#this season is different than the others they are trying different approaches and i understand if ppl feel less than + abt it | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

lovieku · 5 months ago

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TRUE LOVE ⋆ 정국

when you and jeon jeongguk's paths cross again, you question if having a crush on the school's emo and alternative boy was really just a phase, or if it was true love after all.

⋆⁺₊❅. 5/6 from christmas & chill

pairing tattoo artist!jk x fem reader

genre fluff, smut, grumpy & sunshine, somewhat f2l

warnings jk 24 | oc 24, jk thinks he’s too cool for love, oc suffers from a chronic case of “i can fix him”, she eventually does, oc simps HARDDD and jk only pretends to be unaffected, yea he’s a bit of a dick sometimes but he’s also Very funny, brief description of panic attacks, male masturbation, kissing, idk what else to add i just rly rly love them and will think of them for the entirety of xmas season

word count 10.2k

author’s note hi lovies 🩷 it’s my last time with c&c 🙁 i’m kinda emotional omg… it’s been such a fun, warm and lovely week, and i love each one of you for showing endless support to this project <33 i’ll keep trying to not disappoint… please tell me if you like this!!! thank u always and always 🩷 luv u <3

banner by the gorgeous @awrkive ⊹₊⟡⋆

On the first day of December, your path crosses with thee Jeon Jeongguk’s after enough years for your brain to trip slightly before recognising him. But it would have been impossible not to—there’s likely a whole, well-preserved section of your thinking organ dedicated to that mortifying phase of high school, when your hormones turned life into an endless internal tug-of-war.

The moment your eyes widen at having him stand in front of you, you’re yanked unceremoniously into the past, brought back to buried, locked and left to gather dust feelings that have your teenage self’s screams echoing within you in a chorus of delight and cringe.

Jeongguk, on the other hand, is simply following his duties as a tattoo artist. When he catches sight of you next to his appointed client on such a breezy day, the cold December air starting to find its space even in the confines of his studio, he only nods his chin upward at you in slow recognition.

It’s awkward, at first. Only because you make it.

You’d volunteered to accompany Eunbi, your best friend, to get her first tattoo as an early Christmas self-gift. Your mission was clear: support her, hold her hand if the pain became unbearable (though you’re probably the least dependable person when it comes to making clarity in situations of panic, as seen right now), and be the first to bask in her excitement as she finally sees what she’s always pictured to be inked on the skin of her forearm. A blue whale tattoo, large enough to make you wince just thinking about the needlework.

You’d never go through something like that. Never.

And that’s exactly what’s showing on your face when you’re met with Jeongguk’s full sleeve of tattoos, leaving you rooted to the spot.

You’d always known him to be the different kid, the quiet one with forced sharp eyes that canonically listened to alternative rock and glared at anyone who dared approach, whether to tease him or befriend him. He’d convinced himself that no one could ever understand him.

See, you’d instead fooled yourself into thinking you were the exception. That you did understand him.

Fourteen-year-old you had gone through some weird phases, and the one that resurfaces now at the vision of his adult self is the one centered entirely around him. You unashamedly had the biggest crush on Jeongguk. To you, he was mysterious and edgy—in an effortlessly cool way.

You’d tried everything. Offered him your lunch more times than you were left with any for yourself. Even cut your bangs to have them fall over your eyes to mimic his fringe, dyed a strand in blue, overhauled your wardrobe to align with his back-and-grey one. None of it worked. He never noticed.

But, thinking of it now, there’s no way he didn't. He definitely did. How could any boy turn a blind eye to a lovesick girl’s heartfelt Valentine’s letter, a hopeless romantic girl who almost cried on the spot when she got rejected? Jeongguk just chose to willingly ignore it.

These are all valid reasons as to why your functions seem to slow down in his unexpected presence. And you’re not going to deny nor fake that his calm, almost detached demeanor doesn’t flow through your body and right to your left eye, making it twitch with a slight tremor.

Yet, you must also admit that your teenage self was onto something. Jeongguk has changed drastically but he’s also stayed the same. You think fourteen-year-old him would be proud of where he is right now. Two piercings on his lower lip and one on his eyebrow, intricate ink tracing up his muscled arm, his… muscled arms. Wow. And then, his studio. His own studio, a place for him and his passion, one that he made into his job. That’s undeniably cool.

Maybe just not cool enough for you to be gaping like an idiot as he moves with purpose, adjusting your friend’s arm to position the stencil he had prepared, perfectly fitting in the space she had chosen. His muscles flex with every shift, and it’s impossible for you to go past that with the way the black beater he’s wearing is loose on his torso, but still clinging on his chest.

Eunbi notices, of course. You don’t have time to feel embarrassed and in return she doesn’t even try to hide her amusement when your usual chatter dries up entirely, only gulping obnoxiously noisily and alternating that with nervous silences. Jeongguk, too, catches on.

He’d always known you as obnoxious and noisy. In, huh, a good way. Or whatever.

Jeongguk just agrees that you were (and probably still are, if the pastel yellow skirt softly flowing down your legs paired with a cozy cream sweater and the full toothed grin you shoot at your friend are any indicators) the pinpoint embodiment of his opposite. You’ve always been talkative, smiley, and friendly, eager to help and to receive help, not in the slightest ever turning down the opportunity to blabber on, and on, and on.

Honestly, Jeongguk doesn’t think he ever truly listened to a single word of your rambling back in the day, especially during those times when you’d bounce up to him and launch into enthusiastic rants about obscure alternative bands he himself hadn’t even heard of. He respected the hustle, though. He’d always wondered where you found the time and energy to immerse yourself in music like that.

He much preferred when you were less trying so hard to be him and mirror his tastes, more when you gave up on impressing him and simply stayed true to yourself, the girl whose heart belonged to Justin Bieber and One Direction. Truthfully, he fucked with them. Not that he’d ever admit it, of course. His quiet, brooding image wouldn’t survive that revelation.

