, honey, you look fuckin' beautiful like this." His eyes were fixated on where you were connected, where red lace framed your exposed cunt. His dark eyes snapped up to yours when he very seriously added, "We're gonna get alotta use out of this gift, baby."

"That was the idea," you giggled breathlessly. There was a loud cheer through the walls when the song changed. It sounded like a bunch of guys right up against the bar, just twenty or thirty feet away who had no idea you were about to get fucked within an inch of your life.

"Good song," Joel said casually. He took a deep breath in through his nose and slowly began to rock his hips. Your mind went quiet, not a single thought drifting through your head except for how good it felt when he bottomed out inside you.

He was gentle at first. He knew he was alot to take so he always started with shallow thrusts, paying close attention to your cues. When your thighs relaxed and your breathing evened out, that was when he began to give it to you faster. Harder. Deeper. It was only a few minutes until his hips slammed into yours so forcefully that it had your back arching and your hand scrambling to hold onto the edge of the desk above you.

"Fuck - fuck - fuck," he huffed, each word punctuated with a snap of his hips. You whined and squirmed across the desk, trying to catch your breath. One of Joel's hands pressed flat against the desk for leverage, the other roughly gripped your waist to hold you steady, and his eyes remained fixated on the way your body stretched to accommodate his size. Every single time, it amazed him.

A loud knock came from the door. Your eyes locked, his hips slowed, and you shook your head. You mouthed the word don't. He made a face but acquiesced, then continued to fuck you, just slower and quieter. A second loud knock came and an annoyed Tommy yelled out, "Joel? C'mon, man, we need more Coors."

"Have fuckin' Steve do it, I'm busy!" he shouted back. You scowled then stifled a moan when he ground himself against you, rubbing your clit with the coarse hairs at the base of his shaft.

"Steve's on break!"

Joel snarled and reared back, grabbing the underside of both your knees and tugging you close.

"Gimme five minutes!" he yelled, voice only slightly giving away your compromising position when it cracked near the end of his sentence.

"Five?" you whispered with a disappointed look.

"Ten! Ten minutes!"

Finally you heard Tommy grumble under his breath and retreat back down the hall.

"I'll make you come in five minutes," Joel panted with a cocky grin. He began to pummel into you harder once again, picking up right where he left off. "Wanted to bend you over and come all over that perfect ass, but I'll save that for next time."

You groaned and tilted your chin to the ceiling as you felt that familiar tightness begin to pull low in your belly. Joel shifted, adjusting the way he was standing between your legs, and you cried out when the tip of his cock began to stroke against that spot that had you seeing stars. Blindly, you reached out to hold onto something, but only ended up scattering unpaid invoices and receipts onto the floor.

Words failed you. Heat flared deep inside, bright hot flames roaring to life in mere seconds that had your muscles going rigid and your spine curling off the desktop. There was no warning. There was nothing you could do except give into the intense pleasure as you choked on your words.

"Oh, shit," Joel grunted, hand reaching between you to rub firm circles over your clit. "S-shit, you're gonna come," he gasped right as your cunt clamped down around him. You wailed out a broken version of his name, legs trembling around his waist. He quickly fell forward, his body covering yours, and your lips connected in messy, wild kisses. Seconds later and with a deep groan echoing inside your mouth, Joel came, filling you with his thick, hot release until his cock stopped twitching and a shudder shot through his entire body.

You whimpered Joel's name and that was when he realized you were shaking violently. With his chest still heaving, he propped himself onto his elbows and slid his cock from between your legs before gathering you up in his arms and holding you close, enveloping you with his warmth.

"I got you," he murmured over and over into your hair. You nodded weakly, head still buzzing and hands still shaking. Slowly, your eyes reopened. Your pulse began to slow and your breaths grew deeper each time you pulled in air. You nuzzled your face into his shoulder, sighing from the comforting strokes of his hand over your back.

"You okay?" he asked after a few quiet minutes. You nodded and took a deep breath, the scent of his cologne mixing with his deodorant calming your frayed nerves even more.

"That was... intense," you whispered, lips searching for his throat. Joel continued to soothingly rub your back.

"You did so good, baby."

You smiled and nipped gently at his skin. "Did you enjoy your present?"

Joel's chest rumbled with a soft chuckle before he responded.

"This little number was a beautiful gift, but I don't need any of it, you know that, right?" he asked. "All I want is you."

"Are you saying that all you want for Christmas is... me?" You grinned when you leaned back to look up at him hazily. Joel laughed at your corny joke and cupped your face with both his hands to pull you in for a tender kiss.

"Yeah," he murmured against your lips. "Man can't ask for much else when he's already got everythin' he needs in one perfect little package."

You wrapped your arms around his neck as your cheeks warmed from his compliment. "I love you," you told him earnestly. Every time he heard those words, it made him smile.

"I love you, too."

Right when he leaned down for another kiss, a loud knock cracked against the door.

"Joel! The Coors!"

"God-fuckin'-" Joel grumbled before shouting, "I'm comin' right now! Jesus Christ!"

His eyes found yours and he gave you an apologetic look.

"You gonna be alright? Just gimme a few minutes-"

"I'm good," you told him with a firm nod, then gave his chest a little shove, pushing him towards the door. "Go. You have a bar to run."

He tucked himself back into his pants with a hiss and swiveled around before locating a box of tissues and handing them to you.

"Lock the door after I leave. This," he dragged his finger up and down in the air, indicating your skimpy lingerie, "is just for me to see."

"Yes, sir," you giggled with your legs still dangling over the edge of his desk. He shook his head in disbelief and fixed his shirt before disappearing out into the hallway.

Slowly, you cleaned yourself up as best you could and fixed the teddy before slipping your dress back on, concealing your little secret once again. You had your hand on the doorknob, poised to leave, when a thought occurred to you. Quickly, you shimmied your panties down your legs and hurried behind his desk to drop them in one of his drawers. You smiled proudly to yourself and headed back towards the door, already planning what new set you should surprise him with for Valentine's Day.

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[eu-nicola]

the fastest driver part 2

summary: you are a young and talented driver, who begins your journey in Formula 1 with Ferrari. despite your undeniable ability, you are constantly relegated to the background due to the Scuderia's strategies, which always favor your teammate, Charles Leclerc

warnings: cheating (?), car accident

word counter: 9896

author's note: english is not my first language, this is from an amazing request, thanks for the comments 🤍

tags: @ilovechickenwings @amortentiaaaa @wierdflowerpower @malvikareader @freyathehuntress

The sound of the rain softly hitting the hotel windows muffled any noise from the outside world. Inside the room, the air was thick, charged with a tension that had taken months to reach its breaking point. You were there, tangled with Max in a kiss that burned like fire, as if both of you had been waiting for this moment for far too long. His hand rested on your waist, firm yet trembling, as his lips sought yours with a mix of urgency and doubt.

You knew it was a mistake. You both knew it. But in that moment, logic and consequences seemed irrelevant.

You pulled away just a few inches, breathing heavily, and looked into his eyes. His were dark, filled with something you hadn’t seen before, a mix of desire, regret, and something else you couldn’t identify.

“We shouldn’t be doing this” you whispered, though you made no move to pull away.

Max closed his eyes, as if trying to find strength in the darkness.

“I know” he replied, his voice hoarse. “But I can’t stop.”

It had all started that same night, after the press conference in Singapore. You’d had an intense day, with endless training sessions and meetings. When the day finally ended, the team had organized a small informal dinner at the hotel. It was something routine after the toughest workdays, a way to unwind and reconnect as a group.

During dinner, Max had been sitting next to you, as always. The conversation flowed naturally between the two of you, alternating between technical topics and light jokes. But beneath the surface, you felt that tension that hadn’t faded since that conversation on the terrace. Every time your gazes met, every time your arms accidentally brushed, it was like a reminder that you were playing with fire.

After dinner, everyone started to disperse. Some engineers stayed at the hotel bar, while others decided to retire early to their rooms. You were about to do the same when Max approached you.

“One more round?,” he asked, holding a couple of water bottles in his hands. “We could go over some ideas for tomorrow.”

It wasn’t unusual for the two of you to stay talking about strategies or techniques outside official hours, so you didn’t think anything was out of place. You nodded, following him to a common room in the hotel, where you sat on a couch to go over some data on his tablet.

At first, everything was strictly professional. Max showed you a replay of your fastest lap and pointed out small adjustments you could make. You listened attentively, asking questions and taking notes. But as the conversation progressed, something changed. His comments became more personal, and his eyes seemed to study you more than the screen.

“You’re amazing, you know?,” he suddenly said, breaking the rhythm of the conversation.

You looked at him, surprised.

“Why do you say that?.”

“Because you are. Everything you do, how you handle all of this… It’s impressive.”

His voice was soft, and there was something in his tone that made your heart race. You tried to respond, but the words didn’t come out. Instead, you just looked at him, and he returned your gaze with an intensity that made time seem to stop.

That was when you felt it: that moment when the line between you two was about to break.

You tried to break the tension by standing up from the couch, but he did the same, stepping in front of you.

“Max…” you began, but you couldn’t finish the sentence.

“Tell me to stop,” he said, his voice barely a whisper. “If you tell me to stop, I will.”

You didn’t. Instead, you stayed there, looking at him, knowing you didn’t want him to stop. It was he who took the first step, moving slowly, as if giving you time to pull away. But you didn’t. When his lips finally found yours, it was as if all doubts and barriers crumbled instantly.

After that first kiss, everything became a blur. You didn’t remember exactly how you had ended up in his room, only that the elevator had gone up too slowly, and every second had felt eternal. When you crossed the door, neither of you wasted time with words.

Now, standing in the middle of the room, with his hands on your waist and your fingers tangled in his hair, you felt like you were walking on the edge of an abyss. You knew there was no turning back, but you weren’t sure you wanted to.

Max pulled away slightly, resting his forehead against yours.

“This is wrong,” he said, but his hands didn’t move from your waist.

“I know,” you replied, not letting go. “But I can’t help it.”

You both stood in silence, trapped in that moment that seemed to hold everything you had been repressing for months. Finally, Max sighed and took a step back, as if he were struggling with himself.

“We can’t keep doing this,” he said, though his tone didn’t sound convinced.

“Then why are we here?,” you asked, your voice heavy with frustration.

He didn’t respond immediately. Instead, he looked at you as if searching for an answer in your face.

“Cause I can’t stay away from you,” he finally confessed.

Those words fell like a bomb, tearing down any walls that remained between you. Without thinking, you kissed him again, and this time, neither of you tried to stop.

As the night went on, you knew this would complicate everything, that you had crossed a line you could never undo. But in that moment, none of that mattered. The only thing that mattered was him, and what you felt when you were with him.

You knew that dawn would bring questions, doubts, and maybe regrets. But in that moment, you chose to stay in the room, in his embrace, letting the world wait a little longer.

Since that night in Singapore, something between you and Max had changed. Though you tried to keep things as they were, it wasn’t long before the bond you had formed became deeper and more complicated. Max, with his impulsive character and his unshakable philosophy that personal success came above all, began to influence you in ways you hadn’t anticipated.

At first, you resisted admitting how much he had started to shape your way of being. But the truth was undeniable: his intensity, his ambition, and his lack of remorse started to seem attractive, even necessary. Being by his side made you feel invincible, as if the rules didn’t apply to you. And in the chaos of Formula 1, where every little mistake could cost you everything, that mentality was dangerous but intoxicating.

It was in Mexico that you first noticed how much Max was influencing you. During qualifying, your engineer suggested a conservative strategy to secure a decent grid position. But as you listened to his explanation over the radio, you felt Max’s gaze from the other side of the garage.

“Take risks,” he had told you the night before in a casual conversation while reviewing data. His voice echoed in your mind. “If you don’t, someone else will.”

So you ignored the team’s suggestion and attacked the lap aggressively, pushing the car to its limits. When you crossed the line, you had secured a better position than expected, but at the same time, you had worn the tires more than necessary. Your engineer was frustrated, but Max was pleased.

“That’s what I want to see,” he said to you afterward, with a crooked smile as the two of you reviewed your data in the paddock. “You can’t expect them to do it all for you. Sometimes you have to take control, even if that means breaking a few rules.”

You returned his smile, knowing those words were dangerous but also addictive.

As the season progressed and the end drew closer, the two of you spent more and more time together. The professional and personal aspects blended in a way you couldn’t stop. Max was your mentor, your friend, and now, your lover. It was a secret you both guarded carefully, aware of what it would mean if anyone else found out. But in private, you couldn’t stay away from each other.

After every race, no matter whether you had won or lost, he found a way to seek you out. Sometimes it was a conversation in a secluded room in the paddock, other times it was in the privacy of a hotel. There was something in the way he looked at you, as if you were the only person who mattered, that made everything else seem irrelevant.

It was in Brazil that things intensified even more. You had finished second behind Max in a tight race, and although you were proud of your result, you couldn’t ignore the feeling that you could have won if the team had adjusted the strategy. After the press conference, while everyone was celebrating, Max found you in a corner of the motorhome.

“Not bad for someone who’s still learning,” he joked, with that arrogant smile that always made you roll your eyes.

“Shut up,” you replied, laughing, though his words had alleviated some of your frustration.

He took one step closer, and his expression changed. The intensity in his gaze trapped you, and before you could think of the consequences, he took your hand and led you out of the motorhome, away from the noise of the party. You ended up in his room, and, as always, the tension between you two overflowed.

The line no longer existed.

That night, you realized there was no going back. Max was a whirlwind that had swept away your boundaries and doubts. In his company, you felt more powerful, more confident, but also more vulnerable. You had crossed the line between professional and personal, and it was becoming harder and harder to distinguish where your career ended and where your life with him began.

The next morning, while you watched him sleep beside you, you wondered how long you could keep this secret. You knew the truth would eventually come to light, but for now, you held on to the moment, to the feeling of being invincible by his side, even if the price was high.

Max was right about one thing: to win, sometimes you had to break the rules. And you had decided you were willing to do so, even if it meant losing yourself in the process.

On the other hand, the change in your driving style quickly caught the attention of the media. What had started as an evolution in your competitive style soon became a hot topic of debate. Your more aggressive approach, your willingness to take risks, and your refusal to give up ground on the track were interpreted as a radical transformation, and not everyone was willing to accept it.

The comments started subtly, during live broadcasts.

"Looks like she's adopting a bolder style," a journalist commented after a risky maneuver you made in Las Vegas to overtake Carlos Sainz. "Although some might say she's pushing the limits of what's acceptable."

But soon, the criticism turned more personal.

In the weeks that followed, headlines grew more aggressive. Sports newspapers and social media were filled with comments about your "masculine attitude" on the track. Some praised you, saying you had stopped being a driver who played defensively, while others criticized you for abandoning what they considered a "more elegant" and "appropriate style for a woman."

"Is this what we want to see in Formula 1?" asked a commentator on an analysis program. "I'm not saying she shouldn't be competitive, but it seems like she's trying to imitate the more aggressive drivers instead of finding her own way."

The words hit hard. You knew exactly who they were referring to with "more aggressive drivers." It was an implicit reference to Max, and the fact that your relationship with him remained a secret didn’t help divert the suspicions.

The pressure reached a boiling point during the Qatar Grand Prix weekend. In the pre-race press conference, a journalist threw a question that seemed designed to unsettle you.

"You've been accused of adopting an 'overly aggressive' driving style. Some even say you're trying to copy Max Verstappen. What do you have to say about that?"

You took a deep breath, maintaining the calm you had practiced so many times.

"My driving style is mine," you replied firmly. "Every driver has their own way of approaching races, and what I do on the track is the result of years of work and learning. If being aggressive means fighting to win, then yes, I am aggressive."

But the journalist didn’t stop there.

"Don't you think this aggression might be considered inappropriate for a woman in a traditionally male-dominated sport?"

There was a murmur in the room, and you could feel the rage beginning to bubble inside you. Max, sitting beside you, shot you a quick glance, as if reminding you not to lose control.

"I think that question says more about the person asking it than about me," you said, forcing a smile that didn’t reach your eyes. "We're in 2025. Are we really still questioning whether a woman can be competitive in Formula 1?"

The response earned a discreet applause from some journalists, but you knew the damage had already been done.

That night, while you were in your room going over your notes for the race, Max appeared at the door. He didn’t say anything at first, simply sank into a chair in front of you, watching you in silence.

"Do you want to talk about it?" he asked finally.

You shook your head, but he didn’t accept your answer.

"Look, I know what they’re saying about you," he continued, his tone more serious than usual. "And I understand how it feels. I went through the same thing when I came into Formula 1. They called me irresponsible, dangerous, immature..."

"And how did you handle it?" you asked, not hiding your frustration.

Max shrugged.

"I let them talk. In the end, the only thing that matters is what you do on the track. Winning shuts everyone up."

"And what if I don’t win?" you murmured, more to yourself than to him.

Max leaned forward, fixing his eyes on yours.

"You will win."

His words, though simple, carried a weight that managed to calm some of your anxiety.

On Sunday, with the criticism still fresh in your mind, you decided you couldn’t afford to doubt yourself. The race was one of the most intense of the season, with risky overtakes and moments where it seemed like everything was about to collapse. But in the end, you crossed the finish line in second place, just behind Max.

When you got out of the car, the roar of the crowd was deafening. Although the media still questioned your style, the fans seemed to be on your side. As you climbed onto the podium, trophy in hand, you understood what Max had meant.

The comments would continue. The criticism wouldn’t disappear. But as long as you kept performing on the track, as long as you kept fighting for your place, no one could take away what you had earned.

That night, as you celebrated with the team, Max approached you and whispered something in your ear.

"I told you you’d win."

The end of the season had arrived, and with it, the culmination of a year full of triumphs, tensions, and decisions that would change the course of your life. In the final race, in Abu Dhabi, Max had secured his fifth consecutive championship with an impeccable victory, while you finished second in the overall standings. You had fought until the end, and although you didn’t take the title, you were satisfied with what you had achieved.

When you stepped off the podium, the joy of your team was palpable. The atmosphere was filled with euphoria, hugs, and congratulations, but you felt something else: a deep exhaustion, a need to escape the noise and find some clarity. While Max raised his trophy under the fireworks, you looked at him and couldn’t help but wonder what would happen between you two now that the season was over.