What he respected the most was your resilience. After all the times he rejected you and your awkward blurts of confessions, you still didn’t think it was enough of a reason for your villain origin story to take off, and instead remained the same frustratingly positive ray of sunshine you’d always been.

Now, as Jeongguk works on the tattoo in front of him, the very design that caused all these long-buried memories to rise back, his dark eyes flick toward you sitting on a stool in a near corner every now and then, a hint of confusion in his expression each time you take more than five seconds to reply to his small talk.

It’s just, you’re a bit taken aback. Since when does he do small talk? The foreign smoothness with which Jeongguk handles interactions is so far removed from the sullen boy you used to know. You’re not prepared for this version of him. It’s disarming, to say the least.

Enough time has passed for you to settle into the odd scenario, your current best friend and your long-standing high school crush in the same room. Slowly but surely, your curiosity sparkles again, and the signature tendency to let thoughts tumble out of your mouth unchecked returns to you naturally.

“Ouch, that looks painful.”

Jeongguk snorts, eyes trained on Eunbi’s arm as he glides the tattoo needle with precise strokes that have his brows pinching and the tip of his tongue peeking out from the corner of his lips, a habit you remember from the past but one you’ve never found quite so distracting before.

Still, he multitasks and responds without missing a beat, “Wanna try?”

Wow. This is, like, the longest conversation you’ve ever had with him. It spurs you on to do anything it takes to hear more of his voice, the sound of it definitely deeper than the shy tones you struggled to coax out of him ten years ago.

That is probably why you literally lie, “Hm. Maybe. I was thinking of getting one actually. In the future.”

Eunbi chokes on her spit, her chest coughing with the sudden, blatantly fake revelation, and Jeongguk promptly pauses, lifting the needle from her skin as his tattooist reflexes kick in. While your friend apologizes between a clearing of her throat and sinks back into the chair, she doesn’t keep from glaring at you, her expression screaming What the hell are you doing?

You deadpan. You’ll explain everything later and it’ll all make sense. And you know this will inevitably end up being added to the list of the many embarrassing facts she knows about you and threatens you with when she wants to go clubbing and you don’t.

Jeongguk uses the brief interruption to glance up at where you’re perched in the corner of his peripheral vision, just to square you up and down with a skeptical arch of his brow, “Really?”

You scoff, smoothing out the creases on your skirt as if the fabric is somehow responsible for the lie you just told, “Is that shocking?”

He hums, returning to his work with the buzz of the needle filling the studio again, his voice padded the more he gets closer to Eunbi’s forearm, “I just find it hard to believe such a princess like you could handle any pain.”

You gulp.

What you’re getting from this conversation is that Jeongguk has always had an idea of who you are in his mind all along. That he’s always perceived you in some way. As much as your inner fourteen-year-old is swooning at the attention, gobbling up each of the tiny crumbles he’s giving you, it doesn’t sit right with you. What exactly does he think of you?

“Test me.”

He shrugs, eyes fixated on the shade he’s perfectioning with black ink, “Busy now.”

“I’ll go pay for mine. I saw you have one last free spot today,” you announce, the words tumbling out with more confidence than you feel. You’re already on your feet before the sentence is fully formed, betraying the fact that your nosy tendencies had gotten the better of you earlier. You’d discreetly glanced at his appointment book when Jeongguk and Eunbi were finalizing her tattoo details and negotiating the final price at the desk.

He hums, head tilting slightly, “And I wanted to spend it bumming around.”

“Too bad. You’ll have to postpone that.”

You walked into this studio swearing you’d never let a needle even brush you.

Now you’re stretched out on a leather bench, Jeongguk leaning over you with a stencil in hand, gloved fingers moving with careful precision.

The design you’d chosen came from his portfolio—a delicate illustration of two butterflies in motion, their soft threads intertwining. You’d flipped through countless pages of bold skulls and intricate linework before settling on this.

The spot you’d chosen for the tattoo was the flat, firm plane between your breasts. It wasn’t a conscious decision, just a place you’d always liked. Maybe it had something to do with the fact that nature hadn’t exactly blessed you in the cleavage department. Subconsciously, perhaps, you thought that adding something there might give the illusion of more.

“Tehe,” you can’t stop the breathy giggle that escapes as the cool paper brushes against your skin. Your hand is pressed to your bra, holding it in place as best you can, though the situation feels so surreal it’s hard to focus on anything but the ridiculousness of it all.

Jeongguk glances up at you with a glare that’s more exasperated than angry before returning to the delicate task at hand, “What’s funny?”

Your voice wobbles, “I just— I tend to laugh during serious moments.”

“Oh. Weird.”

“Sorry.”

With a small sigh, he smooths the stencil, and once it’s transferred he hands you a square mirror, waiting for your approval. You nod, the butterflies now perfectly poised in their eternal dance, and Jeongguk doesn’t waste a moment.

The buzz of the needle fills the room as he leans closer, one gloved hand resting on the upper part of your chest to steady himself. He’s mere seconds from beginning the inking process when another laugh bubbles out of you.

Jeongguk sits back abruptly, dropping his pen onto the metal tray with an audible clink. Tilting his head, he levels you with a look of thinly veiled irritation. “I really can’t work if your chest keeps moving.”

“Sorry,” you blurt again, turning your head to face the wall. You clamp your lips together tightly, mentally scrolling through every sad memory you can conjure. Think of something awful. Your childhood dog dying. Okay, maybe not that sad—

“You haven’t changed a bit since high school. Always smiling like you live surrounded by flowers and rainbows,” Jeongguk’s mutter vibrates against your chest, warm breath fanning over the cold skin, distracting you from your no-giggling mission.