Hours later, the Red Bull party was in full swing. Laughter and music filled the air, but you found yourself apart, in a quiet corner, holding a glass of champagne and watching your teammates. Max was surrounded by people, as always, his easy smile and magnetic energy lighting up the room.

Finally, your eyes met, and he walked over, leaving the group around him.

"What are you doing here alone?" he asked, leaning slightly so only you could hear.

"I'm just taking a moment for myself," you replied, forcing a smile. "It’s been a long year."

Max looked at you in silence for a moment, as if trying to read your thoughts. Then, he took your hand and led you away from the noise, to a private terrace.

The cool night air was a relief. You both leaned on the railing, gazing at the lights that still shone on the track.

"Congratulations, champ," you finally said, breaking the silence.

"Thanks," he replied, though his tone was softer than usual. "And congratulations to you, too. This was your strongest year."

"Not strong enough to beat you," you joked, but he didn’t laugh.

"You’re closer than you think."

The conversation turned to vacations, the break they both desperately needed. But as they spoke, you couldn’t ignore the unease that had settled in your chest. Vacations meant time away from the chaos of Formula 1, but they also meant time away from Max.

He, on the other hand, seemed carefree, talking about plans to travel, relax, and disconnect from everything. But in his gaze, there was something else, something you couldn’t quite decipher.

“What are you going to do during the holidays?,” he asked, finally.

“I’m not sure yet. Maybe visit my family, spend some time at home. I need a little normalcy.”

Max nodded, but didn’t respond immediately. When he finally spoke, his tone was more serious.

“You know this... what we have... is complicated.”

Your heart tightened at his words, even though you knew it was true.

“I know,” you said, trying to maintain composure.

“I don’t want you to think that this doesn’t mean anything to me,” he continued, looking out at the horizon. “But in this world, it’s difficult...”

“Difficult...” you finished for him, feeling a lump in your throat.

He didn’t deny it. Instead, he turned toward you, placing a hand on your cheek.

“You’re amazing, you know that? Not just as a driver, but as a person. But...”

You didn’t need him to finish the sentence. You knew that what was everything to you, for him, was a way to escape the pressure, an adventure without attachments. And yet, there was something in his gaze, the way his hand trembled slightly as he touched you, that made you think maybe it wasn’t as simple for him as he wanted it to seem.

When you finally returned to the party, neither of you said anything more about the matter. Max went back to being the center of attention, and you joined the group, pretending everything was fine. But as you watched him laugh and joke with the others, you couldn’t shake the feeling that something had changed.

The holidays would be a turning point, you knew. It was a time to reflect, to decide what your relationship with him really meant and whether you were willing to stay on that tightrope.

As the night came to a close, you said goodbye to everyone and headed back to your room. You sat on the bed, staring at the trophy you had won that day, but your mind was far from the track.

Max had been your first everything. But now, as you faced weeks of uncertainty, you wondered if it was also your first great lesson on what it meant to love someone who might never love you in the same way.

You knew you’d figure it out soon. But for now, all you could do was wait.

When the holidays began, you knew that, inevitably, your paths and Max’s would cross again. Even though both of you needed space, the geographical proximity in Monaco made it almost impossible to avoid each other. And, deep down, you didn’t want to. There was something unfinished between you two, something that needed to be said.

The first time you saw him was on his yacht, where he organized a discreet meeting with a few close friends. The atmosphere was relaxed, with laughter and wine glasses, but your eyes always found his. Max acted as usual: charming, relaxed, pretending like the weight of the world never touched him. But you knew better. You knew how he hid his emotions under that facade.

The second time was more intimate. He invited you to dinner at one of his apartments, a quiet evening that ended with a palpable tension.

It all started with a seemingly harmless conversation about his plans for the rest of the holidays.

“Are you planning to travel?,” you asked as you dined, trying to keep the tone light.

Max shrugged.

“I’ll probably spend a few days in the Netherlands with my family. Maybe make a quick trip to Spain.”

“And what about us?,” you asked, almost without realizing it. The question came out before you could stop it.

Max looked up, surprised by your tone.

“Us?.”

“Yes, Max. Us. This... whatever it is we’re doing. What does it mean to you?.”

He put his fork down and sighed, leaning back in his chair.

“You know I don’t like putting labels on things.”

“I’m not asking for a label,” you replied, feeling frustration bubbling inside. “I just want to know where I stand.”

Max frowned, as if trying to find the right words, but his tone was colder than you expected.

“Why do we need to define it? What we have works, right?.”

That response was the straw that broke the camel’s back.

“Works for who, Max?,” you spat, your voice rising slightly. “Because from where I’m standing, it seems like this only works for you. I’m the one who has to hide, the one who has to accept that we’re nothing more than a distraction to you.”

He stood up, crossing his arms over his chest.

“That’s not fair. I never promised you anything.”

“No, you didn’t!,” you admitted, standing up as well. “But you didn’t let me go either. Every time I try to put some distance, you do something that makes me stay. And I, like an idiot, keep falling for it.”

Max seemed to stagger at your words, but his pride didn’t allow him to back down.

“It’s not my fault if you expect something I can’t give you.”

“Then what am I to you, Max? A distraction? A pastime between races?,” you asked, your voice trembling with a mix of anger and pain.

“That’s not fair,” he repeated, but this time his tone was softer.

The room fell silent for a moment. Max looked away, unable to face you directly. You knew there were feelings behind his cold demeanor, but you also knew he wasn’t ready to admit them, not even to himself.

“Look, I don’t know what you expected,” he said finally, his tone tired. “This isn’t easy for me either. You know I have someone.”

“Oh, really?,” you said sarcastically. “Because from here it seems like you’ve got everything under control.”

“I don’t have everything under control!,” he exclaimed, raising his voice for the first time. “Do you think this doesn’t affect me? Do you think I don’t think about you more than I should?.”

You froze at his confession. For a moment, you thought he was going to say something more, something that would explain everything. But instead, Max shook his head, as if he were fighting with his own thoughts.

“But I can’t give you what you want. Not now.”

That was the statement that ended the argument. You didn’t know whether you felt more sadness or anger, but you understood that you couldn’t keep going like this.

“Then don’t ask me to stay,” you whispered, your voice barely audible. “Don’t ask me to keep being the one who adapts, the one who hides, the one who’s always available when you decide you need me.”

He didn’t respond. You waited, giving him one last chance to say something that would make you change your mind. But the silence was deafening.

Finally, you grabbed your things and left the apartment, leaving Max alone in his own storm.

As you walked through the quiet streets of Monaco, you felt a mix of liberation and sadness. You knew you had made the right decision, but that didn’t make it hurt any less. Max had been an important part of your life, but now you understood that you couldn’t keep being a shadow in his world.

The vacation had just begun, but you already felt like you were in a new chapter. And while you didn’t know what the future held, you were determined to find your own path, even if that meant leaving Max behind.

The decision to spend your vacation in Italy wasn’t impulsive. After the emotional storm that marked the end of the season, you needed a place where you could find yourself, far from the hustle and bustle of Monaco and the ever-watchful eyes that seemed to follow you. Italy had always been a refuge for you: the peaceful hills of Tuscany, the small cafes in Rome, the calm of Lake Como. There, you felt like you could breathe.

However, what began as an attempt to find peace turned into something more. During long walks down cobblestone streets and endless nights of reflection, you began to question your place at Red Bull and in Formula 1 in general. Something didn’t fit, and for the first time, you allowed yourself to recognize it.

One afternoon, while sitting on a terrace overlooking Florence, you found yourself writing a list in a notebook. One column listed the things you liked about Red Bull: competitiveness, top-level engineering, the chance to fight for the title. The other column, however, was longer: constant pressure, the tense relationship with Max, the feeling that you were always fighting to be seen as something more than a “second driver.”

It was then that you knew. You couldn’t stay at Red Bull anymore. You had reached a point where your success didn’t fulfill you, because it always seemed to come at the cost of your happiness. You needed a change, and you knew exactly where you wanted to be.

A few days later, you found yourself on a video call with Zak Brown. The conversation started off cordial, with Zak asking how your vacation was going and casually mentioning that Piastri was considering options outside McLaren. Then, you dropped it:

—Zak, I want to talk about the possibility of joining McLaren.

There was a brief but intense silence on the other side of the screen. Then, a slow smile began to form on his face.

—Are you serious? —he asked, clearly intrigued.

—Completely. I feel like Red Bull is no longer the right place for me. I’m looking for a team where I can build something, not just adapt to what already exists. And I think McLaren can be that place.

Zak nodded, leaning back in his chair as he processed your words.

—I can’t deny it would be a big move for us. If you’re willing to take the leap, we are too.

In the following days, negotiations began. Everything was done in the strictest secrecy, far from the eyes of the media and the ears of Red Bull. You knew the news of your departure would be a bombshell, especially since Piastri was being considered as your replacement.

You didn’t tell anyone, not even Max. It wasn’t a conversation you were willing to have with him, not after how things had ended. This decision was yours alone, and you needed to keep it that way.

The news broke on the first day of the new year, as the holidays were coming to an end. While you were at the Milan airport, waiting for your flight back to Monaco, your phone started vibrating incessantly. Opening Twitter, you saw the headlines:

“Oscar Piastri joins Red Bull as Max Verstappen’s teammate” “Red Bull confirms the departure of its star driver after a successful season” “McLaren signs the star driver for 2025 in a surprising move”

You took a deep breath as you read the comments. Most fans were shocked; some criticized you for leaving such a competitive team, while others praised your decision to find a place where you could shine on your own.

You didn’t have to wait long to find out how Max would react. As soon as you landed in Monaco, you received a message from him.

Max: Is this a joke? You went to McLaren without telling me anything?

You sighed, knowing this conversation would be inevitable. After getting to your apartment, you called him.

“Hi, Max.”

“I can’t believe it,” was the first thing he said, his tone filled with disbelief. “You decided this without even mentioning it to me?.”

“Max, this decision has nothing to do with you,” you replied, trying to stay calm. “It’s something I needed to do for myself.”

“For yourself?,” he repeated, almost laughing. “You were in the best team, with the best car, fighting for titles. Why would you leave that?.”

“Because I don’t want to be just an extension of your success,” you said, feeling your voice fill with determination. “I want to build something of my own, and McLaren gives me that opportunity.”

Max fell silent for a moment. When he spoke, his tone was softer, but also colder.

“I hope you don’t regret it.”

“I won’t,” you answered, with more confidence than you felt in that moment.

Even now, with all the drama, you had flashbacks of you and Max during your early days at Red Bull, which had also been quite a whirlwind. He wasn’t just a driver: he was the driver. His confidence, almost arrogance, permeated every conversation, every strategy, every decision. But rather than intimidate you, that pushed you. You wanted to prove that you belonged at that level too.

Max respected you as a driver, but kept a clear distance. It was his way of protecting himself in an environment where emotional alliances often complicated things. You weren’t interested in anything else either. At least, not at first.

You remember everything started to change after the third race of the season. You had a difficult weekend: mechanical issues in practice, a crash in qualifying, and a minor contact in the race that left you out of the points. You were exhausted, frustrated, and harder on yourself than you should have been.

That night, while reviewing the data in the motorhome, Max walked in and sat down across from you, with a beer in hand.

“Why are you still here?,” he asked, leaning forward.

You looked up, confused.

“I’m reviewing the data. I need to understand what happened.”

Max shook his head, a slight smile on his lips.

“You already know what happened. You had bad luck. That happens to anyone. Don’t obsess over what you can’t change.”

His words surprised you. Max Verstappen, the driver known for his obsession with perfection, was telling you to let go of a bad day.

“Easy for you to say,” you replied, with a sharper tone than you intended. “You’re the World Champion.”

Max leaned back, taking a sip of his beer before answering.

“Do you think I haven’t had shitty days? What matters is how you come back. And you... you’ve got what it takes to come back.”

That small, unexpected gesture of support was the first step.

With each race, the relationship between you two grew stronger. Max started seeking you out to review strategies together or just to chat during flights. You, in turn, started seeing him as more than just a driver: someone passionate, fun on his good days, and deeply competitive.

One time, during a trip to Canada, the two of you ended up sitting next to each other on the team’s private plane. While everyone else slept, you started talking about everything and nothing: your childhoods, the races that had marked you, the sacrifices you’d made to get to Formula 1.

“Sometimes, I wonder if it’s all worth it,” you said, after a long silence.

Max looked at you with curiosity.

“Seriously?.”

You nodded.

“Of course I love this, but I also wonder what I’d be doing if I weren’t here. If I’d have a simpler life, with less pressure.”

Max thought for a moment before replying.

“I never ask myself that. Not because it’s not hard, but because I can’t imagine doing anything else.”

That comment made you see him in a new light. For Max, F1 wasn’t just his job, it was his life. And while you shared that passion, you also realized that he lived it in a way no one else could understand.

The tension between you began to become more evident in the little things. The way he would look for you with his gaze when you entered a room. The private jokes you shared during breaks. The way your hands would accidentally brush when checking data on the screen.

It was after a particularly difficult race in Austria when the tension reached its peak. You finished second behind Max, but only because the team had ordered you to hold position. You were furious, though you tried to hide it.

That night, Max came looking for you at your room. When you opened the door, you saw him with an expression you hadn't seen before: a mix of concern and something else you couldn't identify.

"Are you okay?,” he asked, though both of you knew that wasn't the case.

"Why do you care?,” you replied, tired of everything.

Instead of answering, Max took a step toward you, crossing the threshold of the door. The space between you was minimal, and you could feel the intensity in his gaze.

"I care because you're my teammate," he said at first, but then added in a lower tone. "And because... I can't help it."

That was the moment when everything changed. Nothing happened that night, but the line between you two had been erased. You both knew it, though neither of you wanted to admit it.

That tension, that undeniable connection, was what led you to cross the line later. But that was the beginning: a brush of hands, a gaze that lingered too long, a silence full of things neither of you dared to say.

After that, there was another night in Singapore where the story had started, your story.

Now that was behind you, and you were far from him and from the team.

A few weeks later, the new season had started, but not with Red Bull. Now you wore McLaren's iconic papaya orange, a decision that had taken the motorsport world by surprise. Despite Red Bull's initial resistance to letting you go, you broke the contract after unbearable tension. Now you shared a garage with Lando Norris, on a team that seemed ready to give you the spotlight you had longed for. However, leaving Red Bull behind didn’t mean leaving Max behind.

Max remained a constant, though now from the other side of the paddock. The first official encounter of the season in Bahrain was everything you had expected: tense and full of silent reproaches. Although both of you tried to maintain professionalism, the media quickly picked up on the coldness between you. And with each practice, that coldness transformed into a dangerous mix of rivalry, resentment, and something that never seemed to disappear: the history you both shared.

In the first race of the season, the problems between you transferred to the asphalt. During lap 32, you were fighting for the podium with Max behind you, pressuring you on every corner. His insistence was suffocating, and in an aggressive attempt to overtake you, he made contact with your car, forcing you off track.

"This is unacceptable," you shouted over the radio, your voice full of frustration.

Although the stewards didn’t impose any penalties, the incident made it clear that Max wasn’t willing to give you any mercy. But what hurt you the most was seeing him after the race when he completely ignored you in the paddock, as if you were a stranger.

After the race, you were in your Motorhome, reviewing the replays of the incident, when someone knocked on the door. You opened it, and there he was, with a frown and arms crossed.

"What the hell was that today?,” he asked, walking in without waiting for an invitation.

"What the hell was what?,” you replied, closing the door behind him. "You're the one who knocked me off track."

Max let out a sarcastic laugh.

"Please. If you hadn't closed so much on the corner, none of this would have happened."

Your blood began to boil.

"Are you really going to blame me for this? Because I didn’t let you pass like when we were at Red Bull? I hate to break your illusion, Max, but I'm not your teammate anymore."

He turned toward you, his eyes filled with anger, but also with something you couldn’t quite identify.

"You made that clear when you left. But you know this goes beyond that."

"What are you talking about?,” you asked, crossing your arms.

Max took a step toward you, closing the distance between you two.

"About you. About us. About how you can’t handle all of this without it becoming a personal problem."

You felt your heart beat faster, but you weren’t going to let it affect you.

"This has nothing to do with 'us.' This is about racing, Max. And if you can’t handle that I’m no longer part of your little world, that’s your problem, not mine."

For a moment, Max seemed like he wanted to respond, but instead, he shook his head and walked toward the door.

"You know, I thought you were different. But it seems like everyone in this sport is the same."

His words hit you like a bucket of cold water, but you refused to show it.

"And I thought you could be professional for once. Seems like we were both wrong."

Max left, slamming the door open behind him, and you collapsed on the couch, feeling exhausted.

The first days after the tension with Max passed quickly, but not for the reason you expected. You didn’t obsess over what had happened with him or the hurtful words that still echoed in your mind. What worried you most now was your integration into McLaren, especially your relationship with Lando Norris, your new teammate.

Lando was the complete opposite of Max: relaxed, fun, and with an attitude that, although professional, never lost its laid-back vibe. Instead of pressuring you or criticizing you constantly like Max did in his "mentor" version, Lando preferred to offer support without overwhelming you. He had a way of making everything seem easier, even when things on the track got complicated.

At first, you felt like a bit of an outsider. McLaren was a team with its own culture, and even though it wasn’t your first year in F1, you always carried that sense of nervousness at the start of a new chapter. Lando, however, did everything possible to make you feel welcome. At first, it was something as simple as joking about the team’s coffee, which according to him, always tasted like "hot water with a touch of desperation." After some laughs, the atmosphere started to relax, and little by little, you began to feel more comfortable with him and the rest of the team.

The first official team event, a press conference, was when things really began to change. During the interview, a journalist asked Lando how he felt about having a new teammate, and he, without losing his composure, gave a quick answer that made you smile.

"Well, the truth is it’s been an interesting experience. She brings a positive energy, and... she makes me feel like I'm still the 'young guy' on the team, even though technically I'm not. So, it’s fun having her on board!"

Everyone laughed, and, to your surprise, that broke the ice. The journalists quickly turned the focus to you, and Lando passed the ball with a mischievous smile.

"What I can say about my teammate is that, although she seems very serious, she has a good sense of humor. I can’t wait to see what happens this season."

From there on, things felt easier. It was as if, without even trying, Lando had smoothed the transition. The chemistry between you two flowed quickly, with no tension or unreachable expectations. You didn’t have to prove anything to anyone, just be yourself.

The ease with which you communicated impressed you. It wasn’t like with Max, where you always felt like you had to "prove yourself" or show something. With Lando, everything flowed naturally. If something didn’t work, you just adjusted it, with no drama or expectations. He was a teammate who truly believed in collaboration, not internal competition.

By the end of the first month at McLaren, you knew joining them had been the right decision.

Little by little, the start of the season at McLaren seemed to be going in the right direction: your relationship with Lando was strengthening, the team was improving, and, little by little, you felt like you were finding your rhythm in a car that, although not the fastest on the grid, gave you the sense of control you had lost the previous year. However, things with Max weren’t going well; in fact, they were getting even more complicated.

Although he was still racing for Red Bull, with his undeniable dominance on the track, the rivalry that had ignited the previous year seemed to intensify with every race. No matter how many times you told yourself it wasn’t worth focusing on what Max was doing or not doing, he was always there, whether in interviews, in media comments, or even on the track, challenging you to prove you were still more than his shadow.

In the first lap of Australia, a circuit you both knew inside and out. In practice, Red Bull had been clearly superior, but McLaren was more competitive than ever. The chance to snatch a win from Max wasn’t impossible, but it wouldn’t be easy. During the race, Max constantly pressured you. Although he wasn’t being as aggressive as he had been in the past, his presence behind you was suffocating, his car always right next to you in the fast corners.

You remember how, at one point in the race, during an overtaking move in turn 8, Max tried to pass you on the inside, clearly with the intention to intimidate you. It was a risky maneuver, and although logic told you to give way, you decided not to. You had enough space to hold your line, and although you didn’t manage to block him completely, the resistance you offered forced him to brake a little more than expected. That small detail allowed you to keep the position, something that seemed to irritate him.

When the race ended, Max finished in second place, right behind you. As you passed through the cooling area, you could see him in his car, staring at you with that defiant look he was so good at putting on. The crowd noticed it, the journalists noticed it, and, of course, you noticed it too.

At the end of the race, while you were getting ready to leave the paddock, one of McLaren’s engineers told you that Max had requested to speak with you. You didn’t understand why he wanted to do that, and honestly, you weren’t in the mood to face him after what had happened on track. But, as always, appearances mattered, and you couldn’t just ignore him. So, you agreed, even though you knew it would be an uncomfortable encounter.

Max was waiting for you near the Red Bull hospitality, arms crossed, a typical defensive posture. He didn’t say anything at first, but when you looked at him, his face was more serious than usual.

“What’s wrong with you?” he finally said, his tone as direct and blunt as ever. “You know that if you’d let me pass, we could’ve fought more cleanly. Why do you keep acting like it’s all personal?”

You were surprised that the conversation was going in that direction, as if you weren’t racing, as if it was a matter of pride. But, you knew this was Max. It always had to be him first.

“Personal?” you repeated, letting sarcasm fill your voice. “You’re the first one to make it personal. If you’d given me space, we wouldn’t have this problem, but no, you always have to be the one to set the pace, don’t you?”

Max took a step toward you, but not enough to invade your personal space. His gaze hardened.

“It’s not about setting the pace. It’s about being competitive. You still don’t understand how this sport works. You have to go for it, not care about what others think.”

Your breath quickened, not out of fear, but from the anger that had been building up for months.

“I think the problem here isn’t that I don’t understand the sport, Max. The problem is that you’ve never learned how to be a true teammate, and now you’re trying to dictate how I should race. I’m tired of you doing this.”

Max, as expected, didn’t say anything more. He just stared at you for a couple of seconds, as if waiting for you to change your mind or apologize. But you wouldn’t. Not anymore. Not when you knew that, for him, everything had always been about ego, about being the best, the fastest, the one who wouldn’t let anyone overtake him.

The rivalry between you and Max continued to grow. Every time you saw him on track, you knew that, at least for him, it had become personal. What once was a professional competition had become something much more visceral, and every time the two teams met on the track, the tension between you was palpable. But far from being a negative thing, it motivated you to improve. You no longer just wanted to beat Max for the sake of it; now, it was a personal necessity.

The revenge came for him in Monaco. On such a tight, technical circuit, any mistake could be fatal, and Max, although he initially seemed to have the advantage, began to falter in the final laps, losing traction in the trickiest parts of the circuit. It was then, on lap 68, that you seized your opportunity.

Max was charging full throttle, but as you exited the tunnel, his car began to slide slightly. That was enough for you to pass him on the inside at Sainte-Dévote. As you passed him, you felt a mix of adrenaline and satisfaction. Finally, the competition that had defined you for so long, you had surpassed.

At the end of the race, while celebrating your podium, Max’s gaze from the other side of the garage was clear. It was no longer just a rivalry; now, it had become a personal duel.

The victory in Monaco was a milestone in your career. Not only because it had been one of the best races of your life, but because at the end of the day, you didn’t just celebrate with the McLaren team, but also felt a kind of personal vindication. You had beaten Max, done what many thought was impossible. Not just as a driver, but as someone who had constantly been underestimated for a lack of “aggressiveness” or for once being seen as Red Bull’s “perfect teammate” or “pretty girl.” But now, at this moment, you were neither of those things. Now, you were his rival.

The sense of achievement was gratifying, but deep down you knew the victory had its price. Something in you had changed during that last overtake, in the way you had faced Max, in how, when you looked at him for the last time on track, something inside you had broken. That part of you that still wanted him, that still thought maybe things could have been different, was gone, or at least overshadowed by the fierce determination to win. The relationship you once shared was buried, replaced by pure competition, an unfiltered rivalry. But at the same time, you knew it wasn’t just the competition that drove you; it was something much more personal. Max had let you go. And now, you had left him behind, though not without a certain sadness.

On the other side, Max was in his motorhome, lights off, arms crossed over his chest, staring at the mirror. The race had ended, and although he had made an effort not to show his emotions to the journalists, something inside him was consuming him. He was used to winning, he had always been the leader, the reference. But this time, in Monaco, the result made him realize something he had been avoiding for a long time.

He had lost. And not just the race. He had lost the person who had mattered most in his life.

It was ironic because he couldn’t say he didn’t deserve it. He had been the first to fuel the rivalry, the first to not know how to handle his own feelings, the first to ignore the boundaries between the personal and the professional. But now, when he saw your victory trophy on his phone screen, when he saw the images of you celebrating with Lando, he felt something he had never felt before: regret.

Over the years, Max had gotten used to seeing life as a series of challenges and battles he had to win. The world was black or white, no shades of gray. But with you, everything had been different. He had been your mentor, your teammate, your rival, and at some point, more than that. He had been someone who, in a way, had been the only person capable of pushing him out of his comfort zone. The relationship you shared, although never fully admitted, had been unique. Max knew that when he was with you, he felt more human, more vulnerable. But competition, the need to be the best, had led him to distance himself from what really mattered.

That night, Max couldn’t sleep. The feeling of being lost, of having destroyed something valuable, haunted him. He didn’t know how you had come to mean so much to him, or when the rivalry had stopped being just that and turned into something more complicated. But he knew it clearly: he had lost you. And the worst part was that, in his head, there were still unanswered questions. Could he have done things differently? Should he have spoken up earlier, when there was still time to explain? The answers to those questions tormented him, but what really hurt was what he didn’t know: if you felt the same way.

Weeks later, it was the Canadian Grand Prix. The combination of fast corners, technical sections, and the closeness of the walls, all contributed to the magic of that weekend. But this time, for some reason, it felt different. The tension in the air was palpable, and although Max and you hadn’t spoken for days, hadn’t exchanged more than a fleeting glance, something felt off. But you ignored it, focusing on the track, on what you did best.

The qualifying had been tough, but you had stayed in the top positions. The McLaren car had responded well, and you knew you could be fighting for a podium. Lando had qualified just behind you, both with the same motivation, knowing this race would be key for the team. However, in your mind, there was always that little thought that crept in: Max. The rivalry, that constant pressure to prove you could be better, the feeling that he was watching from a distance, waiting for you to make a mistake. And that haunted you.

The race began under the overcast sky of Montreal, with the excitement of the crowd contagious to the drivers. At first, everything seemed to be going well, although the temperatures were higher than expected, making tire control difficult. The first laps passed quickly, and you found yourself fighting wheel to wheel with Lando, in a clean and constant battle, looking for the best line to overtake some rivals. But on lap 32, everything changed.

It all happened in the blink of an eye. You reached turn 6 at a dizzying speed, trying to maintain your position, with the brakes slightly overheated. The car became unstable, and before you could react, the rear wheels lost traction. You tried to correct, but the car violently slid, and in an instant, you were crashing into the safety barriers. The sound of the crash was deafening, an explosion of metal, rubber, and carbon fiber. It was as if the world stopped for a moment, as if the air became heavy and dense.

The radio was filled with static, and the McLaren pit wall erupted into chaos. Engineers shouted orders, but everything was a distant echo. Your car had been destroyed in turn 6, one of the toughest corners of the circuit, and the impact left you unconscious for a moment. The medical staff and FIA officials arrived quickly at the scene, but in those seconds that felt like an eternity, the world felt distant and alien.

When you finally woke up, the sunlight blinded you, and the sound of fans, the buzzing of the medical teams, and the murmurs of people filtered into your head like a storm. The pain was unbearable, but the worst part was the confusion. What had happened? Why couldn’t you move your legs?

The voice of one of the doctors reached your ears, low and worried.

“Stay calm, don’t move, we’re here to help. You have a head injury, and probably a concussion. We need you to stay still until we evaluate you.”

Outside the circuit, the chaos was even greater. Journalists were already surrounding the area, television cameras focused on every detail of the accident, and the paddock was filled with people who could do nothing but watch in silence. The faces of your teammates reflected anguish. Lando, on the other side of the pit wall, had stopped focusing on his own race, and his fixed gaze on the screen showing your wrecked car said it all. He was desperate.

Max, who had seen everything from his car on the following lap, braked abruptly when the yellow flag appeared on his screen. It was as if the world had stopped for him too. Max’s face turned serious, his eyes narrowed, and for a moment, he seemed to forget that, on track, he had to continue with the race. Somehow, he was searching for you on the screen, wanting to know if you were okay, if you had survived the crash. But the truth was that, in that moment, neither he nor anyone else knew what had happened.

The medical team worked quickly to stabilize you, and the doctors’ shouts became more urgent. There was worry on their faces, in the way they spoke to each other, but you could barely understand what they were saying. The noise in your head was deafening. What had happened? Why couldn’t you move? Was your body okay?

News of the crash spread quickly on social media. The media flooded the internet with photos of the wrecked car, images of the chaos at the circuit, and the medical staff surrounding you while they tried to keep you conscious. The race continued, but the world of Formula 1 had stopped for a moment. In the hospital, the first reports were arriving through television screens.

Journalists crowded around, asking everyone involved in the accident for the smallest bit of information. Cameras focused on your teammates, who were being approached by the press.

“How is she?,” they asked your mother, whose face was pale, marked by worry.

“She’s being evaluated,” she replied, her voice trembling, unable to hide the anxiety consuming her. “They’ve told us she has a concussion, but they’re doing more tests.”

At that moment, your name became a trending topic on Twitter, and reporters couldn’t stop talking about you, but all you wanted was for everything to stop, for the pain to go away, for the voices in your head to quiet.

Max didn’t know how to react. As he prepared for his last lap, he felt the weight of what had happened, the weight of having been so distant, so focused only on the victory, that he had forgotten what truly mattered. Throughout the entire race, he couldn’t stop thinking about you, about what might be happening at that very moment. The crash had been severe, and the uncertainty gnawed at him.

In the following hours, the news became clear: the crash had left consequences. The concussion was just the beginning. The impact had been so strong that doctors couldn’t yet say whether the physical and psychological effects would be temporary or if you would be left with permanent damage. The fear was palpable, and as exams and tests progressed, it was clear that everything had changed. The accident, the pain, and the uncertainty were now an inevitable part of the story. Your career, your life, everything you had built up until now, was at stake.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Yule Be Sorry

Warnings: non/dubcon, and other dark elements. Not all kinks or triggers are tagged. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

Summary: You go along with the prince on his Yuletime celebrations.

Character: Thor

Day Twenty of the December Daze Challenge.

Prompt - i hate the holidays and you love them

Note: As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging.

“It is time for Yule. The greatest time of the year!” Thor booms. You don’t look up from the thick tome you’ve been pouring over for weeks. “Come, Father is to set off upon his solstice journey at sunset. 

“Like he does every year,” you mutter. 

“Yes! Exactly,” he claps his hands. “It’s rather exciting, isn’t it?” 

“How so?” You suppress a yawn. 

“You are so amusing, how you act as if you don’t care.” 

“I don’t,” you assure him. 

“But the sky. Father makes such beautiful colours!” 

“Heimdall does the same every time you decide to disappear halfway across the galaxy,” you rub your cheek and lean your chin in your hand. You turn the page. “It gets rather dull after so many millenia.” 

“And yet here you are,” he preens. 

You keep your eyes on the book lest you betray your true thoughts. Yes, you were bound in blood to the Family Odinson after your father’s rebellion. They might have spared you servitude in the traditional sense but acting as companion can be just as dull. 

“What else would you do then? This is a special day. Winter is come.” 

“Mmhm,” you hum and tilt your head to look at him. 

“Would you rather sit inside and finish your study?” 

“Yes, I would, now you say it,” you return. 

“No wonder you and Loki always got on,” he narrows his eyes. Got on? Loki is intolerable in his own waay. 

“I will come see the lights, let me finish this passage,” you relent. 

He harrumphs as you put your eyes back to the page. You lose all focus as his childish impatience irks you. You close the book and shrug as you stand. 

“Very well, Happy Yule, Prince.” 

With his triumph, he’s content. He is in the habit of winning and you are in the habit of appeasing. You follow him from the room and proceed side by side down the halls. You emerge into the Asgardian evening, the sky speckled with falling flakes summoned by Lady Frigga’s seidr. 

The city is alight with the market lights of the commonfolk and the Bifrost pulses in an eerie glow. You peer around and stop as the prince walk past you. He brushes against you without concern. 

“Why, Prince, your Warriors Three are there. Perhaps an ale and their company is preferable--” 

“Come,” Thor demands, “they do not find the stalls of any interest.” 

You hum but obey. That’s odd. He is always so eager to be with his most favoured comrades, to rowdily race them to the bottom of a flagon. Though it is Yule, that day seems an unusual one. Especially for him. 

You catch up to him as he ushers you away from the palace. Usually Loki is one for the markets, though not for any innocent means. He is amused by their handmade trinkets, often mocking them. You peek over at Thor and consider him closely. His eyes... blue as any sea. 

“What is it?” Thor startles you from your inquisitive stare. 

“Nothing, prince,” you lie and look ahead of you as you proceed down the incline. 

“You think it is one of his tricks. I assure you he is off chasing Sif with those. Did you not hear the quarrel last night?” Thor chuckles. 

“I think the next realm heard that one,” you remark. 

Thor laughs, “hm, you must recall that one and say it to him.” 

“Not all of us may get way with that. You are welcome to take it yourself,” you say. 

“Ah, but he finds you so amusing.” 

“We both know how he is, you best of all,” you gird. 

“I tease,” he chortles once more. “Come, look, at the crystals.” 

He grabs your arm and drags you to a stall of blow glass ornaments. They are delicately crafted. While you might spare a coin or two for them, you would be concerned for how to get them away unbroken. 

“Fine seller,” Thor says, “how much to have some taken to the palace on my behalf? My mother requires her Yule gift.” 

You glance at him again as he barters for several fine pieces and the delivery. You’re not surprised. You should have guessed at his purpose. 

As you walk on, you snort, “prince, did you forget your yule presents this year?” 

“I’ve not forgotten, only delayed. I’ve had much more important obligations,” he insists. 

“Certainly,” you agree dryly. 

It’s his turn to harrumph. You carry on through the market. While many turn to look at the prince and move from his path, others are too swept up to notice. Thor makes no display of if. 

“Cider, ah, it is the white-haired fellow who adds the firewhiskey,” he takes your arm before you can react, “two, sir.” 

He slaps down coins with his other hand as the man greets him with a grin before scooping hot cider from his large cauldron. The smell of the spices make you dizzy. Thor hands you one of the bone mugs and takes his own, still gripping your wrist. 

You wriggle free and he lets you go reluctantly. Odd. He is acting oddly. He is always excited for the Yule celebrations, that is not unusual. It is the way he is so uptight that has you suspect. You sip and eye him once more. 

“You may keep staring, lady, but I will not turn into a snake,” he smirks. 

“Loki is not so obvious,” you agree. 

“Is it such torture to enjoy this time of year? To celebrate with those close to you? How dour you are.” He admonishes. 

You inhale the steam curling off the brim, “thank you, prince, for the cider. I am grateful. Forgive my grimness.” 

“Do enjoy it, if you do not find pleasure in anything else. The man who brews it is a master,” he says. 

You blow over the cup and take a sip. Beneath the richness of mulled apples is the stringent layer of whiskey. You are cautious with your tending to your beverage as the prince gulps his own. The mug is tall enough that the bottom should see you woozy from the helping. 

You carry on in your perusal of the wares and stall games and shows. Voices unfurl in the air and music plucks through the buzz. The sky is a spectrum between the bifrost, Frigga’s illusions, and the stars gleaming down on the torches set with flame. 

You circle around and come upon the same puppet show with the contorted impressions of a single master. You find it too bawdy. Thor stops and guffaws as you continue on to the seller and her woven blankets. She still has that one with the fawns on it. Yet, there is many enough blankets at the palace. There aren’t enough in the nine realms to make it more than a glorified prison. 

You swirl the dregs of the cider as Thor catches up to you. Your stomach burns as you peer into the mug. You think of dumping the last of it but wouldn’t want to be rude. 