The unexpected observation has your brows furrowing in a mildly offended frown, and banter is ready on your tongue. “You’re just the same too, Gguk. The emo boy who thinks he’s too cool for a smile.”

“I’m not an emo boy. The fuck,” he scoffs, kissing his teeth and murmuring more of his indignation under his breath.

“Whatever helps you sleep at night. I can teach you.”

The whirring needle glides across your skin with a slightly firmer touch, making you hiss softly under your breath. He seems unbothered by the reaction, and instead bothered by your words, “Teach me what.”

“How to smile a bit more,” you reply, your voice laced with mockery as you keep your gaze firmly fixed on the wall. The smirk playing on your lips is triumphant; he walked right into your little jab, hehe.

Your mind is already racing, piecing together the beginning of a sarcastic rant about how his perpetual scowl probably contributed to his mysterious high school persona. For the sake of his ego, you won’t add how it worked in his favor, how more than one girl (your own self) found his untouchable vibe completely irresistible.

Even though, thinking back, he looked ridiculous. His big, round, slightly scared-of-the-world eyes truly didn’t belong with the heavy black eyeliner.

But before you can get a single word out, Jeongguk straightens his posture, pulling away from your chest. With a practiced motion, he tosses one of his gloves onto the counter behind him, his expression cool and indifferent. “It’s done.”

“Done?!” you exclaim, tilting your chin down to look at your chest. You go slightly cross-eyed trying to catch a glimpse of the design now inked onto your skin. Forever.

“Yes.”

“I didn’t even feel it.”

Jeongguk seems equally done with small talk, transitioning into a professional explanation of the tattoo’s aftercare step. His tone is calm but clipped, and you can’t tell if it’s his usual demeanor or just reserved for you. He also hands you a small tube of cream of which you’re not sure the use of, too enthralled by the vision of his colored sleeve this up close.

And still laying on the leather bed, you almost reach to trace one of the many lines with your finger before he interrupts, “You can pay with Yoongi at the entrance.”

Clearing your throat, you sit up, brushing imaginary dust off your skirt as Jeongguk turns his back to you, his focus already back on cleaning his tools. You still are not over, “Thank you, Jeongguk. Can I— huh. Can I get your number?”

He pauses mid-motion, just long enough for the silence to stretch thin and taut. Turning around to study your features, he stares you up and down with knitted brows and a hostile kind of confusion painting his expression. “… For what exactly?”

“In case anything happens with the tattoo.”

Jeongguk stills for a second, eyes narrowing slightly, then turns back to what’s keeping him so occupied with a noncommittal grunt, “Huh. Sure. Yoongi has my business cards at the desk. You can ask him. Have a good day.”

With Eunbi practically dragging you out of the room, you don’t have the chance to say anything more, though your chest burns with indignation. It’s not that you expect him to fall over himself at the chance to catch up, but the sheer indifference is maddening.

Should you pretend you don’t care either? You could. But really, who are you fooling? You still have those old diaries buried somewhere in your closet, their pages crammed with his name written in looping, lovesick cursive. That little girl in you never truly died.

On the fourth day of December, you finally text him. It’s about your tattoo, of course. There’s not much else to say to him, but when his only reply to your picture of the healing process is a yellow thumbs up, you find your fingers hovering over the keyboard. Words start forming before you’ve fully processed them, and before you know it, you hit send.

You [3:39 p.m]: btw u still friends with kim tae?

jeongguk [3:42 p.m.]: Yes

jeongguk [3:42 p.m.]: He’s my best friend

You [3:43 p.m.]: ohhh, cool

jeongguk [3:45 p.m.]: You want his number?

You [3:46 p.m.]: no… i’m good with yours ☺️

You can’t help but giggle at how his typing bubbles appear and then fade for a whole minute, biting your lower lip with a sheepish grin, savoring the silent victory. You’re doing this for your fourteen-year-old self, who would’ve squealed at the thought of making Jeon Jeongguk flustered. But you’re a different girl now. You’ve changed. No man could ever reject—

jeongguk [3:48 p.m.]: If there’s nothing else about the tattoo then 👋

“Hmph,” your frown is so pronounced that you feel your chin aching and your wrinkles prematurely deepening. Well, this is not the first time you come face first with his sour antics. Only now, you’re prepared.

You [3:48 p.m.]: yall hanging out soon? let me join

jeongguk [3:49 p.m.]: Why lol

jeongguk [3:49 p.m.]: He barely even remembers you probs

You [3:50 p.m.]: who would not remember me

jeongguk [3:50 p.m.]: The only thing i’m now remembering about you is how I couldn’t stand your ass

You gasp, hand coming up to brush against your parted lips. With a huff, you hastily click at your keyboard, “Mean. Sent. Ugh.”

On the sixth day of December, your persistence pays off, and you find yourself at a random bar you’d never been to before, seated with both Jeongguk and Taehyung.

Between Jeongguk’s cigarette breaks—forcing the three of you to brave the cold outside—and brief moments in corners of the cramped place where the music feels muffled against the walls, you manage to catch up with Taehyung. The rest of the time though, the noise inside is so deafening that it makes any kind of meaningful conversation impossible.

Even more when a random girl slides into the booth next to him, capturing his attention entirely, leaving you and Jeongguk in paradoxical silence.

The tattoo artist has been glued to his phone with his head down for the last 20 minutes, and now you alternate between observing his side profile, roughened by the piercings and a more defined jawline, and analysing the weird dynamic that is beginning to form between Taehyung and the girl, sitting in front of you.

Alone with your thoughts and, well, the pulsating music, you feel yourself getting unreasonably closer to symptoms you know all too well, that threaten to have you spiraling. You shake your head, forcing it to stop. There’s no reason for anxiety to visit you at such an inconvenient time.

But of course, the little voice in your head starts listing all the totally valid motives why this is indeed the perfect time for it to visit you.

The bar feels suffocating on your skin.

Your dress clings too tightly.

The couple facing you is shamelessly close to making out.

Jeongguk sighs in visible boredom.

You shouldn’t have come. Hell, you shouldn't have suggested it in the first place. A smarter version of yourself would have brought Eunbi for balance, for comfort. But in your foolishness, you thought this could be an opportunity for you and Jeongguk to catch up. Instead, you feel foreign to him, foreign to this pub booth, and the air begins to feel foreign to your lungs. You’ve never liked bars, clubs, or places with loud music.

You sniffle, looking down at your lap. Then up at the ceiling. Then around the room. It keeps spinning and booming with volume that only adds to the feeling of helplessness. Quick, quick, quick.

What are five things that you can see?

Five. Your gaze falls on Taehyung and the girl, their lips and tongues clumsily entangled as they laugh between sloppy kisses. No help there. The air catches harder in your throat.

Four. Your empty glass, its smudged rim a reminder of the single drink you had, now sitting uncomfortably in your stomach.

Three. Your scuffed heels, their tips worn to the nub despite your best efforts to hide it with a marker.

Two. The swirling lights above the bar, dizzying as they flash brighter and brighter.

One. Jeongguk’s tattooed hand on your thigh.

His fingers dig into the skin, shaking you alarmedly, with a force you’ve never known from him, not even when it came to stopping your shaking stomach as you were laying on the studio’s leather bed.

Head snapping up to face him, you’re met with a perfect resemblance of how you must look right now. Wide eyes, knitted brows, nose flaring and exhaling, and you try to follow the movements of his mouth, but they jumble together annoyingly in your brain. You lean closer, narrowed orbs still fixated on his lips to try and read them. Are… you… ok—

“___, you’re scaring me. Hey, hello? Are you okay?”

Jeongguk moves from your thigh to your shoulders, jolting you gently but firmly from the fog that is threatening to cloud up your brain. The sudden clarity hits you, but you still stumble forward, your weight toppling over his chest. With it, your head dips rapidly, hurtling toward the sharp edge of the table, and before Jeongguk knows it his instinct snaps and he catches you promptly.

The next steps blur together. You vaguely register the boy next to you standing up and pulling you along with him, his broad shoulders supporting one of your arms while his inked one secures around the small of your waist, holding you firmly against him.

Then, it’s nothing but brief flashes. Jeongguk pressing a water bottle to your lips. Sitting you down on the stairs outside the pub. Holding your hair back as you double over, emptying the contents of your stomach onto the pavement. Cracking a smile to make you laugh, showing off his tattoos in exaggerated detail like it’s the grandest tour of your life. Opening the door to his car and gently easing you into the passenger seat, ensuring the seatbelt clicks into place.

Inside his car, you slowly feel your senses come back to you.

At a redlight that you recognise as the one near your apartment complex, you muster a small and hoarse thank you. Jeongguk only hums low, eyes fixated on the road and fingers drumming lightly on the steering wheel.

Before a sheepish smile can make its way on your lips and spread across your face, your head twitches back as your brows furrow. Your thoughts suddenly catch up with you, “Hey, how do you know the way to my flat?”

His gaze briefly flicks toward you in annoyance, then back to the road. “You literally just told me.”

“Oh.” A beat passes before you giggle softly. “Don’t remember.”

Jeongguk mutters something intelligible under his breath, and next thing you know he’s turning down your street and slowing in front of the building that matches the number you gave him. Given your current state, he begins to question if that is even the right one.

“This one!” You point at the tall front gate with an almost childlike excitement, back shifting slightly from the seat as your grin stretches wide. Jeongguk grimaces. Why the fuck do you look like you’ve been reuinted with your home after years apart, as if you weren’t there just a couple hours ago?

“Right. Huh, you good with going back on your own?”

“Yes. I’d hate to bother you further. I’m sorry for this, I… was getting better, I guess.”

The sad confession doesn’t land with the weight it should, softened by the smile painted on your lips and the chuckle you let out as if it were nothing. Jeongguk’s eyelid twitches, unsettled by the unnecessary happiness that always seems to drip from you, even when it doesn’t belong.

“‘S okay. Have a good night,” he awkwardly bows his head, waiting for you to exit the car. When you stay still, he clears his throat, adding just to fill the silence, and perhaps because he means it, “Huh, and make sure to rest a lot.”

You take a moment, maybe longer than you should, to study his features up this close. You particularly fixate on the way his eyes dart everywhere but never land on yours. Then, with your signature toothy grin, you bow back and open the car door, leaving with a string of thank yous, and get home safe, and I’ll text you, and please, reply to me, and bye.

Jeongguk has to fight a smile of his own.

On the tenth day of December, you realise you want him. Even more badly than your fourteen-year-old self ever did. Which is frankly insane.

You don’t know if it was the natural way he looked after you during your episode, or his dry sarcasm as he actually started replying to your random updates throughout the day.

But no, it was definitely the selfie he sent you after what he said was a long day. Messy hair, tired eyes, a hint of a smile. You’d struggled to even gulp down your saliva when the picture popped up in your chat, and maniacally stared at it with eyes glued to the bright screen before sending one of your own. He had replied with Cute. followed by Your hair pin is cute.

That is why you find yourself facing… Yoongi? If you remember correctly. The guy at the front desk of Jeongguk’s studio.

You beam at him, and what you’re met with instead is a confused stare. You inhale, “Hi. Is Jeongguk in?”

Yoongi scratches his head, muttering, “He’s busy with a client.”

“Oh. It’s okay,” you wave off his concern. “Can I wait here?”

The boy hesitates, looks unsure the more your interaction develops, and he glances between you and the empty waiting area. He relents with furrowed brows, “Sure… Huh, It’s a back tattoo, so it’ll take him a while.”

You shrug and plop yourself onto the leather sofa, seemingly unfazed, “I like waiting.”