“We should return, father will go soon,” Thor says, his own mug disposed as he emptied it long ago. “How is the cider? You do not seem fond of it?” 

“It is nice. I only savour it,” you assure him, finding the world smearing around your movements. “Yes, I’d like to go back now.”  

You turn and sway, only noticing as Thor steadies you by hooking his arm through yours. You keep the cup balanced as you look ahead to the palace on its peak. It seems further now than when you came. 

🎇

The world is cloudly like the inside of your subconscious. The glossy fog softens the edges and swirls the hues all around. It must be a dreamy, it feels like one, heavy but light at once. And your body moves on its own, disconnected from your head. 

You’re spinning then all at once you land in a heap. You sprawl over the cushy expanse below you. Slowly, you push through the haze and count the four posts of the massive bed. A bed not your own. Draped in crimson and gold, like prince himself. 

You find him too. He’s a shadow at your feet. You know him only by the glimmer of his blue eyes. Brilliant like sapphires as he looms. You murmur, unable to find your voice. With the clog in your throat, this must be one of those nightmares, the ones that see you helpless. 

Your head drops back down as a groan rolls through you. The prince’s specter moves around the border of the bed. A ripple of fabric stirs the air as his cloak falls from his shoulders. The soft click and snap of buckles unteething and the friction of fingertips on leather and armour smatter through the roaring silence. 

Your hand hits your forehead clumsily as you fight through every movement. A dream it must be but it feels so strangely vivid. You close your eyes and exhale through the apple-y tint in your mouth. 

The world jostles and you with it. Your head lolls as your arm falls straight. A low growl crawls through you and prickles your fear. Your lids flutter open as your knees are pushed wide. You moan and struggle to lift your head.

You only manage far enough to see yourself, to see him. Your lay naked on the red coverlet, he is just as bare between your knees, his hand crawling up your thighs. What is he doing? Wake up, foolish woman. 

Your head drops like a stone in water. The effort leaves you spinning. His palms graze up to your hips and he lets out a gristly breathe. He pushes his legs against yours, splaying you wide as he bends over you. His broad silhouette blocks out the room as candlelight flickers behind him. 

You wriggle weakly and babble. The closer he gets, the realer it feels. It can’t be. The prince would not do this. There are ladies all around who would gladly warm his bed. Those who are not traitor’s daughters. 

So, wake up and see that your mind is tainted. 

You lurch and your eyes widen. You grunt and bring your hands to his hard thick stomach. His warmth seeps into your palms and you nearly scream. You would if you could. What has he done? 

You’re awake. No matter how you tell yourself to rouse, you remain as you are. This is not the summoning of your subconscious. It has to be true. The way you can feel him so hot and hard against you. 

He leans on one arm as he frames your head with his hand. His other creeps between your bodies and delves along your pelvis. You quiver and slide your touch up to push on his chest. He glides between your lips and rubs you until you whimper. 

“Did you enjoy the cider, pet?” He drawls as he nuzzles your cheekbone. You can smell the mulled spices in his breath. 

“P-p-p-” you cannot get the plea out. 

He tickles along your entrance. You tense and try to shove him off with your forearms. The effort aches in your biceps and shoulders, straining even the tendons of your neck. He is unmoving. He leans into you until your resistance collapses, as if you remind you of who he is. Of what he is. Keeper before companion. 

He pokes his thick finger inside of you and you spasm. You squeak and close your eyes as you lay prone to his princely demands. Even if you had the strength to stop him, you do not have the right. 

“Mm, I enjoyed the cider very much,” he purrs as he sinks in to his knuckle, “but I think I shall enjoy you more.” He pulls in and out as you shudder, “and for once, you might enjoy Yule, hmm?” 

[montahafamily]

A family trapped in Gaza asks for help to survive A distress call from Gaza.A family seeking safety

Hello, I am Muntaha Inshasi am a doctor from Gaza. I was displaced from Gaza and I am living in difficult circumstances, me and my family of 11 people. My husband was injured and went out for treatment on a difficult journey. I am now living in very, very difficult circumstances.

We live in the midst of the ongoing hellish war in Gaza, trapped between walls of fear and despair. In light of the Israeli aggression on the Gaza Strip, we have been through very difficult circumstances.

We have been displaced several times. We lost our home, which I paid for with all my savings, due to enemy bombs shortly after our first displacement. We lost all the beautiful things that my family and I enjoyed, and the most difficult beautiful thing we lost was safety in peace, due to the heavy bombing that surrounded us in all the places we fled to.

To say the least, our days were difficult, as there were no viable sources of work to earn the money we needed to meet our needs. Our situation is extremely tragic and we are still stuck in a tent with no healthy food, no medicine, no water, and no electricity. During the displacement process, we lost our stable life And the entertainment that we lived with me and the family and the child Mohammed who lost all the toys that he loved and played with all the time, and was deprived of the beauty that moves from one tent to another, slowly slipping towards despair.

All the nature of life, from a beautiful house to a tent in the middle of the street, and a place to sleep. I need your help in raising money to leave the Gaza Strip. The childhood that he lived in the first days of his childhood.

Below is a glimpse of the contrast between our life before the aggression and the nightmare that we have been suffering from since its beginning.

Thank you for your support and solidarity, please do not hesitate to donate to me and my family.

A small donation from you makes a big difference. My heroic friends who support the Palestinian cause... Today, after we have lost hope in this world, I ask you to help us and stand by us

✅️Vetted by✅️ @gazavetters, my number verified on the list is ( #80)

✅️Vetted by✅️ @a-shade-of-blue

✅️Vetted by✅️ @khanger

‏@@paper-mario-wiki @nabulsi @prisonhannibal @gaza-evacuation-funds @beepiesheepie @walcutt @schoolhater98 @commissions4aid-international @sar-soor @zigcarnivorous @tododeku-keeps-me-alive @turtletoria @brutaliakent @flower-tea-fairies s @schoolhater98 @baby-girl-aaron-dessner @sayruq q @appsa a @omiteo777 @malcriada @neptunerings @bat-luun @kaneverse e @nightowlssleep @staretes @friendshapedplant t @soon-palestine @aria-ashryver @heritageposts s @magnus-rhymes-with-swagness-blog g @khangerinedreams @kordeliiius @mazzikaty h @feluka @dlxxv-vetted-donations @girlinafairytale @a-shade-of-blue e @vakarians-visor e @babygoatsandfriends s @self-hating-zionist @mangocheesecake s

Account my husband (@hamadamontaha)

[oh-no-its-bird]

The following program is brought to u from the depths of the nin-burger server w the help of @ohai-there, who's additions are marked by indented text

Mm. Into the Kakashiverse fic. Many Kakashi's. All the Kakashi's.

Its told from Obito's POV actually and it's just 10k of him losing his goddamn mind over all the Kakashi's

@ohai-there :

huff huff huff

something goes wrong with his kamui and all manner of kakashis come falling out of his eye

Oh my god

Some of the Kakashi's are legit fighting over him and some just don't care

The little yokai kid Kakashi ends up being his guide into Kashiland or smthn idk

Trying to help him get back home

it happens every time obito thinks about kakashi too strongly

there are like hundreds of him within the day

He's thinking ab Kakashi ALL THE TIME

He can't turn it off !!!!

hes just mentally ill like that

Kakashi plague. Its terminal.

....he doesn't want to get better anyways

He is surrounded by infinite Kakashi's. Kakashi no jutsu

thaats so real of him,,,,

He can summon bunny suit Kakashi at a whim

bunny suit kakashi is the most often summoned...

You know that "go for it XXX!" Draw ur character here meme?

That but it's "go for it Obito!" And all the Kakashi faces are different Kakashi's from the ✨ Kakashiverse ✨

Ok so um. Um.

Yokai kid Kakashi borrowing from @ohai-there's design. Who's a little dimension hopper, who also lost his dad (who is also a dimension hopper)

And he's like. Hopping from world to world looking for his dad, right? And whenever he world hops he usually goes to that worlds Kakashi for help / bc Sakumo might be w him

And somewhere along the way he runs into our Obito and somehow gets Obito to agree to help him (the why and how doesn't matter)

But now it's Obito on a multiversity journey lead by a little yokai kid kakashi. Meeting all these different versions of Kakashi and losing his mind ab it

I'm picturing the actual dimension travel as like. Wandering down a dark corridor between worlds with kakashi holding a lamp, guiding the way

(Easy for Obito to wander off the path and get lost and end up in a new world)

Kid Kakashi is pouting and going "you're supposed to help me find tou-san!! Not get lost yourself >:("

Maybe Sakumo lost his own lamp which is why Kakashi is looking for him, he's presumably lost his guiding light back

like its so dark that obito's brain starts making up The Horrors while little kid yokai kakashi is just

:3

as they walk

YES. PERFECT.

"Don't look in the dark too long, your puny mortal mind won't like it"

poor sakumo,,,

he lost his kid and now hes lost himself 😔

There's a metaphor somewhere in there ab Sakumo always losing himself no matter the circumstances/world

fr

bro cant get a break

and kakashis always the one picking up the pieces 😔

Thinking . Whatever kind of yokai they are can access the path between worlds + are (mostly) immune to the horrors that lurk there

But their family has the special lamps that they need to actually know what they're going, so without that it's fucking useless to try and get wherever ur going, you will be lost forever, never able to find the world u want to find

You can stumble out into other worlds and all but like.

You have no control of it

And there's a decent chance you'll get trapped in the dark anyways so it's best to just stay put in the first world u find

Which is presumably what Sakumo's doing

thats so real of him

u know how u tell children if ur lost just stay there and ur parents will come find u

Its that but opposite

Dw Sakumo, Kakashi will find you! Hopefully.

hopefully,,,,

+ 1 obito

Kakashi following little broken fragments of his father's shattered lantern where Sakumo's made a path of where he's been

Following the breadcrumbs,,,

+1 obito! Can't forget him!

what kind of a universe is sakumo waiting in....

Kakashi is living in a grim dark fairy tail ab following the magic breadcrumbs to find his missing father he's been searching for for a long time now

Meanwhile Obito is living it up in a moderately horny crack fic eyeing up bunny suit Kakashi's and having a seizure over a world where Kakashi is in love with him and comes on real strong when they bump into eachother the first time

the genre is a matter of perspective fr....

also obito being sooo tempted to want to stay in the universe where kakashi loves him so openly

but then little kakashi just :(

obito: 😬 shit. ok let's go

Obito has Kakashi's THROWING themselves at him but he can't abandon babykashi's quest 😔

But later..........

later,,,,

Surely he can come back with kamui

Surely

OBITO KAKASHIVERSE SEX TOUR AB TO HIT UP EVERY OPEN AND WILLING KAKASHI IN THE MULTIVERSE 🗣️🗣️🗣️🗣️🗣️🗣️ ‼️‼️‼️

🗣️ 🗣️ 🗣️

hes keeping a mental note of the path he had to take!!! of the vibes of each universe!!!

He had his sharingan ON when tracing the paths between worlds

And yeah, maybe he burned some of The Horrors Between Worlds into his brain forever bc of it. But you know what ELSE he burned into his brain??

IT WAS WORTH IT

what time obito is it too

post war??? he manages to survive somehow??? Or like when hes still doing his tobi thing

Tobi I think just bc hes at his most insane ab Kakashi

Peak humor and internal turmoil

based af,,,,

Tobi is being mistaken for the worlds real Obito in a world where Kakashi and him are married and just going w it. Yes, it is he. Ur husband. Who u married. Bc u are in love with him. And married. (Distant screaming noises)

Actually. Completely unrelated fic where Kamui allows Obito to dimension travel and he uses it to go to a dimension where him and Kakashi are married. And then he fucking murders the Obito there and takes his place, the end

Waaa art time!! Ohai also drew their own (honestly insane, beautiful, and tbb kind of stunning) piece [HERE] which you should look at immediatley.

Um. Um. Something about how Kakashi and Sakumo wear smthn over their eyes. And like how they're immune to the whole "Witnessing the horrors between worlds" thing. And like. Idk, implications there.

Are they truly immune to the horrors or is it the talismans on their faces that protect them? Who knows

immune to the horrors but also not immune to being lost without light

I'm gonna throw up !!!

Maybe the real lantern......was the light they made along the way........and when Sakumo lost his light....it was bc he lost kakashi...or smthn...

Is the lantern a metaphor for the will to live

It might be, who knows

kakashi wont lose his lantern as long as hes trying to find his dad,,

UGH!!! He starts to give up and his lantern cracks a little

STOP UR MAKING ME WANT TO MAKE THIS AN ACTUAL FIC WITH NAARATIVE I CANT DO THIS

Anyways. Final thoughts :

Obito living his best life in this one.

[gensideas]

LOVE IN THE SPOTLIGHT

summary Y/N Sánchez, daughter of Roselyn Sánchez, appeared on Jimmy Kimmel with her fiancé, Drew Starkey. While Y/N spoke confidently about her career, Drew couldn’t hide his admiration, often losing focus as he gazed at her. His lovestruck demeanor contrasted with Y/N’s composure, creating a sweet and memorable moment that left fans swooning over their undeniable chemistry.

features Fiancé!Drew Starkey x Fiancé!actress!reader

The bright lights of the studio shone down on me as I adjusted the hem of my flowing emerald-green dress. It hugged my figure perfectly, a piece from a designer who had insisted I wear it to highlight my poise and grace. But I wasn’t thinking about the dress or the cameras pointed at me. I was thinking about Drew Starkey, my fiancé, sitting just a few feet away. His piercing blue eyes followed my every movement, a soft smile playing at his lips.

Being the daughter of the legendary actress Roselyn Sánchez, I was a rising star in my own right. My breakout role in a critically acclaimed drama had catapulted me to the spotlight, and now I was the name on every producer’s lips. Despite my rapid ascent, I remained grounded, thanks in no small part to Drew, whose quiet confidence and unwavering support made him my anchor.

“We’re ready for you,” a producer’s voice called.

I gave Drew a quick glance. He gave me a reassuring nod, though his gaze lingered a bit too long. My beauty had always captivated him, but tonight, under the soft glow of studio lights, I felt otherworldly.

The interview set was elegant, with plush chairs and a backdrop of shimmering gold curtains. I took my seat beside Drew, the host across from us. The audience clapped enthusiastically, the excitement palpable.

“Good evening, everyone!” Jimmy began, flashing a practiced smile. “Tonight, we have two incredible guests: the stunning Y/N Sánchez and her fiancé, the talented Drew Starkey. Let’s give them a warm welcome!”

The applause swelled, and my cheeks flushed. I glanced at Drew, who was already looking at me, his expression soft and unguarded. He seemed utterly unaware of the cameras or the audience—his world had narrowed to just me.

“Y/N, your performance in Eclipsed Dreams has been called transformative. How does it feel to step out of your mother’s shadow and establish your own legacy?” Jimmy asked.

My smile widened. “It’s surreal. Growing up, I always admired my mother’s work, but she encouraged me to find my own path. It’s been a challenging journey, but I’m grateful for the opportunities and for the people who believe in me.”

Jimmy turned to Drew. “And Drew, you’ve been quite the supportive partner. What’s it like watching Y/N rise to stardom?”

Drew chuckled, running a hand through his hair. “Honestly, it’s mesmerizing. She’s incredibly talented, hardworking, and… well, look at her.” He gestured toward me, his voice tinged with awe. “She’s breathtaking.”

The audience swooned, and my face turned a deeper shade of pink. “You’re too much,” I murmured, though the sparkle in my eyes revealed my delight.

“Drew, you’ve built an impressive career yourself,” Jimmy continued. “What’s the key to balancing your own busy schedule with supporting Y/N?”

“Communication and respect,” Drew said. “We both have demanding careers, but we make time for each other. It helps that we genuinely enjoy spending time together—she’s my favorite person.”

“That’s so sweet,” Jimmy said, turning back to me. “Y/N, do you find inspiration in Drew’s work?”

I nodded enthusiastically. “Absolutely. Drew is so dedicated to his craft. Watching him immerse himself in his roles motivates me to give my all in my own performances. We’re constantly learning from each other.”

“It sounds like you have a wonderful partnership,” Jimmy said. “One last question: What’s next for both of you?”

I exchanged a glance with Drew before answering. “I’m working on a new project that’s still under wraps, but I’m really excited about it. It’s something completely different from anything I’ve done before.”

“And I’ve got a couple of films lined up,” Drew added. “But we’re also making sure to carve out some time for ourselves. Life is about balance, after all.”

The audience applauded as Jimmy wrapped up the interview. “Y/N and Drew, thank you so much for joining us tonight. We can’t wait to see what the future holds for you both.”

When the cameras stopped rolling, we lingered on the set, chatting with the host and producers. Drew’s hand never left mine, a quiet but constant reassurance.

“You were incredible,” Drew whispered as we walked toward our car. “I couldn’t take my eyes off you.”

“You’re biased,” I teased.

“Maybe,” he admitted, pulling me close. “But it’s the truth.”

We paused under the soft glow of the parking lot lights, the city’s hum around us. Drew cupped my face, his thumb brushing my cheek. “I’m so proud of you, Y/N. You’re a star, and not just on screen.”

Tears pricked my eyes as I leaned into his touch. “I couldn’t do any of this without you.”

Our lips met in a tender kiss, sealing a moment that felt timeless.

The interview aired the following evening, and social media exploded with praise. Fans gushed over my grace and Drew’s evident adoration. A clip of Drew’s comment about my beauty went viral, earning us the nickname “Hollywood’s Sweethearts.”

As we sat together in our cozy living room, scrolling through the flood of messages, Drew wrapped an arm around me. “Looks like people are just as mesmerized by you as I am.”

“By us,” I corrected, resting my head on his shoulder. “We’re a team, Drew.”

He kissed the top of my head. “The best team.”

And as the night stretched on, filled with laughter and love, I knew that no matter how bright my star shone, it would always shine brightest with Drew by my side.

© gensideas 2024

[justwhisperingfantasies]

Pairing Fem.Reader-x-Ben (Soldier Boy)

A little bit of story, A whole lot of smut

Warnings Smut, Language, Drinking, Dom[ish] Ben, Light BDSM[ish], Reader being bitchy, Ben being an ass, Smidge of violence, Oral Both Receiving, P-I-V, Unprotected Sex (wrap it before you tap it) Rough Sex, Light Choking, Biting, Cuming inside.