Crossing your legs, you take in the studio’s atmosphere, eyes drifting to the dark walls lined with framed artwork and certificates. You spot Jeongguk’s name on many of those.

For the next fifteen minutes, you try distracting yourself by flipping through the stack of tattoo magazines on the coffee table. You wince at inked heads, faces, butts, and even… more private parts. Deciding this world is definitely not for you, you slam the book shut.

By the time an hour passes, you’re fighting a battle with your lack of sleep. The third yawn you manage to stifle, but the fourth escapes before you can stop it. Yoongi, seated at the desk, doesn’t bother hiding his unimpressed stare. Still, he’s polite enough to offer you a glass of water, a coffee, or even a chance to join him for a cigarette break.

You decline all of it, though your throat does feel dry.

Maybe you should have planned this with a bit of rationality. Or at least gotten more sleep. Now, your every blink is slower, eyelids batting to shut and taking longer to flutter open again. Hm, this feels nice. You’ll just let them rest for a bit longer. And longer. And a bit more.

The next time you open your eyes, Jeongguk’s face is inches away, his warm hand resting firmly on your arm. You jolt upright with a startled yelp.

“Jeongguk.”

He raises an eyebrow, the corner of his mouth quirking up in an unmistakably mocking smirk. “Hey. You don’t have a bed?”

You sit up, forcing Jeongguk to step back and straighten to his full height. Your neck cranes upward to glare at him, brows furrowed in what you hope is an intimidating glare, though you sport a pout that is all but menacing, “Shut up.”

He clicks his tongue, turning back to round the desk and fiddle with the appointment book, clearly unbothered. You take the moment to rub your eyes—only to remember, too late, that you’d worn makeup. A quick glance around reveals how much has changed since you last let your eyelids flutter open. The lights in the studio are dim, the hallway is dark, and every door is shut. Yoongi is nowhere in sight. It’s just the two of you in the deathly quiet space.

You gasp, pressing a hand to your parted lips, “Did I fall asleep? I'm so sorry. I was probably really tired from yesterday.”

Jeongguk hums, focus still locked on the book in front of him, eyes narrowed. He doesn’t look up, doesn’t ask why you came here in the first place, and doesn’t acknowledge your apology. Ugh. This is humiliating.

Before you can stand, you feel something heavy draped over your body. It’s a jacket. Definitely not yours, since you never took it off. At least not consciously. No, this is a worn black leather one on which his scent lingers. You tug it closer, puzzled, and then look up at him, holding it out. “Did I steal this in my sleep?”

Jeongguk scrunches his nose, “Ew, are you a sleepwalker?” Locking the till, he strolls over to you and plucks the jacket from you, casually slipping it on. “No, I put it on you. Wanted to see how long someone could feel safe enough to pass out in my studio. Thinking of turning this place into a daycare. I’ll have you play in the morning, get some lunch, nap time...”

There’s a beat of silence in which his sarcasm lingers in the air, and you stare at him, unamused. He shrugs, smirk unwavering.

You huff, “I regret coming here.”

“Yeah, why did you come here?”

Smoothing down your pink wool sweater, you stand up to stretch with zero shame. Then, fluttering your lashes at him, you assert with a smile, “You’re coming with me to the Christmas markets. This Sunday.”

Jeongguk groans like the idea physically pains him, “Oh, I would fucking hate that.”

Ignoring him, you zip up your puffer jacket and rock on your toes, “Pick me up at seven, okay?”

He glares, unimpressed at your excitement, before heading toward the entrance and pulling a hefty set of keys from his pocket, “I don’t even remember where you live.”

You hurry after him, following him outside and shuffling closer in your coat at the cold air hitting you. Watching as he locks the door and pulls down the rolling shutter with its red-and-black skull graffiti, you chirp, “You’ll have to text me for that.”

Jeongguk rises up again, giving you a slow once-over. He seems distracted by your hair before snorting, “You’re talking like I’m the one who spent their afternoon napping in my studio just to drop this bomb and leave. Couldn’t you just text me this?”

You shrug innocently. He sighs, reaching out for you, “Do you need a ride hom—”

“Bye!”

You spin on your heel and skip off in the opposite direction before he can let his own greeting out, waving a gloved hand behind you. Jeongguk stays where he is, arm still held out.

Do you even have a car? He hopes so—it’s freezing out.

With another sigh, he shakes his head and tugs his jacket tighter around himself. Why are you so fucking weird?

On the fourteenth day of December, your arm is looped tightly through Jeongguk’s as you stroll through the Christmas markets, burying your face further in your scarf to shield against the icy air, and with each few step you gasp at things that the boy next to you finds utterly unimpressive.

You stop at nearly every stand, eyes glowing with the warm Christmas fairy lights strung all around, effortlessly picking up conversations with the vendors and melting even the most stoic faces with the scrunching of your nose at every grin and the exaggerated nods following descriptions of their crafts.

Through all of it, Jeongguk remains put at your side, his arm linked with yours and a subtle pout on his lips. When you tease him about it, he simply shrugs, and you figure it’s just his natural expression. You find that oddly endearing.

He still humors your enthusiasm, offering low hums or murmured praise whenever you exclaim you’ve finally found what you’ve been searching for everywhere, and he offers to pay every time, the gesture so casual that he doesn’t seem bothered by it in the slightest.

When you bow to the nth seller, clutching yet another bag of sweet treats tightly to your chest, Jeongguk exhales and resumes slow walking beside you, “I don't like these places.”

You glance up at him, fluffy hat almost slipping off before he promptly secures it back on your head with a gesture so smooth you hardly notice it. You instead wonder, “Then why are we here now?”

He slips his hand into his pocket, “Because you threatened me.”

“With a really good time.”

“If this is your version of a good time, you might as well kick me in the balls. That probably feels better.”