Please do not copy my work

Comments, Likes, Reblogs, Kind feedback. always highly appreciated.

“So, are you gonna suck his dick or just think about it sweetheart?” Ben asked arrogantly from the backseat of your beat-up SUV.

“Oh, Benny boy. You don’t need to concern yourself with whose dick I put in my mouth.” You matched his tone.

“Just need to know if I have to get my own room tonight.” He took a long drag off his cigarette. “And maybe another pussy to please.”

“Good luck with that.” You challenged raising your brows “Butcher looks like he can give a pretty mean dick.”

He leaned up to your ear, His hot breath sending shivers down your spine. “I bet he can’t make you cum like I can.” He whispered, firing up your core. You inhaled deeply, striving to regain your composure.

He quickly leaned back in his seat as Butcher opened the passenger door. He sat down and looked at you. “You alright over there, love?” Billy asked lighting up a cigarette

“Never better.” You told him as you pulled out of the gas station. As the journey went on, a strange silence filled the air between you. You tried to steal a glance at him in the rearview mirror. He gave you a cheeky wink when he caught you which only added to the tension. You pushed the accelerator down.

“We in a hurry?” Butcher asked as the engine roared.

“Just trying to get there.”  You could feel Ben’s eyes in the mirror, you kept yours on the road.

The silence was driving you crazy. You had never been so happy to see a shitty motel. You parked the car and hopped out. “I’ll get the rooms.” You told them, shutting the door behind you.

Coming back to the car you handed Butcher their room key and took your bag out of Ben’s hand. “I can get it, thanks though.” You heard him huff, but you didn’t turn back.

“You’re on a different floor?” you heard Billy ask as you started up the external staircase.

You shrugged. “That’s all they had left.” He gestured to the parking lot. All the spaces were empty except for the one occupied by your car. “Take it up with them, not me.” you continued to your room. You just wanted a break from him, and his stupid snide comments, his absurd cocky attitude, his smartass tongue, that knew precisely how to work your clit to send waves of ecstasy through you, his stupid soft hair that always tickled as he did it. Fucking stop you thought, shaking him out of your head.

You walked out of the steamy bathroom, almost jumping out of your towel when you found him sitting on your bed. “What the fuck Ben?”

“You didn’t answer your door.”

“That doesn’t mean fucking break in,”

“You could have been dead.”

“Ok I’m not. So, fix the door on your way out.” You gave him a fake smile.

“Would you like me to send Butcher up here while I’m at it?”

“No need I won’t be here.” You smirked at him

“And where the fuck do you think you’re going?” you shrugged. “Out.”

“You do know Homelander is looking for you right?”

“So sweet of you to care, but I doubt he’s checking middle of nowhere towns.”

He rolled his eyes and walked out, slamming the door behind. “Dick!” you yelled after him You heard the echoes of his laughs bounce back through the still broken door.

Billy and Ben followed closely behind you as you crossed the street. “Is this really necessary?”

“Yep.” Ben said, quickening his step to walk beside you. “Is that slutty low-cut top really necessary?”

“Yep.”  You repeated his words, the corners of his mouth twitched up just for a second.

For a small town the bar was lively. Mostly ranch hands, and high-school kids buying booze with their fake ids. You walked up to the bar and ordered 3 shots of whiskey. The bar tender took your money and sat the filled shot glasses on the bar. You slapped Ben’s hand away when he reached for one. “Order your own.”

“And here I thought you were being nice for a change.”

You laughed. “You should better than that.” You knocked back the shots one after another. You got the bartender’s attention and ordered 2 more. He filled the glasses as you handed him more cash. Ben’s eyebrows raised as you slid one of the shots in his direction. You held your glass up and he tapped it with his. You took the shot and turned around, leaning back on the bar.

“So should I start looking?” His voice haughty

“She’s cute.” You pointed to a blonde bimbo with her tits hanging out. “And she looks easy.”

He smirked. “Maybe.”

“Oh, look she has a friend.” You said with fake cheer as her friend sat beside her. “Make you could get a two for one special.” You turned back to the bar rolling your eyes. You got the bartender’s attention and ordered another. Ben tapped his shot glass and paid for both. “Thanks.”

He took his. “You know you’re cute when you’re jealous. Sweetheart.”

“I’m not jealous. Just trying my good friend Ben a find a pussy to please.” you retorted. You took your shot and made your way to the dance floor.

You could sense Ben's gaze piercing through the crowd as you moved your hips to the rhythm of the music. Stopping in the middle of the crowd, you turned around and locked eyes with him as you sensuously rolled your body. His eyebrows arched with intrigue. A charming, muscular guy wearing a cowboy hat made his way toward you.

The cowboy eyed you up and down. “You lookin’ for a partner little missy?”

You looked over at Ben. His lips pressed in a hard line now. You smirked at him. You looked back at the cowboy. “Sure. Why not.”

The cowboy spun you around and pulled your body back to him. You rolled your hips grinding your ass against his groin. You leaned completely back on him as he rolled with your body, raising your arm you wrapped around his neck. You glanced over at Ben. He was on the edge of the dance floor now, a scowl on his face. You puckered lips out and pushed them out toward him.

His nostrils flared as the cowboy ran his fingers up and down your midsection pulling you closer. The cowboy leaned his face to your neck. Trailing kisses to your shoulder.

The cowboy spun you around again, so you were face to face. The cowboy rolled his hips, making his bulge grind on your core. He pressed his lips against yours.

You felt a hand wrap around your wrist. “That’s enough. Let’s go!” Ben demanded as he pulled on your arm, careful not to hurt you. What the hell has gotten into him. Ben never got jealous. Well, I guess you never really tried to make him jealous before.

 You twisted your hand and pulled out of his grip. The cowboy got in his face. “Hey asshole. She’s with me now.”

Ben chuckled. He looked past the cowboy. “You’re with him now?”

“That’s what I said.” He bumped Ben chest with his own.

Ben put his finger up. “Don’t” he warned.

“I ain’t scared of you motherfucker.” The cowboy bumped into his chest again

“I said.” The cowboy cut him off with a shove. You could see the glow through Ben’s shirt. Fuck.

You pushed the cowboy out of your way. “Ben.” He stayed silent glaring at the cowboy as the glow got a little brighter. You cupped his face with your hands and angled his face down. His eyes stayed on the cowboy. You stretched on to your toes, “Ben.” still nothing. The glowing got brighter. You crashed your lips on his. Praying that this would stop the nuclear bomb from going off. As he started to kiss you back, he wrapped his arms around your waist. Pulling you into him. Your hands slid around his neck.

He groaned into your mouth as you shoved your tongue through his lips. His hands found your ass and squeezed hard. You can feel the temperature of his chest cooling.

“You good?” you asked.

“Yea.” He softly replied.

“You wanna leave?” He nodded, releasing his embrace.  He spun around and grabbed your hand as he started toward the door.

“Yea that’s right bitch! Walk away.” The cowboy yelled.

Ben stopped. You pulled on his arm. “Ben, come on.” He took a deep breath, “Please.” His expression softened at your plead, and he continued walking.

As soon as he passed the threshold, he pulled you back against him. Your pulse quickened as his hand slid up your neck and shoved your face to meet his gaze. His hand wrapped around your neck as his hungry lips captured yours, making your core ignite with excitement. His other hand made its way up your shirt, sliding under your bra he started kneading your breast vigorously, making you moan into his mouth. His fingers moved to the hem of your shirt, you raised your arms as he pulled it over your head. His lips were back on yours as he unclasped your bra. Your nipples hardened as the cool air hit them. You felt the smile on his lips and next thing you knew you were face down on the bed.  

“Bet you thought you were real fucking funny back there huh?” He snarled, you heard the screeching as he moved the desk chair. “Shaking that ass on him like that.” And then a small bang as he pushed it against the door. “I don’t even know why you would waste your time.”

You felt the bed shift as he knelt behind you, a sting on your ass as he slapped it. Grabbing your hips he brought you up on your hands and knees. “You know, No one can make you feel as good as I can.” A small gasp left your lips as he crashed his groin against you. His hand clasped over your shoulder and started thrusting against you, his hardened shaft smacking into your center making it thrum with desire. He pulled on your shoulder bringing you back against him, he unbuttoned your jeans and then slid his fingers under your panties groaning when he felt how wet you were for him. you moaned as he started a circular motion around your clit. “No one can make you as wet as I can.” He whispered.

You felt a low rumble against your back as he pushed two fingers inside of you. You sighed with pleasure as he began to rhythmically slide them.  As the pace of his fingers intensifies, so too does the rhythm of your breath. He curled his fingers hitting that sweet spot delivering waves of bliss through your body. Your walls start to tighten on his fingers as you start to reach your peak. He withdraws his hand. “Not yet sweetheart.”  

He turned you to face him, keeping you on your knees. With a kiss he grasped the back of your thighs and pulled them out from under you. you gasped as your back bounced on the mattress. His hands grabbed the waist of your jeans and your panties, you lifted, he threw them across the room. He nudged your knees open, shivers rand up your spine as the cool air hit your center. He stroked his fingers up and down your folds, you let out a moan as he shoved his fingers in you again.

He lowered himself, his mouth hovering over your inner thigh, a whisper of warmth against your skin. You rolled your hips, feeling the sharpness of his teeth as they skimmed your skin. “No one.”  His beard left a trail of goosebumps as he inched closer to your core. “Can.”  He stopped, and you felt the graze of his teeth once more. “Eat.”  He bit the skin right next to your lips causing your walls to clench around his fingers.

“This pussy.” He pulled his hand back, leaving his fingertips inside, adding a third he slowly slid them back in, as deep as they would go. As you moaned fuck, a deep a growl slipped from his mouth.

He flicked your clit with the tip of his tongue, drawing a moan of his name from your lips. You glanced down at him. His lips twisted in a mischievous smirk, his eyes sparkling as they gaze into yours. "Like I can," he teased, his attention returned to your core as he inhaled deeply taking in your sweet aroma. Then he dove in, he moaned as he tasted your sweet juices. He sucked your clit into his mouth, sending waves of pleasure coursing through you. A breathy moan of his name escaped your lips as his teeth grazed it, sending shivers of pleasure through your body.  as he worked his tongue on your clit as he pumped his fingers. “You wanna cum?”

“Yes” you moaned.

 He chuckled as you became puddy in his hands. “Tell me.” his tongue flicked your clit again.

“Ben please.” You moaned

“Come on sweetheart you can do better than that.” Another flick.

“Please, Ben. I wan, want you to make me cum.”

He gave you a wicked smile and then his tongue went back to work. Sloppily lapping at your clit. He curled his fingers upward hitting that sweet spot again as he continued to with his tongue. His fingers slid faster and faster, pushing you closer and closer. Your fingers clenched his hair as the coil got tighter and tighter, “B, Ben don’t stop.” Your moans filled the room, getting louder as the coil was about to burst. Your walls pulsed around his fingers as your orgasm surged through your body. His fingers slowed, helping you ride it out.

He rose to his feet and pulled his shirt over his head. He motioned you over with a single finger as he unbuttoned his pants.  As he pointed toward the floor in front of him you recognized his requests and eagerly complied. “You gonna let me fuck that pretty little mouth of yours?” He asked as you knelt in front of him. You nodded, looking up at him. Your hands slid up his thighs, he lifted his head and moaned softly as you caressed his hard shaft through his jeans. You unzipped his pants and pulled them down. Unleashing his thick, throbbing cock.

He let out a low moan as you gradually took him into your mouth. His hand twists into your hair, revealing his impatience. You pulled your head back when he started to thrust forward, teasing him. A growl escaped his lips, and his grip on your hair tightened. He starts to move his hips again, this time you stay in place. Tears welled in your eyes as you fought your gag reflex once he reached your throat. Another moan escaped his throat as he started sliding his cock in and out of your mouth. “Fuck.” He moaned as you tighten your mouth around him. He groaned in between pants as he sped up the pace. Grabbing your hair with both hands he bucks one last time and you feel his warm cum ooze down your throat. His body shivered as you bobbed your head one more time, savoring every last drop.

He effortlessly lifted you and tossed you onto the bed. The instant your back hit the mattress, he was on top of you, his lips hungry for yours again. He positioned himself at your entrance and thrust deep without warning. Giving your body no time to adapt to his size he withdrew his cock and slammed it back inside you, the room filled with your loud moans as pleasure and pain collided within you. Leaning down, he whispered in your ear, “No one can fill this pussy like I can,” You let out a soft moan of his name as he starts pumping in and out of you, each movement sending shivers of delight throughout your body. He rose to his knees, a moan leaving him as he pushed deeper inside of you.

You could feel the tension building in your stomach again as his rigid cock filled you, hitting your g-spot as he pumped in and out of you. You praised him with a moan of his name as your walls clenched around him. “You gonna cum for me again baby?” You replied with a moan of his name. His muscles flexed as he pounded harder. His green eyes gazed into yours and the coil busted. Waves of ecstasy coursed through your body once more. With one loud groan and a deep plunge into your pulsating walls Ben found his release. He collapsed on top of you as heavy pants echoed through the room. His hair tickled your chest as it moved with your breath.

His head rose once he caught his breath, resting his chin on your chest. You noticed the green in his eyes was brighter than normal as they locked on yours. "No one.. will ever love you like i do."

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[trippinsorrows]

midnight sun

authors note: don't ask. don't ask. don't ask.

words: 1.8k

warnings: angst, domestic violence

song inspo: 'faithfully' by journey

And bein' apart ain't easy on this love affair Two strangers learn to fall in love again I get the joy of rediscovering you

Pressure.

A constant, almost soothing, irreparable thing. A loyal companion that hasn’t escaped nor forsaken him for as long as he can remember. The perpetual weight of responsibility that was assigned to him the day he entered this world, and something that will remain with him until the day he leaves it.

Whenever the fuck that’ll be.

At this rate and with his luck, not for a very long time.

“Did you know that the average person has four bad days per month?”  An overheard question.  Something Roman has to scoff at. Whatever sample that was used that produced such a statistic had to have been the fucking soccer and yoga moms. The ones who consider Starbucks being out of fucking pumpkin spice the definition of a bad day. “Adults also apparently smile 15 to 20 times per day.”

Another random fact that’s overheard, except it’s something that Roman realizes is much closer than he initially realized. The proximity does not align with something that’s in earshot. More so something that’s right in front of him.

“I don’t know if I—if I really believe all that, but—”

With a heavy sigh, he lifts his head, ready to lay into the poor, unsuspecting soul. “Why are you fucking talking to—”

Two abrupt stops. Two interruptions. Two complete collisions. 

A second round.

Years. Almost twenty, and yet the instant his eyes lock with hers, he knows, and judging by the way she drops the notepad in her hand, she knows, too.

It’s been some time since he’s felt so thoroughly shaken, but that’s exactly what he feels in this moment.

“Solana?”

Not that there was any doubt before, but the tiny gasp that leaves her mouth is all the confirmation he needs that this is most definitely her. 

Her eyes. So big, brown, and inquisitive. Once filled with an abundance of hurt and pain, an ideal match with his all that time ago, is no longer the same. Something different. There’s some trace of happiness. Yet, there’s something almost disingenuous about it. Like, it’s a poor attempt at camouflaging what was felt so long ago.

What might still be felt.

“Roman….”

His jaw clenches. It’s been so long since he’s heard his name leave the mouth of someone like her. Soft. Innocent. Kind.

None of those non-physical things about her have changed. He can tell that even in this brief, unexpected interaction. 

Naturally, his eyes move over her, noticing her hair is no longer long and cascading down her back. It’s short, barely brushing past her shoulders. Lighter. It suits her.

Her body is filled out, shapely, womanly, heavy in the desired areas. And the minute her mouth curls into an almost hesitant smile, he finds himself pleased that that has remained unchanged.

She always had such a soothing, beautiful smile.

“I—what—what are you doing here?”

A good fucking question considering he has a million and other things on his to-do list and not one of them includes sitting in this random coffee shop he drove past on his aimless drive. 

“I mean,” she laughs nervously, hand to her face, shaking her head. “I’m sorry, that’s—that’s a silly question. You don’t have to answer—”

“I was driving and saw it. Wanted coffee.” Not necessarily a lie. He does now want coffee but not necessarily when he chose to park his Maserati and enter into the quiet, almost wholesome shop. “You work here.” A statement. Not a question.

Nodding, he’s much more pleased than he should be to see her smile grow. “Well, technically, I—I own it, but—”

“You own this place?” To anyone else, it’s perhaps a silly thing to “ask” given she just said as such, but for him, for them, it's so much more.

Her smile is bright, a light that contrasts the still unhealed bruises on her face as she shares with much more hope and optimism than anyone in their situation should have, “I want to own a coffee shop some day.” Looking over at him, consciously or unconsciously scooting closer, she challenges, “guess what I’m gonna name it?”

A bitter scoff leaves his mouth. He rolls his eyes but still gives it a go. “Sunshine’s place or some shit like that?”

Her giggle is a respite from the heaviness of the past two weeks. The only escape he’s found in this hell hole. And not just the facility. 

“No. I’m gonna name it—”

“Dulce’s…..” Roman pulls himself from a memory buried so deep, he doesn’t know how he was able to retrieve it. “You always said…..” 

“Yeah…..” she answers in a low voice, pushing back some of her hair, a nervous habit he sees still exists. But, it’s not the habit he’s focused on. It’s the diamond on her finger.

An engagement ring. 

“You’re engaged.” Another assessment. One that shouldn’t stir up whatever the fuck is brewing within him.

For a second, she looks like it’s a surprise to her as well. And, he sees it, catches the brief glimpse of an attempted escape. 

That sadness. A feeling that doesn’t quite escape a person, not to the extent she felt.

That they both felt.

Still feels, clearly.

For her, at least.

Maybe.

“Y—yes. Ummm—”

“Solana.”

Another voice introduced to the conversation. Male. Gruff. Infuriating. Roman cuts his eyes to the out of shape man who looks like a recovering alcoholic and someone who doesn’t need to be talking or even around her.