You gasp, halting in your tracks to glare at him. When he lets a small chuckle topple out of him, you think you might forgive him. No, you’re more than sure with the way his smile lingers. You sheepishly look away, muttering, “Don’t tempt me, emo boy.”

“I’m not—”

“Oh yes, you are,” you interrupt, snapping your face back to his. Clearing your throat, you prepare your best imitation of him, exaggerating a frown and lowering your voice, “I’m so different, I hate Christmas.”

Jeongguk scoffs, pulling you tighter to him when a scooter unexpectedly zips past you. You yelp, instinctively shuffling closer to his arm. He continues the conversation casually, unaffected, “That’s the worst impression of me I’ve ever heard. And also, I never said that.”

Releasing the breath you held for a moment too long, you uncertainly keep your slow stroll going, only narrowing your orbs at him, “It’s written all over your face.”

“I love Christmas.”

The admission is small, his voice soft and almost reluctant, like it pains him to reveal something so simple and obvious as loving Christmas. When you lean your chin on the puffed arm of his jacket, he doesn’t look down at you, his gaze fixed ahead, guiding the two of you through the chaos of the busy street.

You chirp, your steps stumbling, “Really?

Only then he shifts his attention to you, steadying you with his other arm wrapping around your figure in what seems like a hug, before he lifts you up by the neck of your coat and retreats just enough to face you. His lips press into a straight line as he nods, a flicker of vulnerability in his eyes the more he stares in yours, “Yeah, really. I just don’t like… crowded spaces.”

You can’t help but think back to what happened just a week ago. The exact reason why the spirals in your brain wouldn’t stop twisting and tangling is now slipping from his lips in a voice that quietens as he seems to grasp the delicacy of his own confession.

He doesn’t like the way you’re looking at him. Drawn-up brows over wide and sparkling eyes—the only part of your face visible beneath your scarf—stare at him with something too tender, too focused, that makes him uneasy. He turns his head to the side, the tips of his ears red not only from the cold, and pulls you along toward another stand, an almost nervous distraction.

It’s your turn to frown. Maybe the one that’s permanently plastered on his face tonight isn’t just a reflection of his usual sullen demeanor. With a knot tightening in your chest, you can’t help but feel like you dragged him into something he truly hated, and that he wasn’t just pretending to.

What if this isn’t just your evil inner voice talking? What if this isn’t just overthinking, but the factual truth of your current reality? He’s hating every second of this but still enduring it because— you catch your breath with a long and strained inhale, because—

“Hey, dimples. You okay?”

Jeongguk moves to stand in front of you, his hands settling gently on your shoulders, a stance eerily reminiscent of that night you were just thinking back to. He nods at you, “Breathe with me, hm?”

You find yourself quickly adjusting to his comforting aura, drawn in by the reassurance in his eyes trained on you, never wavering, watching closely as you begin to mirror the measured rise and fall of his chest, your breathing gradually syncing with his until the tightness in your chest starts to ease.

When you feel your feet touching the ground again, you offer a small, apologetic smile. “I’m okay. Sorry. Just…” You quickly scan your surroundings, eyes landing on a colorful stand, “Wait here a second, okay?”

Jeongguk lets you slip away, fingers twitching slightly at his sides. He takes a few hesitant steps closer, careful not to crowd you but unable to tear his eyes away from your next actions, how your grin comes back on your lips with unpracticed ease, lighting up your face as easy talk flows between you and the seller. A few coins trade hands, and soon you’re holding two churros, their chocolate-dipped ends threatening to drip onto the ground.

You don’t hesitate, biting into one of them before it has the chance to make a mess, and with a quick nod of your head you motion for Jeongguk to follow. He does so, only after taking the churros from your hands, and letting you seek his warmth again with an arm snaking under his. He’s only letting you do this because it’s fucking cold, no other reason.

You walk, and walk, guiding him along until you find a quieter corner, away from the bustle, where you two stand isolated from the rest. The dim lighting casts a softer glow, and the distant hum of chatter and music fades into a gentle background noise.

Glancing up at him, you flash a playful smile before leaning in to bite another chunk of the churro he’s holding, your laughter spilling out as he grimaces in exaggerated disgust and pulls the sweet out of your reach. You settle onto a nearby bench, patting the empty spot beside you invitingly.

Jeongguk is unsure of what this means. He takes slow steps towards you, handing you your churro—which you take eagerly, already chewing on it—before tilting his head back in mild confusion, “But… you wanted to visit the markets.”

You shake your head, your bug eyes meeting his as you speak around a mouthful of sugar and chocolate, “There’s no point if you’re not going to enjoy it.”

The look you’re giving him is one he’s seen countless times before—familiar, and annoyingly reminiscent of ten years ago. It’s the same look that, he’s convinced, is solely responsible for making his knees weak and his fingers jittery, no longer something he can blame on the cold. You’re unbelievably frustrating.

He clicks his tongue, looking away, “You’re fucking weird.”

You giggle, humming, “If weird is a synonym for whipped, then sure.”

He has to fight the twitch of his lips. Fakes a gag instead. You chuckle louder. Only then, he hints at a smile, “C’mon. Let’s go check out some other stuff.”

“But—”

He interrupts, pulling you up by your forearm, “I’m hungry.”

The next hour you spend wandering around is made of Jeongguk’s small, imperceptible ways of cracking: his pout less prominent, more replaced by lips pulled into a tight line or in a mildly pursued scowl as you ask him which beanie looks better—the pink or purple one; his so evident sarcasm as he comments on how the old vendor was totally flirting with you, or when he mockingly adds to your over-the-top excitement every time you spot a dog. All in all, he’s more relaxed. More himself.

You then find yourself standing in front of the churros stall from earlier, the warm scent tugging you closer. Without hesitation, you ask the lady behind the counter for another four churros—this time with extra sugar. You add two thank yous.

To fill the waiting, you pick up casual conversation with the woman, until she pauses mid-sentence, wrinkled hand coming to rest over her heart as her gaze flits between you and Jeongguk, her crinkled eyes lighting with a sudden fondness and a quiet, content smile finds its space on her chapped lips, “You two look perfect together.”

Jeongguk snorts, “Oh, we’re not—”

“Thank you, auntie!” You chirp, and your grin is so wide it squeezes your eyes into crescents. You accept the first churro she hands over, biting into it and talking through it, “These are delicious. Is the recipe a secret or can you share it with me?”

The woman laughs, clearly flustered by your energy, and leans in with a conspiratorial expression, though she gives in pretty soon, “It is a secret, but… Oh, c’mon. A pretty lady like you deserves to know.”

You burst into chuckles, joined by auntie’s own rolling and carrying a contrasting warmth to the cold air. Jeongguk, for his part, stands slightly to the side, observing. You still cling to his arm, even as the vendor reaches over to gently smooth her fingers through your curls, complimenting the way they frame your face. You roll your eyes, feigning exasperation, but there’s a dimpled smile stretching on your cheeks that gives you away.

Before you leave, the lady points to Jeongguk, voice growing earnest, “You, handsome. I can see you’re a good guy, so you probably don’t need my advice. But treat her right, yes?”

Jeongguk stills for a second and stumbles over an awkward nod, managing to force a smile that has you stifling a laugh under your scarf. You tug him away with a cheerful wave to your new friend, promising her you’ll come visit again before Christmas.

Once you’re at a safe distance, he mutters, “Why did you not tell her that we’re not together?”

You tilt your head considering his question, “It’s not like she knows us. She looked like she adored you. I didn’t want to ruin that for her. Maybe seeing a young couple like us really means a lot to her.”

Jeongguk observes how the more you explain, the more you’re convincing yourself as much as him, eventually solidifying your reasoning as you nod, muttering some more under your breath. He scoffs, looking away to hide his lips twitching.

When he turns back he’s frowning, though it doesn’t quite match the way he lets you hook arms again, your pastel pink bag hanging from his shoulders. Still, he sulks as though the mere thought of your observation has him shivering, and not with the cold, “We’re not a couple.”

Jeongguk barely gets to let his unnecessarily petty comment out before you drag him with an unusual strength over to another stand, his voice not even touching your ears, “Oh, let’s go over there, Gguk!”

On the twenty-first day or December, you send him a picture of your tattoo.

You had been talking non-stop ever since your… date? Or was it just a hangout? Whatever it was, it’s been a week, and Jeongguk finds himself smiling at a fucking screen too many times a day for his linking. It’s irritating. Even brings his phone with him to the bathroom in case you text him. Not because he cares. No, it’s practical. What if you ever had an emergency and he was the only one who could help?

Most of the time it’s just you sending TikToks, but he clicks on the links with the same urgency he’d reply to a genuine plea for help. He doesn’t really want to think of the reason why.

Now, this picture—it catches Jeongguk off guard.

It doesn’t even look like it’s about the tattoo. Not really. It feels like an excuse, a flimsy pretext for you to show yourself to him. The tattoo—the one he himself inked—is there, yes. But it’s not at all the main focus of the photo that tightens his grip on his phone.

You’re wearing a thin, pink tank top with delicate lace trim, the straps barely clinging to your shoulders. Your fingers hook under the neckline, tugging it down just enough to expose the tattoo nestled between the soft curve of your breasts. The angle of the shot is deliberate, he can tell. Your back arches slightly off what he assumes is your bed, and your face is cropped out, save for your glossed lips, full and slightly parted, catching the dim light.

Jeongguk blinks, hard. Then again. His throat bobs as he swallows thickly, the low light of his phone screen doing little to soften the image burning itself into his mind. His eyes dart upward, scanning his surroundings, just to make sure everything is in place. The shop is empty, the door is closed, the hum of quiet settles over the space.

Looking down, the picture still stares back at him paired with a single message.

Annoying [11:39 p.m.]: do you think it’s healed? idk about this stuff, need your help 🥺

He’s not stupid. He knows exactly what this is. He alternates between the photo and your words, jaw ticking and tightening more with the seconds flowing.

It’s almost cruel, the way you’re testing him like this. He tries to push the feeling down, to reject the buzz of heat pooling low in his stomach. You know him well enough to be aware that he won’t reply to something like this. A stupid, unnecessary message. The tattoo is healed—he told you that a week ago, clear as day. There’s no reason for you to ask again.

What’s the purpose of this?

He gets a distorted idea when he shifts uncomfortably in place, the dull ache tightening his pants almost unbearable now.

Jeongguk groans and locks his phone, tossing it onto the counter as if that will put an end to this. He tries to refocus on his tasks, the last ones before he clocks off. Cleaning needles, tossing used stencils.

But his heavy balls keep sending desperate, silent prayers to his brain, to please let them have this. Just this once.

It’s been a bad day. Two of his appointments canceled last minute, leaving him to sit around bored. The last client showed up drunk and wouldn’t stop trying to flirt with him. His coworkers were loud and distracting, and to top it all off, the heater broke, leaving the studio freezing cold.

It’s been such a bad day.

So, would there be any harm? It’s not like anyone will know. Not you, not his friends. He’s the only one that will. And he’s far more willing to live with this dirty secret rather than with his hard dick straining achingly in its confines.

Jeongguk abruptly snatches up his phone again, unlocking it to the same picture that caused him to brush the device aside just minutes ago. He lets out a shaky breath, thumb hovering over the screen. You won’t get no reply to him. But if you knew what he was up to right now, you would probably geek. Tease him, with your warm smile that digs dimples in your cheek, hopping on your toes to poke at his chest playfully, with those perfectly manicured hands of yours.