“Cody’s waiting.”

Cody?

But, Roman doesn’t have time to think too much about that ugly ass name. His focus is back on Solana, Solana who has suddenly shifted from slightly timid to downright terrified. She’s grasping at the material of her apron. “But, I—I thought he said I could work all day tod—”

“Plans changed.” A rude, coarse interruption that has Roman’s jaw ticking. Just who the fuck is this man and why does he think he can talk to Solana like that?

“Don’t you see we’re in the middle of a fucking conversation?” A much too late entrance into whatever this is, but an arrival nonetheless. “Leave.” 

For some reason, it seems the man only now decided to pay attention to just who she was speaking to, a recognition that has his eyes widened as he turns back to Solana, poorly whispering, “do you know who the fuck this is?”

“Kevin, please. I’ll—I’ll be out in a minute.” It ticks him the fuck off that she’s practically begging this motherfucker, a man who Roman doesn’t even know but would love to put a bullet in.

Just might after today.

Kevin scoffs and shakes his head. “Your mistake.”

He says nothing else, turning to walk away, Roman standing to possibly commit murder when Solana moves her hand in front of him, as if trying to stop him.

“It’s—it’s fine. My—my fiancé is here.”

Roman looks down at her, still completely unnerved by her complete shift in demeanor. Her fear is practically palpable.

“Solana….” He sees her eyes shut as her name leaves his mouth. “What’s going o—”

“It—it was good to see you, Roman,” she cuts him off, forcing a smile that doesn’t meet her eyes. “But, I—I have to go.” And it’s as she turns to walk away, he makes the mistake of grabbing her wrist. Instant regret fills him when she jumps but something else as well.

Suspicion. 

Solana has always been jumpy. He’s known that from the day they met at that god-awful place so many years ago. But something about the fear that courses through her, is stamped on her voice, feels….different.

He drops his hand, stating in a low voice. “Give me your phone.”

Her eyes widen. “Roman—”

“Please.” A word no one on this goddamn earth could torture out of him, but something that so easily rolls off his tongue for her.

Obviously confused, her expression remains torn even as she reaches in the pocket of her apron, pulling out and unlocking her phone. He takes it from her, ignoring that strange feeling when their hands touch.

Moving fast and thinking quick, he programs his number, choosing an unsuspecting name, one he knows she and only she will recognize. 

Handing it back to her, he instructs, “you need anything, you call me.” It’s not preferred. What he’d prefer is to walk outside and snap that Kevin and this Cody person, if he’s outside too, necks. Would prefer to tell her to just stay with him. But, it’s too much. Much too much given how long it’s been.

And yet, they seem so easily falling back into routine. 

She’s still visibly nervous, holding her phone in her hand instead of placing it back in the apron. Another pained smile followed up with, “goodbye, Roman.”

He doesn’t say it back, almost refuses to. Just watches as she moves to the back of the shop, coming out a few minutes later, apron discarded, purse on her shoulder, nearly rushing out without sparing him a glance even if his gaze never leaves her.

Solana is only able to barely slide into the back of the SUV, the door held open by an irritated Kevin when she’s yanked by her hair.

Piercing blue eyes stare down at her, his other hand wrapped around her neck, squeezing tightly but not enough to completely restrict speech.

“Where the fuck were you?!”

His voice is harsh and angry, as is the look in his eyes. She opens her mouth to try to respond when he instead smashes her head into the window. She winces but refuses to cry out in pain even when his fist collides with her jaw. Her eyes clench shut, Solana already tasting the blood forming in her mouth.

“When I tell you to come, you fucking come, you understand me?!” He shouts, once again grabbing a fistful of her hair. 

Nodding helplessly, she forces out an answer, ignoring the blood leaking out the corner of her mouth. “Y—yes, sir.”

He scoffs, a cruel, wicked smile on his face as he takes pride in his work. In her terror. “Pathetic,” he hisses, shoving her away. Solana moves as far into the corner as she can, forever grateful when he pulls out his phone and initiates a phone call like nothing happened.

It’s stupid and risky and something she most definitely shouldn't be doing, but Solana can’t stop herself from also pulling out her phone and scrolling through her contacts, moving to the R’s only to find nothing there.

There’s an emptiness that accompanies that realization that makes no sense. A sadness that fills her at the thought that he didn’t, but…..the look on his face, so handsome and strong, the fact that he even asked….he had to.

So, she continues to scroll, carefully assessing for each stored contact, stopping when she sees it. Emotion fills her for a completely different reason, reading the single word that carries such weight and meaning.

Journey

[haerinari]

JUST THE WAY YOU ARE — 이 희승

PAiRiNG: bf!heeseung x insecure!fem!reader.

SyNOPSiS: you feel insecure about your body but Heeseung is always there to make you feel better.

WARNiNGS: kissing, skinship, kind of smut, mentions of the female body, insecurities, heeseung is a cutie, nipple sucking,

GeNRa: fluff, smut-ish, established relationship, short drabble.

now playing: just the way you are — bruno mars

Your back was resting in your bed, Heeseung softly on top of you kissing your lips while his hands were roaming all over your body.

Of course you’ve make out with him a few times before, but it never have gotten this far.

Your experiences of having sex with past of previous relationships didn’t end in the best way possible. Instead of being a beautiful and intimate moment with your partner to express the love you had for each other, it ended up in you crying in your bathroom floor.

we should turn the lights off…

damn—you have a lot of stretch marks.

you didn’t shave? uh—maybe we should stop.

your ass has a weird shape.

your boobs are too big.

i don’t wanna see your belly next time, alright baby?

You were so lost in your own mind that you didn’t even notice when Heeseung took your shirt off, leaving only the bra that was covering your breasts and your pants on.

“Hee…” you spoke softly, your forehead resting against his.

“Hmm? Are you okay, baby? We can stop if you want, no pressure. Take you time.” he said, his thumb caressing your cheek.

“I just— are you sure you want to do this?”

“Of course I want to.” Heeseung stoped and sat on the bed, looking directly into your eyes. “Why wouldn’t I be? I love you.”

“I know, I know. It’s just that…” you sighted. “I don’t want to fuck up this moment because I really love you too, Hee.”

“Y/N, baby, it’s okay. You’re not going to fuck up anything, you can tell me whatever you want.” he took your hand and started kissing your knuckles.

“It’s just that—Boys have said things, about my body. And I don’t want you to think something related to that, you know? I mean—What if you think that my belly has a weird shape? Or you see that I have stretch marks on my waist and you don’t like them? Or—”

“Y/N!” Heeseung spoke, taking your hands between his hands and kissing your forehead. “I love you, okay? I, Lee Heeseung, Love. You.”

“I love your eyes.” he kissed a spot near them. “I love your hair.” then your head. “I love your lips.” he gave you a kiss. “I love every single inch of your body, and there’s no thing on this Earth that would make me change my mind.”

“You’re so fucking cute, oh my god.” you pulled him in a hug. no one has ever said such a beautiful thing about your body, and for the first time in a very long journey, you felt comfortable with yourself. “Thanks, Hee. I love you.”

“You’re going to let me take care of you now?” he smirked.

“Yeah.” you smiled.

Your boyfriend’s lips were in yours once again, his hands touching your breasts over your lacy bra. He kissed your lips, your cheeks, your jaw and slowly getting down your neck. Your bra was now discarded somewhere on your room floor, and Heeseung’s kisses were slowly getting down to your tits.

“So perfect… So fucking perfect.” he murmured between kisses.

His mouth went to one of your nipples, sucking the bud softly and kissing it here and there. Your other nipple was between Heeseung’s fingers, who was pinching it to give you the perfect amount of pleasure. He then went to your other nipple, taking care of it like he did before.

Heeseung took his shirt off to now focus on trailing a path of kisses from the between of your breasts to where your pants started. He took them down a little bit, revealing your stretch marks on the side of your waist. He started to kiss them, every single stretch mark or imperfection visible in your body was getting touch by your boyfriend’s sweet and loving lips.

“You’re the most beautiful woman on the entire earth.”

He got up and went to your kiss your lips again, a gesture of reassurance telling you he loved you and every single part of you.

[generic-whumperz]

(I’m aware what I have to say is not majority rule, and I understand the need for comfort and support it. But I haven’t ranted on here in a hot minute, so I suppose it’s over due?)

Guess I’m in the smaller minority that absolutely loves and craves a lot of pain and doesn’t need comfort to even the scales (no surprise!). It’s yet to get boring to me or feel too much. But I do sympathize with the concern for pacing, feeling the compulsive need to one-up yourself, and readers’ and writers’ fatigue when it comes to near-constant hurt/torture. As always, context matters as does the very nature of story itself. I’m fine with bleakness and helplessness, it’s oddly cathartic, and that’s comforting to me (yeah ironic that the lack of comfort is a comfort—existentialism who?)

Now for an unpopular stance: forcing “comfort” (whatever that may be) when a character isn’t ready to receive it, feels contrived and corny to me (emphasis on “isn’t ready”—completely subjective, so don’t come at my throat). It can cheapen the character journey and their likely struggles with touch aversion, trust, emotional stability, and the long term effects of captivity and conditioning that comes as a product of the whumping. Healing takes YEARS, DECADES, sometimes even half or a full lifetime. Recovery is MESSY and painful, and includes backsliding while simultaneously unlearning bad thought patterns and finding self worth again. Ouch.

“Comfort” isn’t always, well—comforting. It’s not just blankies, cuddles, and whispers of sweet nothings on a lover’s pillow folks, it’s real hard work that’s grueling as all hell. The aftermath could easily be an extension of the whump—Whump 2.0 if you will.

But hey, if palatable, Band Aid comfort is your thing, have at it by all means. This is a buffet genre, 24/7 at-the-readies, a little something for everyone and you can taste test all you want without paying a dime extra. That is a unique privilege we have here. So, as I am not knocking the whump buffet industrial complex, I hope the same mercy is granted to me as I gorge myself sick over at The Horrors™️.

Having said all this, I’m not any less likely to not read a story because there’s more comfort either, it’s more about vibes first and foremost, and if I give an honest to god shit about the characters and if the interpersonal dynamics speak to me. I’ll read fluff and cutesy shit too (can’t write it though), but usually this has to be a light at the end of the tunnel sort of deal. Take the crawling-on-your-knees and begging-for-a-passive-glance format of a slow burn, now apply it here. Bingo. I just don’t like easy things, I like a fictional struggle and a challenge, and that’s 100% on me and I don’t expect many others to share the same sentiment.

Comfort (in the genre sense) is usually making up for a real lack there of, an unfilled need, an escapist’s desert. And to that I say, the soft serve machine is right this way.

I’ve been thinking about this for a few days and I’d really like to hear people’s thoughts.

Feel free to add your thoughts, I’d really like to hear more about what readers want from their whump. I know I have my own opinions, but I’d love to hear more.

[thedemonofcat]

I think it would be neat if Geralt had synaesthesia.

It would make his sensitive senses even more overwhelming, and it would add a new layer to how he views Jaskier's voice.

At first, the garish, distracting colors are worse than the voice itself. How does someone's voice have so many different colors? Why do they have to be so bright and eye-catching?

Then, they just become a part of his world. An extra layer to existence.

But, after the mountain, his world is literally less colorful. More dreary.

When Jaskier was happy, Geralt saw the bard’s words as the color yellow. For the longest time, Geralt had never liked yellow; it was too close to gold—the color of his own eyes, a constant reminder of his mutation. But on Jaskier, yellow was different. It was warm, vibrant, and alive. On calm days along the path, when their journey stretched endlessly ahead, Jaskier’s words shifted to blue—a tranquil hue that matched his peaceful demeanor. At times like those, Geralt often wondered how someone as light and carefree as Jaskier could find peace alongside someone as burdened as him.

One thing Geralt knew, though, that others might not guess: Jaskier loved nature. His words turned green whenever he marveled at birds darting through the air or wildflowers blooming along the trail. It was a color of vitality, of life, and it suited the bard in those moments of quiet wonder.

On rare occasions, when duty called and Jaskier was forced to don the mantle of the Viscount of Lettenhove, his words glimmered in purple. Purple, the color of royalty, though Jaskier was only nobility. Still, Geralt couldn’t help but feel the weight of that color—a reminder of the gulf in status that separated them in the eyes of the world, even if Jaskier had never cared for such distinctions.

Sometimes, in the rough atmosphere of taverns, when some drunken fool slurred an insult toward the witcher, Jaskier’s words flared red—a flash of anger bright enough to match his fiery defense. It always caught Geralt off guard, the bard’s unwavering loyalty burning brighter than any insult hurled their way.

Having Jaskier in Kaer Morhen felt strange. After that fight on the mountain, Geralt had thought the bard would want nothing to do with him ever again. Yet here Jaskier was, sitting in the great hall, surrounded by witchers.

“Oh no, thank you,” Jaskier said, waving Vesemir off with a polite smile as the old witcher offered him more food. “I couldn’t possibly have any more.”

But his words lacked their usual light. Something was off, and it gnawed at Geralt’s mind. For the first time, Jaskier was in his home; more than anything, Geralt wanted him to be happy.

[persephone-writes]

A Diviner's Guide to James Potter

Chapter Fifteen: Repairo

James Potter x Fem!Gryffindor!Reader

Chapter Fourteen ☆ Series Masterlist

Description: Two diverging paths are presented to you: avoidance or intuition. Which one will you choose?

Word Count: 7k

Notes: as per usual, I know nothing about the divination that I use in this chapter, but I tried my best to make it accurate and also work with the story. I apologize if anything is super inaccurate!

You stayed in the Astronomy Tower later than usual, the early hours of the morning creeping up on you without you noticing. You were the last one left, ruminating over the meaning of the stars. When you finally became too tired to reasonably continue, you begrudgingly gathered your things and left. You appreciated the silence of your walk back, the castle appearing grander under the shadows of your lonely journey. 

The common room was empty when you arrived, and while you ached for sleep, your mind was still restless. You watched the stars outside the windows from your spot on the sofa, twinkling in the black sky like little candles lighting an otherwise unseeable path. What it led to, you did not know. You turned away, balling up your pass and tossing it into the fire. 

As usual, you were in out of your depth. The mistake of looking at James’s chart had been made, and there was no going back. Now, the insatiable desire to know more would always be there, urging you on and on until you had all the answers, the perfect reading. You needed help, though you had no one to go to.

As you stared into the dancing flames, the heaviness in your shoulders growing, the portrait hole opened. Your head shot over to see who it was at this time, praying it wasn’t James on one of his late night excursions. You weren’t sure if you were thankful or displeased to see Remus step through, his Prefect badge pinned to his muggle shirt. He seemed tired himself, though that was not unusual. He was always in a perpetual state of insomnia and aching joints, only making your problems seem childish by comparison. 

“Hey,” he said as he neared you, “what’re you doing up?”

“Just not tired, I guess.” It was a bold lie, given that you were forcing your eyes to stay open, suppressing a yawn as you spoke. 

Remus stood there for a moment, seeming to debate his options. He gave you a tight lipped smile, motioning to the spot beside you. “Mind if I sit?”

You shook your head, watching as he sat down on the other end. Neither of you spoke for a minute, each listening to the music of the crackling wood. 

“I don’t know how you Prefects do it, having to stay up late all the time,” you said finally, keeping your voice to a whisper. 

“I’d probably be up anyway. Besides, you astronomer’s do it just fine,” he answered, pausing as he turned to you with a mischievous look in his eyes. “So, I hear you’re in the dueling club now?” 

You groaned, slumping down into the couch, your legs stretching out in front of you. “Maybe not for long. I’m the oldest one there, I feel like a freak.”

“More than usual?” 

You only rolled your eyes, sitting up straight again. A log on the fire popped, sending sparks flying into the hearth. 

“I know we’re not that close,” Remus began, “but I feel like I have to mention it.”

You sighed, knowing very well what he was referring to. “I figured it was coming eventually.” 

“James won’t tell us anything. All I know is that whatever you guys talked about, it’s put him in a mood,” he said, smiling a fraction. “I think Sirius might kill him soon.”

“Glad to know we’re feeling the same,” you mumbled. 

“It’s become rather annoying.”

You snorted. “He has a talent for that.”

Remus said your name, more serious this time. You looked away, wary of whatever he was about to say. It was unusual for him to butt in, a bad sign that whatever you had gotten yourself into was far more significant than just you and James. This was bleeding out into everyone else, slowly unspooling your tightly wound secret. 

“I hope you don’t get upset with me for asking, but do you and James have something going on?” he asked hesitantly.

You let out a long, exacerbated breath, rubbing your hands over your eyes. “No. Why does everyone seem to think that? What could possibly give you that impression?”

Remus shrugged, smirking a bit at your discouraging expression. “Don’t get me wrong, I’d be a surprise. You know that James is shite at keeping secrets from us. But if it were true, I’d believe it.”

“That did nothing to answer my question,” you said, your voice flat. 

“Well, he got pretty pissy when you said you weren’t shagging.” 

“That's just how he is,” you grumbled. 

“No, it’s not,” Remus said with a shake of his head, still amused by your annoyance. You raised your brows, unconvinced. “Sometimes he is,” he amended, “but most of the time it’s a joke. He’s not really upset when we call him a git or say his glasses make him look like Minnie.”

You snorted at the memory of the joke which once dominated all conversation. Peter had come up with it during the first quidditch match last year, though Sirius couldn’t let it go until it fully ran its course, thus becoming entirely unfunny by January. 

“That one was true,” you chuckled. “That’s what he gets for trying out a different pair. Can’t reinvent the wheel.”

“Was that a pun?” 

You huffed, rolling your eyes. 

“Y’know,” Remus began again, “sometimes the way you look at each other is bloody disgusting, like we shouldn’t even be in the same room with you two.”

You didn’t respond, your chest growing heavy at the similarity between his and Marlene’s words. It was two for two, doubling the believability, though not enough to convince you just yet. 

Remus laughed a bit, continuing despite your silence, “Any minute I expect you guys to start snogging.”

“Well, that’s never gonna happen,” you said, another pang running through your heart. 

Remus sighed, standing up from his spot on the sofa and glancing down at you. His eyes were soft as you met them, his smile weak but nonetheless one of a good friend. “I won’t say it, ‘cause I have a feeling that's why you’ve been shooting daggers at Padfoot for over a week,” he paused, considering the shift in your expression, “but, I know…or at least I think I do.”

Again, you didn’t say anything. You didn’t even know if you had anything to say, your breath quivering a bit as your eyes shot back towards the hearth. Remus allowed you to stay mute, moving around the side of the sofa to head to the dormitories. Before he left, he came behind you, giving you a small pat on the shoulder, just like he would’ve done for one of the guys. 

“Give it a shot,” he said, continuing towards the staircase, “you might be surprised.”

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“Listen to this, ‘Merchum denies that Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry could be a target for any attack, violent or otherwise, despite rumors to the contrary. While agents of He Who Shall Not Be Named largely remain unknown, various high ranking Ministry officials have been ousted as part of their ranks. Other lower level Ministry employees have also been linked to a network of informants aiding in the recent attacks. When asked if it was plausible that Hogwarts has also been breached, or could be in the future, Minster Merchum stated, “...my faith in Headmaster Dumbledore is unmatched, as if my belief that our increased security efforts shall thwart—”’ bla, bla, bla,” Dorcas said, abruptly ending her reading with a groan. “Well, we know that’s a load of rubbish.”

In an act of solidarity, your friends were lounging about your dormitory Wednesday morning during your free period. Wednesdays were always slow days, even for Lily, who’s schedule was the most packed out of anyone you knew. 

Lily put down her book, taking the Daily prophet from Dorcas across from her and scanning over the article. Her bottom lip pulled between her teeth, her head not lifting even when Marlene began to speak. 

“I’m starting to agree with Sirius about Merchum, which is not a pleasant thought.” 

Dorcas snorted a bit, shaking her head with a small, joyless smile. 

“How many years is it going to go on? It feels like twenty by now,” you said, groggy from what felt like the longest three days of your life. Your DADA homework couldn’t have been helping. 

“It just about has been,” said Marlene, her head falling in her hand. She looked to Lily, who finally glanced up. 

“Another child was attacked,” Lily said, dropping the paper onto her lap. “It’s been a while since that’s happened. I’m starting to think Sirius may be right, as well.”

You rubbed your eyes as you tried will away the thought of someone like Remus, only five years old, asleep in bed while someone stalked just outside their window. 

“I wonder what they’re doing with them,” you said softly. “The Slytherins and Zephyr, I mean.”

“Hopefully they’ve thrown them all in the tower cell,” said Dorcas with a sneer.

“They wouldn’t do that,” Lily said, beginning to fold up the paper, concealing the dreary article from view. “But I have no doubt Dumbledore is taking care of it. He’s been able to keep it all out of Hogwarts this long. It’s out there where they’re having trouble.”

Out there. You sat silently, letting the awful phrase ring out in your skull. There were so many reasons to hate it out there, to loathe its very existence. You thought you ought to write to your parents more often, even though you had no idea what you would even say. Maybe you’d just let them know you pitied them and their occupation of out there, the place where things occur.

“How many months till we’re out of here?” Marlene asked.

“A little over three,” Lily answered, her mind clearly elsewhere. She wasn’t looking at either of you, gnawing at her lip again. 

“How exciting,” Marlene drawled.

“Yeah,” you said mindlessly, the threat of July looming over you like chimney smoke. 

You shook your head as if to clear your thoughts, remembering an issue that somehow seemed far more pressing. You’d been itching to go to the Library to gather more materials on astrology, though you hadn’t had the chance yet. While your astrological talents were likely one the best out of the Gryffindor's, you were nowhere near skilled enough to get a full, in depth reading on yours and James’s charts just with a single reference book. However, if you went to the Library now, Lily would surely want to come along, forcing you to wait until all three of your dormmates left for Herbology. 

When they had gone, you headed straight to the Divination section of the Library and grabbed as many relevant books as you could find. However, despite hours of work, your readings were still elementary at best. As lunch neared, you realized that all the books in the world were no match for a true diviner’s perspective. You lugged them back to their shelves with a sour huff, mulling over your options. There were only two, though neither of them seemed pleasant. You could either learn to be happy with what you had, or seek out the help of a professional. 

Making up your mind quicker than expected, you plopped back down at your table, pulling out a couple new sheets of parchment. You made separate charts for you and James, devoid of your interpretations or any indication of who they were about. You slipped them back into your bag, safe until you’d need them. Professional, it was. 

You and Peter walked together to Transfiguration after Divination, though it was not without its own awkwardness. It was a habit that felt odd to break, so ingrained in your routines that not doing so seemed worse than pushing through your sporadic, dull conversations. You made small talk about Quattlebaum’s new peacock-feathered cap, though Peter’s laughs were half hearted and strained. The relief you each felt when you reached the Transfiguration classroom was evident by your shared sighs and lack of goodbyes. 

James hadn’t bothered you since yesterday morning, and by the look of it, it didn’t seem like he was planning on doing so anytime soon. You snuck a single glance his way, only to find his eyes glued to his parchment, scribbling down notes. Like before, the Slytherins and Zephyr were absent, though no word on their whereabouts had slipped past the tight lips of the professors. People had begun to talk, at least in Gryffindor, about their sudden disappearance, though not one of you had let the circumstances out. Everyone besides your group was completely in the dark, and you wanted to keep it that way. 

“Mister Black!” McGonagall snapped in the middle of her lecture. 

Everyone dropped their quills, the room growing dead quiet. You looked to Sirius, who had perked up in his seat at the sound of his name. He brushed his hair behind his ears, startled by her scolding. 

McGonagall clasped her hands in front of her, still looking towards him with harsh eyes. “If you are so skilled in Transfiguration that this class has become boring enough to nap in, I suggest you come to the front and teach it yourself.”

“Sorry, Professor,” Sirius said, though his voice had a playful tilt, just the right amount to get him out of trouble without losing his reputation. 

You rolled your eyes, sharing a look with Lily. 

“Five points from Gryffindor,” McGonagall said, turning back to the class. “As I was saying…”

Just then, a fluttering scrap of parchment in the shape of a crane weaved through the feet of other students, moving under their desks before landing directly in front of you. You stared at it a moment before looking around, though all your classmates were either focused on McGonagall or their own papers. Even Sirius was staring at your professor, his head resting in his hand. You turned to Lily, who gave an equal expression of perplexity towards the paper. With McGonagall still speaking, her eyes roving across the class, Lily shrugged, going back to taking her notes. 

Slowly, you grabbed the paper and pulled it under your desk, the sound of you opening it masked by the cacophony of scratching quills. You instantly recognized the chicken scratch, your heart hammering. 

I’m sorry. 

You shoved it into your bag, your shoulders tensing. You didn’t dare another glance towards him, lest you meet his dark brown eyes, enchanted with the strong will of a friend aching to be forgiven. 

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You stood at the base of the ladder just before last period ended, waiting for the Divination class to leave for the day. When all was clear you climbed up, poking your head into the hatch and peering into the room, though Quattlebaum was nowhere to be found. 

“Professor?” you called, climbing inside. 

Suddenly, Quattlebaum came around the corner, his peacock-feathered cap bouncing with every step. “Miss L/N, is it Monday already?” 

Unsure if he was joking or not, you shook your head. “I was wondering if I could ask for your help on something.”

“Oh! And what might that be?” he asked, flicking his wand towards the tables. Various cups and teapots flew through the air, their contents disappearing before they piled themselves onto the stack in the corner. 

“I wanted to practice my astrology, so I decided to try interpreting the compatibility of these charts, but I’m a bit stuck,” you said, reaching into your bag for the charts.

He took the parchment from you, his smile widening. “How exquisite! I’d be delighted to aid in your extracurricular astrological studies. Please, take a seat.”

He took a seat at his desk, placing the charts in front of him to read further. You sat in the chair opposite, fiddling with the sleeves of your robes as you watched his eyes run along your drawings. 

“Splendid penmanship,” Quattlebaum said with a joyful gasp. “Did you source your calculations through the Astronomy records?”

“Yes,” you answered, your nerves worsening when he paused over your chart. 

He hummed, looking up. “How did you choose these particular dates?” 

“Oh, um,” you stuttered, “I was working on a chart for a friend, so I was already on 1960. I figured I would just flip to two random dates for practice.”  

“I see,” he muttered, smiling softly. 

“I already made my own compatibility report on these two charts, but I wanted an expert's opinion to compare to my own,” you said, growing more and more certain he knew what was going on. You couldn’t recall if he knew your birthday or not, though if he did, it would be plainly evident that this was not an extracurricular endeavor but a personal project. 

Quattlebaum made no further sign that he made this connection, taking your chart in his hands as he leaned back in his chair. His lips were still quirked when he picked up James’s chart, holding them side by side. He sat this way for what felt like an hour, his gaze darting between them. Soon, his mouth dropped into something meditative, a small crease forming between his brows. 

You took a breath as he leaned forward, dropping the parchment onto his desk without glancing towards you. 

“There is tension, much tension,” he began with another hum, “particularly in the Square Sun and Lunar node, as well as the conjunction of Sun and Lilith. Pluto and Saturn are also points of weakness…though not without hope. No! Such charts display a great deal of celestial attraction, harmony within differences. There is a circling, a twin orbit of magnetic power. They likely feel a great pull towards one another, an intense, possibly overwhelming connection which may take great adversity to sever. There is deep understanding despite their unique approaches to conflict, a longing to adopt outlooks which they do not naturally possess.”

He paused, his eyes darting to yours as he pointed towards your chart. “This individual grounds the other, offers an alternative to direct action which may prove impetuous. The other may encourage greater impulsivity, a reliance on the strong intuition which the first holds but does not employ. Such creates a degree of strain, a push and pull…though together they balance what is insufficient. However, an exact prediction of their compatibility is impossible, I’m afraid. As you well know, Miss L/N, our births are rarely our ends.”

You nodded, mulling over his words. Although he had given you a more thorough understanding, you were still desperate for more, grasping at anything you could find. 

“Is there nothing more you can tell me?” you asked, hopeful he would oblige you. 

He did not speak for a moment, his gaze distant. “If they were able to reach friendship, to find each other in commonality within the fog of our mysterious universe, then the stars tell us much. The Trine Sun and Mars point towards a prevailing kinship, and Venus and Mars to passion, though there is no way of knowing if such a thing did, or will occur. That passion may be in anger, their kinship unable to break through learned prejudices. These sorts of pairings have the possibility for extraordinary success or equal failure.”

Your chest felt heavy, as did everything. You wondered if it had happened in reverse: first came kinship, next prejudice. “I see.” 

Quattlebaum was quiet for a few seconds, lost in thought. Finally, he made another noise of intrigue, his head cocking to the side. “However…if their initial meeting was positive, the outlook does appear far more hopeful.”

You sat up straighter, your heart leaping. “Really?”

“I believe so,” he began. “You seem rather invested in this pair, given they were chosen at random.”

“Oh, I just happened to get a similar reading,” you said, trailing off. 

“A similar reading,” he repeated. 

You swallowed, your hands still fidgeting. 

“I can offer you no more, I’m afraid.” Quattlebaum stacked up the parchment, handing it back to you. “Though I hope I was able to be of some help to you.”

You slipped it inside your bag, standing up to leave. “Thank you, Professor—”

“Please, sit a moment longer,” he said, motioning towards the chair. 

Slowly, you dropped your bag onto the floor, sitting back down. You sat stiffly, dreading whatever he was about to say. 

“Your aura, I’ve noticed, has not been as bright as usual.” 

“I’ve been told,” you said warily. 

Quattlebaum smiled. “Yes, Sybill mentioned it to me on Monday, though of course I noticed myself. I believe she thinks it’s time for me to retire, and she may be correct,” he chuckled, the feathers on his cap bouncing again. “Is there anything you’d like to tell me? In confidence, of course.”

You looked down at your lap with a shrug. “Something happened with my classmates this weekend. I’m all right, though.”

“Yes, yes, all the professors have been informed,” he said, his voice laced with genuine sadness. “Such a dreaded ordeal, indeed. But this is not what I speak of.”

Your shoulders stayed slumped, still unable to meet his eyes. You pressed your mouth tight, unwilling to speak about your more intimate problems. 

“Your aura shows you have been deeply shaken by a great change, one that is far larger than the unfortunate decisions made by your classmates. It is filled with uncertainty. Am I correct?”

You peeked up through your lashes, finding his expression softened and less animated than usual. You nodded, your mouth turning down into a frown. 

Quattlebaum stood, walking around his classroom towards a tall, purple cabinet. He opened a drawer, taking out a deck of tarot cards and bringing it back over to his desk. He dropped them down onto the table, though before they hit the surface they spread out in a line, whizzing through the air creating various rings which circled around each other. You watched as this frenzy halted, once again forming a line before settling back down onto the desk. 

“The forking paths, you learned it fifth year. A helpful spread when faced with difficult decisions.”

You sighed, pondering whether this was an excellent idea or an awful one. A professor learning about the fact you were in love with one of your friends was not exactly something you were aiming for. Though, even if Quattlebaum did learn everything, who’d believe him?

You reached out, pulling a card from the deck and placing it face down onto the table. 

“Uncertainty presents us with two choices, decision and indecision,” said Quattlebaum, watching as you did the same to another. “The choice to act or not to act is always first. All others come after.” 

With a flick of his wrist, the cards formed a pile again. He flipped over the first of your cards, an omen you had not stumbled upon but welcomed. However, this did nothing to prevent your anxiety from taking over as you saw what it was, Eight of Cups, reversed.

“Avoidance of the natural flow of life,” he began, his voice low. “Loss and lacking change, the great beasts in the way of growth. You have expected this much.”

You nodded, swallowing as you flipped over the second, the High Priestess, upright.

“Intuition, the truth that lives within us all. Some may see it clearer at first glance, though all possess this gift.” Quattlebaum moved your two cards to the top of his desk, grabbing the deck. “You have been shown your trailheads. Now, connect with your inner sight, choose the path presented by the Eight of Cups: elusion, fallowness.”

You closed your eyes, rooting your feet on the floor as you imagined it: throwing the crane into the fire, scurrying to your dormitory, hiding in the library, going back to the way things used to be when James was just some guy you saw around the common room…

Quattlebaum placed five cards onto the table below the Eight of Cups, motioning for you to flip them over. You did so, one by one. 

He began to speak, explaining every card. Although you knew them well, you welcomed his assistance, your mind reeling. 

“The Page of Cups, reversed. When reversed, the Page of Cups’ wonder and innocence is used against you, creating misunderstandings, hurt feelings and painful emotions. The Ten of Wands, upright. Someone burdened, struggling to uphold his responsibilities. This is beared alone, often in darkness.”

He followed this pattern for the rest of the cards, Quattlebaum explaining their meaning as you revealed them. 

“The Chariot, reversed. The Chariot turns away from its celestial influence, allowing aggression to fester, giving up self-control and determination. The Three of Wands, reversed. Frustration, a lack of method and commitment. There will be unforeseen obstacles and a lack of foresight,” he paused as you flipped the final card, the air growing thick as you each gazed down at it. “The Tower, upright. The crumbling of a mighty structure, upheaval, a disastrous destruction…there is great change in life, a burning away of what was once known.”

Quattlebaum stopped, looking to you as if you had something clever to say. You did not, your thoughts filled with a blinding dread. A dark cloud seemed to hang over you, filled with the awful array of cards before you: painful emotions, burden, aggression, lack of foresight, destruction. 

“You have seen the path of the Eight of Cups,” he said, picking up the deck again. “Now, choose the path of the High Priestess: the way of the Diviner.” 

I wish you could see the way he looks at you…Give it a shot, you might be surprised…She’s the very best of us…

Slowly and with great purpose, Quattlebaum placed five cards in front of you, waiting as you began to flip them over as you had done before. 

“The Knight of Cups, upright. A dreamer, idealistic, the mediator. There is calm, unlike the other knights, whose passion is explosive. There is drive, but not without purity. This often represents following ones heart. Three of Pentacles, upright. The apprentice who listens to others and offers their help. Collaboration, the coming together of minds.”

Your hand hovered over the next card as you flipped it over, momentarily suspended in an odd mix of shock and elation. When you realized your mistake, you quickly pulled your hand away as if the air itself had burned you. 

“The Lovers, upright,” Quattlebaum began, moving on as if nothing had happened. “A pair, not the same and yet not entirely different, come together in romance…there is a purposeful choice to their union, for it is just that, a choice.”

You did not give a moment of pause before you turned over the next, unwilling to allow yourself to sit with it much longer. 

As you did, Quattlebaum continued, “Ten of Swords, reversed. A survival of tragedy, rebirth through despair, a healing of deep wounds. Finally, the Four of Wands, upright. A welcoming reunion, a celebratory harmony of belonging, a time of stability.”

The air was charged with something, prickling on your skin. You did not speak, taking a long breath. You thought about what you had just seen: following your heart, collaboration, romance, rebirth, harmony. 

“Miss L/N,” Quattlebaum said after a moment of silence, “you do not need my assistance in these readings. You know as well as I what they foretell.”

“Yes, Professor,” you said, your voice shaking. 

Quattlebaum eyed you, almost wistfully. Something darkened in his gaze, foreboding and unexpected. “There is unmistakable turmoil beyond this castle. It is mounting, very soon to come to a head. In its face, we must all do what we think is right. It is unfortunate, but you must make your choice alone.”

You sat with his words for a moment, your palms beginning to sweat. Your breath was still shaky, though you did your best to calm it, breathing slowly through your nose. After a beat you nodded, moving to grab your bag. 

“Thank you for your help, Professor,” you said, standing up to leave. 

Quattlebaum didn’t answer, walking you to the hatch and offering you a somber look as you threw it open. 

“You have a good heart,” he said as you began to descend the ladder. You stopped, looking up at his unusually stoic expression. “It would serve you well to trust it.”

You gave him another curt nod, hopping down the ladder as he closed the hatch above you. Soon you were alone, standing at the top of the tower staircase. You had received more than you came for, though it had yet to fully sink in. Your feet felt heavy as you walked back to the common room, Quattlebaum’s words punctuating your every step. 

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Wednesday evening had been spent mostly in silence on your part. Lily had noticed, asking more than once if you were all right or what she could do to help. Every time you brushed her off, insisting it was just your usual lack of sleep. You went to bed early, feigning a deep slumber while you laid there, staring at the ceiling. Even with all the answers in the world, you still weren’t satisfied. It seemed as though things kept changing every hour, every minute, so fast you were in a constant state of trying to catch up. Now, you thought it may be worse than before. A small sliver of hope had begun to ignite inside of you, fed just enough by weeks of crumbs. When you finally closed your eyes, forcing yourself to rest, you could still see James’s handwriting, hovering within a sea of black. 

On Thursday morning, his note was still in your bag. You had forgotten to take it out, carrying it with you when you went to speak with Quattlebaum, then back to your dormitory. You allowed it to stay there when you moseyed down to the kitchens for a late breakfast, having no place to be. You took a long time to finish your food, even longer to drink your tea, heading back up to your room just as second period was getting out. 

Lily was there when you came back, hunkered down at her desk with a large stone in front of her. Books and parchment were scattered all around, her wand in her hand. 

“Alchemy?” 

“Yes,” she sighed, glancing up at you for a moment, “and I’m swamped.”

You chuckled, grabbing your own homework. “That's what you get for taking so many classes.”

She just shook her head, turning back to her stone. She pointed her wand at it, muttering something you didn’t understand. 

You each worked like that until lunch when you forced her to leave to get something to eat. You weren’t hungry, giving her the opportunity to eat in the Great Hall for a change. You felt awful that she had spent nearly every meal with you in the kitchens since Sunday, save for the couple of times Marlene was able to bully her out of it. 

Alone in your dorm, your eyes caught your scarf lying on your bedside table, concealing your broken wristwatch. It was still flashing between weather patterns, far too distracting to leave out in the open. Lily had promised to help you with it this weekend once she had some free time, for all your attempts to fix it thus far had been unsuccessful. 

With a tightened jaw, your mind swirling with guilt over her continued kindness, you flew from your chair, throwing your scarf onto the floor as you grabbed your watch. You shoved it into your pocket as you left the room, in desperate need of some fresh air. 

Eventually, you found yourself sitting on a stone bench in the courtyard by Gryffindor Tower, your watch laid on your knee. Trying a new, more advanced form of repairo used on complicated machinery, the watch seemed to mock you as it continued to flash between a snowstorm, a sunny day, and a monsoon. You had little practice with the incantation, which may have been why it had no effect whatsoever. You had absolutely no experience with these sorts of charms to begin with, much less with watchmaking. The possibility you’d be able to fix it yourself was slim, though not zero. You gave it another try, adjusting your wand movements in hopes that was your issue. Again, nothing spectacular occurred. 

Suddenly, your head shot up as someone cleared their throat above you, your small jump causing your watch to tumble from your lap onto the grass. James stood with his hands stuffed in his jacket pockets, his mouth pulled into an awkward half smile as he looked down at you from a few feet away. 

“Hey,” you said, still a bit stunned. 

He shifted his weight, glancing down at his feet for a moment. Soon, his eyes found your watch, now flashing between a rainbow and a crescent moon. He knelt down to pick it up, turning it over in his hands as he stared intently at the broken face. 

“What happened?”

“Broke it during the duel,” you answered, half of you wishing he would go, the other begging him to stay. 

“Mind if I sit?” he asked softly, motioning towards the bench. 

You shook your head, lacking the conviction to tell him to leave. You kicked yourself as you scooted over to make room, James sitting down beside you, still gazing on your watch. 

You hadn’t been alone with him since he chased you out of Charms on Tuesday. It felt strange to be with him like this, like things were normal. You had been thinking about what Quattlebaum had said all day, despite trying your hardest not to. It had brought you out of your initial rage, leaving you mostly in mourning of what once was. It felt as though too much had been said to ever regain your former friendship, striking you blind as to how you were meant to talk to him or where you ought to look. You knew where you wanted to look, although that was certainly not an option. 

“The mending charm won’t work?”

“No, not that I’ve tried,” you said, your head bent towards the grass. “Lily’s going to help me this weekend.”

“Huh.” His eyes darted over to yours, duller than you were used to, though still curious. “Where’d you get it?”

“Mallard and Rosman’s. My dad got it for my fifteenth birthday.” 

Mallard and Rosman’s was the premier useless enchanted clothing seller in Diagon Alley. It’s where Sirius had gotten Remus his jumper that changed color based on the leaves. It had been earthy brown since mid-November, soon to turn a pale green. 

“I remember when he sent it through the post. I could hear you from across the table,” James said with a small smile. “I can’t believe I didn’t notice you haven’t had it on, you wear it everyday.” He turned away, pointing his wand at it and trying repairo, though nothing changed. “I’m not sure why I thought that would work.”

You nodded, the warmth of him beside you like a bonfire, blazing on your cheeks. You didn’t realize how much you’ve missed him these past few days until now, even if you still held so much against him. But, then there were the cards: go back or move forward. 

“Why aren’t you at lunch?” you asked, just to fill the silence. 

He shrugged. “Wasn’t hungry.” He rubbed his thumb across the face of your watch, tender as if it was something precious. “I know I owe you an explanation for what happened” he began, his voice low, “but I don’t really have one.” 

You glanced at him, taking in only a fraction of his face. “I don’t either.”

“You were right about my ego, but you weren’t about the rest,” he paused, looking out into the courtyard, his eyes running over the window panes. He continued to fiddle with your watch, his other hand coming to run over the straps. “I didn’t mean to make you think I’d be embarrassed over something like that.”

In all honesty, you weren’t either. You couldn’t pinpoint the exact thing he said that made you come to that conclusion, only that it seemed to make too much sense to be wrong. For four days you had tried to make peace with it, though it hadn’t been nearly enough time, the thought still eating away at you. 

You tried to figure out what to say, preferably something that wasn’t a lie. “Thanks,” was all you were able to come up with, mumbling it so softly you were unsure if he could even make it out. 

“I wish I told you,” he said, leaning forward to look you in the eye. 

His mouth was twisted into something akin to distraught, though you pulled your gaze away from it before you could think too much about it. 

“If I had a time turner, I’d go back and do it,” he began again. “Actually, if I had one I’d curse him right outside of Transfiguration.”

Your gaze ran along the rims of his glasses, down the bridge of his nose, stopping at his cupid's bow. You noticed that his hair was getting long, curling around his ears. You wished you could reach out and brush it away from his face. 

“You sound like Sirius,” you said, a small smile pulling at the corners of your lips. 

“He’s been making a lot of sense lately,” he said, matching your half hearted grin. His smile soon dropped, leaving him pensive and remarkably calm. “It’s selfish of me, but I really want to be your friend right now. I know you don’t need my help, but I hate not giving it. It’s the only thing I’ve ever been good at.”

“James—”

“Whatever happened before, I promise it won’t happen again,” he interrupted. “I’ll tell you every—”

“James,” you said again, sterner this time. He finally stopped talking, his eyes searching your face, wide and hopeful like they had been in the corridor outside the common room. “You’re relentless, you know.”

“And cheesy,” he said, smiling again. “I’ve got a few quotes stored up if you want to hear them.”

You looked away, your head drooping forward with a groan. “You’re going to make a great old man one day.”

“My mum says I’ll act like a child forever,” he chuckled. “Maybe it’ll even out at some point.”

You took in his expression, forgetting some of your heartbreak, even if just for a moment. “Fifty’ll be your year.”

James laughed again, though it wasn’t without a tinge of something else, things unsaid. More so than ever before, you longed to know what he was thinking. 

“Hey,” he said softly, his humor gone, “are we gonna be all right?”

You heard Remus in the common room, his hand on your shoulder, “Give it a shot, you might be surprised.” Marlene, too, was urging you on, “I wish you could see the way he looks at you.” Then, there were the stars and the cards. The path was not without complication, but it was there, waiting for you to walk down it. It was the brave thing to do, you realized. It was brave to make a choice. 

You bit your lip, offering him a small, encouraging smile. “Yeah, we’re all right.”

James threw an arm around your shoulder, pulling you into his chest. He held you tightly, wrapping his other arm to cradle you, still holding onto your wristwatch. Slowly, you wound your arms around his middle, allowing yourself the luxury of resting your head on his shoulder while avoiding the temptation of burying your face in the crook of his neck. He smelt like he always did: Sleekeazy’s hair potion, broom polish, and something entirely his own, earthy like moss, yet fresh like linen. It was better than a hundred fields of French lavender, sweeter than the little cakes at Puddifoot’s, warmer than a cup of butterbeer or your corner of the Library. You couldn’t believe how much you’d already forgotten, how much you were willing to give up. 

Unthinking, you said exactly how you felt, murmuring into his cloak, “I love you, James.”

As soon as you said it your face began to heat, a jolt of nerves running down your arms. He squeezed you one more time before pulling away, a hand remaining on your shoulder. 

“Love you, too,” he said, playfully tugging at you before taking his hand away. “That’s another thing you never have to say.”

“All this time you just assumed I did?” you teased, trying to forget the way your ears felt as if they were on fire. 

“No,” he began, his smile bright again, the way you loved, “just for future knowledge.”

“Ah, I see.” 

He pushed your shoulder with a laugh, glancing back down at your watch. He handed it back to you, standing up from the bench. “They’ll be able to fix it at Mallard and Rosman’s if Lily can’t figure it out. But if anyone can, it’d be her.” 

You nodded, looking up at his face, more serene than you’d seen him in a while. For a split second, nearly short enough to make you question it, you saw something in his eyes. They sparkled like champagne bubbles, a hue of radiant, golden warmth. He was looking at you as if it were some sublime sight, like the mountains at dawn or the colored lights of aurora borealis. But like a shooting star, it was gone just as you caught it, taking your breath away.

“I have Potions,” he began, “but I’ll see you later, all right?”

“All right,” you said, your words caught in your throat. You watched him walk back towards the archway, dazed as if you were in a dream. 

“I mean it!” he called, flashing you a smile as he disappeared into the castle.

⋆☆⋆｡⋆☆⋆｡⋆☆⋆｡⋆☆⋆｡⋆☆⋆｡⋆☆⋆｡⋆☆⋆｡⋆☆⋆｡⋆☆⋆

Taglist: @floverisland @ilovejamespottersomuch @googie-jeon @tvnile

[scimagic]

Any tips for artist tryna improve their art? Love ur art and would love to some tips and tricks of yours! ^^

BOOHOO;; THANK YOU!! THAT'S SUCH A NICE COMPLIMENT TO ME;; Like what do you mean you like what I do enough that you want to hear some tips from me!! DON'T MAKE ME CRY FHDJKSA

I really really tried to make things short for you but I don't think I was very successful dkhkdh but I hope you find them useful!! <3

Tracing (not the stealing kind):

Tracing is not bad when it's used to study, some of my college assignments were copying renaissance artists' sketches! Hell, when I was a kid I used to trace Undertale fanart I liked and look where I'm at fhjkads

When you study other people's styles, you can actually gather a lot of information like line weight or proportions, colors, even stylization. So get your favorite artists' pieces and really look at them for a long time, draw them, then apply what you learn into your own art. Just be careful to not steal or claim something as your own!

Focus on one area at a time:

Now you have to chose one area to practice on. You could tackle on many at a time but I find it easier to pinpoint what I would like to do first and then move on to the next thing.

There's a lot of subjects you can go into like anatomy, rendering, backgrounds, but you just have to find one area in them and get a lot of references.

For anatomy you can go into: muscle movement, figure drawing, body parts in different angles.

Rendering: Shading, lighting, color theory.

Backgrounds: Point perspective, different camera angles, landscapes or detailed room scenes.

Don't overwhelm yourself either! Take one thing at a time!

Dear god get a reference board:

Pinterest really helped me find styles I wanted to study and anatomy tips to incorporate in my art. It really relates to my first point but having an actual compilation of how things look next to you really helps. It also helps keeping them organized like so:

Do The Thing™️ anyway:

I know it's repetitive but it genuinely works you have to trust me, practice does make progress. Stop letting fear hold you back on compositions you think are great or believe you don't have "enough skills yet" to work on them. You will never get enough skills if you don't try.

My college classes forced me to pick up watercolors and paint backgrounds and I learned a lot just from trying it out. Make mistakes!! Have fun! That's how you truly improve on your skills!

Be patient and loving with yourself (and your art!):

I cannot stress enough how important it is to love your art in order to grow. You NEED to learn how to be patient with your art AND your journey because it will never compare to anyone's!! Art is not a competition nor a race, it's a medium to express yourself through a process you like. That's why there's millions of art styles and why each of them cater to a different audience!

Once you do, you can actually ask important questions like "Did I like the process? What can I improve on next time? What's something I liked I want to continue incorporating into my art?", and it helps with self esteem too.

And last but not least:

Have fun!!

Art is a journey of self-discovery, it's not meant to be something that weighs you down or makes you feel bad when you're not working on it. Take constant breaks! No matter how short or how long! If you get tired or incredibly frustrated at it, then it's probably best you take a break from it!

Thank you for listening and supporting me!! I love you!!

[puff0o0]

warning: Angst to fluff, Johnny's death

You wondered if Johnny saw a warm sunset

A sunset where all of his love ones were clouds that warmed up next to the sun as close as they could while his light breathed onto them, lighting them up so beautifully. The deep blue sea that his light manages to reach, telling stories of all of his achievements and accomplishments, giving him a deep ocean of memories before his last breath

But other times you worry it was cold

A frosty environment with nothing but harsh cold that pierced through clothes like a freezing needle and poked at his skin. Not a singly person in sight as he made his journey through the angry blizzard, each step feeling like a march

But when you're eyes open and you feel around, that familiar warmth radiating off your husband and onto your hand, you remind yourself that it was just a dream

His real and solid hand moves out to grab yours as he brings you closer to his chest, mumbling something incoherent before falling back asleep. You assumed it was a slight scolding for moving away from him

Life with him was warm and loving

And he will do everything to keep it that way

[aventurineswife]

“With you, I’m so much stronger”

Summary: Shadow, reflecting on the one-year anniversary of meeting her partner, carefully prepares a special cake as a surprise. Despite the pain and struggles she faces with her illness and inner darkness, she finds joy in celebrating the love and support her partner has given her throughout the year. In a tender moment, she opens up about her struggles and the weight of her emotions, but her partner reassures her with love and devotion. Together, they share the cake, symbolizing the sweetness of their journey together.

Tags: Shadow(OC) x Reader, Romance, Anniversary, Vulnerability, Support, Tender Moments, Personal Struggles, Intimacy, Reflection, Established Relationship.

Warnings: Mentions of illness, emotional distress, and vulnerability.

[Header credits]

The soft hum of the oven filled the air as Shadow carefully removed the cake she’d spent hours preparing. The rich aroma of vanilla and chocolate intertwined, creating a comforting atmosphere in the kitchen. Her movements were graceful yet purposeful as she set the cake down on the countertop, taking a moment to admire her handiwork. She smiled faintly, the corners of her mouth lifting as she wiped her hands on a towel.

It had been one year.

One year since you walked into her life, and she couldn’t help but feel a sense of awe at how much had changed since then. How much she had changed. It was hard to believe that someone as warm and understanding as you had stuck by her side, even as she fought through the darkness of her own mind and body.

With a sigh, Shadow placed a hand on her stomach, the familiar ache from her illness gnawing at her. She could feel the blood rising in her throat, but she pushed the thought aside. Not today. Today was special.

She turned her gaze to the living room, where you were lounging comfortably on the couch, the soft glow of candlelight flickering around you. You’d been patient all day, waiting for her to finish up the surprise. And now, it was time.

Carefully, Shadow decorated the cake, her hands steady despite the fatigue she felt. She’d chosen something simple but elegant—your favorite flavors, topped with a delicate swirl of frosting. She placed a small note atop it, scribbled with words only she could fully understand.

Once finished, she turned to you with a soft, loving gaze. “Hey,” she said, her voice steady, but there was something tender in it that hadn’t been there before. You glanced up at her, a smile tugging at your lips as you sat up.

“Wow, that looks amazing,” you said, your eyes lighting up at the sight of the cake. “Is that… for me?”

She nodded, a playful glint in her eyes. “Yeah, it’s for you. Happy anniversary, love.”

Your heart swelled as you approached the table. “You didn’t have to do this, Shadow. You’ve already done so much.”

Shadow’s smile faltered for a brief moment, but she quickly hid it. She walked over to you, placing a gentle hand on your shoulder. “I know,” she murmured, her thumb brushing across your skin. “But I wanted to. You’ve stuck by me for an entire year. Even when I’m not the easiest person to love.”

She paused, the weight of her words lingering in the air. Her eyes, though filled with warmth, seemed to carry a deeper, unspoken sorrow.

“I know I can be… difficult,” she continued, her voice dropping slightly. “I’ve got a lot of baggage, and sometimes it feels like I’m too much to bear. But you never left. You stayed. You believed in me when I couldn’t believe in myself.”

You reached out, cupping her cheek gently in your palm. “I’m not going anywhere, Shadow,” you said softly, your voice unwavering. “I’m here because I love you. All of you. The strong, the kind, the playful, and even the broken parts.”

Her breath caught, her eyes softening as you leaned in to kiss her forehead. “You don’t have to carry everything alone,” you whispered. “We’re in this together.”

Shadow’s eyes glistened, and for a brief moment, the walls she’d built so carefully around herself seemed to crumble. A single tear slid down her cheek, but she smiled through it.

“Thank you,” she whispered, her voice thick with emotion. “Thank you for everything.”

You kissed her gently, the warmth of your lips on hers grounding her in the moment. As you pulled back, you saw the vulnerability in her eyes—the side of her she so carefully hid from the world. The side she only showed to you.

"Now," you said with a playful grin, "Let’s enjoy that cake. You deserve it."

She chuckled, her usual playful energy returning as she cut a slice for you both. Despite the darkness she carried within, Shadow had found something beautiful—something to cherish. You.

And, as you both shared the first bite, Shadow couldn't help but think that this was the sweetest gift of all.