“Shit,” his free hand is already pushing the jeans down along with his boxers, and he drops his weight onto the nearest stool as he grips at the base of his thick cock, eyes devouring the image of you in the empty chat.

He doesn’t zoom in. That would feel too shameless. But he finds it oddly better like this. Is it weird that your text, so innocently worded, is turning him on? That the simple idea of you needing his help is enough to have his hips jerking?

What could you possibly need his help for? Fuck. The different ideas that pool his mind have him squeezing harder at his stinging tip.

Jeongguk focuses on your dainty hand, slim pointer finger snaking under the collar of your flimsy shirt to show yourself to him, and your small boobs spill from the sides with a delicious, soft swell. He hisses when he pictures that same hand working on him instead, his warm mouth stuffed with your stiff nipples, visible through the sheer material.

He can’t help the loud groan leaving his lips, wrist flickering up and down in a motion that feels sloppy way too soon, hips jutting up to fuck into his tight fist. Throwing his head back, he sees you even behind closed eyelids.

He pictures your delicate figure sprawled on his bed, long lashes batting up at him as you sheepishly hide with your cheek to your shoulder. Can clearly make out how you’d sit on his lap instead, unsteady breath fanning over his lips, using his long shaft to make yourself cum. The whole time, he sees the tattoo on your chest, the one that is forever on you, eternally a reminder of him.

When he lets his head topple forward again, his bright screen still stares at him, only because a new message pops up in the chat. He startles, and his cock throbs in his hand.

Annoying [11:52 p.m.]: oh, and i miss you.

“Oh, fuck,” the curse is strained through a loud whine, and only followed by more of his full moans filling the room. His brows knit as his hand moves rapidly, palm collecting the precum spreading embarrassingly fast on his tip and rolling it down his length.

He focuses on your parted lips, the soft curve of your breast, your hard nipples begging to be sucked and spit on. Your last text has flashes of your bug-like eyes staring up at him seizing his mind.

That’s what undoes him. He’s delirious as he lets out his every sound, freely, unchecked, not caring about how loud he is, whimpering as he gets closer to his climax. When he thinks of those eyes locking with his, kneeling before him, eager and willing to swallow his every drop, he cums. Hard.

Jeongguk pumps everything he can out of him, and it’s messy—spilling over his hand, staining his clothes, pooling on the floor. His chest heaves with the effort, and the sensation of abandon he feels is so pleasurable, energy drained but leaving him with a lightness that threatens to make his cock hard again.

Fuck. He can’t afford that happening if you’re not the one attending his needs. This won’t be enough, not until it’s you. He’s insatiable.

Jeongguk needs to hear your voice.

It’s an instinct, and he bends to it. He’s careful, making sure not to tap on the FaceTime option, because if you were to see him right now it’d be glaringly obvious.

When he looks to the side, he catches a glimpse of his reflection in the long mirror, and he visibly grimaces at the way his cheeks are flushed, the pearls of sweat coating his forehead causing his bangs to stick uncomfortably to the skin.

Guilty doesn’t even begin to cover it.

With the phone to his ear beeping to eternity, he hesitates, contemplates ending the call before you can answer. But just then, you do.

“Jeongguk! Is everything okay?”

Your voice is familiarly soft, but there’s a trace of concern. Blinking, he brings the device closer again and gulps thickly when he can make out your panting breaths. He clears his throat and puts on his best nonchalant act, “Huh— Yes. Why wouldn’t it be?”

“I don’t know… You just never call. Or text first. This is weird. You sure you’re okay?”

Oh. Is that really what it is like?

Jeongguk never realized this was how he came across—so detached that a simple phone call feels out of character. Your naive honesty hits him square in the chest. God, he needs to get better at this. The irony stings: he just fucking jerked off to your picture and the simple thought of you, while you’re on the other side thinking he’s just a careless piece of shit who doesn’t even know how to call.

The long stretch of silence registers in his brain, and he coughs to buy time, “Yes, I’m sure. I— huh,” he thinks of stuff you usually ask to keep the conversation flowing. Not out of courtesy, but out of genuine interest, the curiosity that makes people want to open up. He’s still not used to that. Still finds it weird.

“How… How was your day?”

It must be equally weird for you because it takes you a longer beat to reply. In that quiet moment, he clenches his eyes shut and feels his jaw tick with shame. And embarrassment. And this icky feeling that makes him feel too mushy for his liking. Hell, what is he doing? He’s never been like this, he’s not supposed to be like this.

But you recover quickly, as you always do, and you smooth over the moment. Fix it all for him like you were born to be just that. Make him feel like he fits in ways that have him exhaling shakily.

Jeongguk senses a foreign drumming in his stomach, and it’s warm but odd, and he loves it but he doesn’t want to.

On the twenty-fifth day of December, cheekily under a mistletoe, Jeongguk realizes he wants you. There’s parts of him that probably knew way sooner. But the parts of him that didn’t, fighting tooth and nail to suppress the mere thought, are just now finally surrendering.

Jeongguk has always found you admirable, back in high school. You had this determination to you. Not only when it came to him. It shone particularly when you catered to others, always finding ways to help, to mend, to offer yourself with nothing less than a fully toothed smile.

But he’s also always thought you two were—and still are—too different to work. He can’t be what you want, let alone what you deserve: someone who can match your enthusiasm and unwavering smiles, your frustrating positivity; someone who sees the world the way you do. No black, no grey, no shades in between. Just bright, hopeful white. Blinding white.

It’s the white making him dizzy, shifting his perspective, having him believing the opposite of what he’s always known. Pushing to be a little more egoistical, deceiving himself that he’s right for you. Because he wants to be. He oh, so selfishly wants people to know he’s the one who finally gets to have you, the one gifted with such a light, unfairly deserving of all the love you carry into every room you walk into.

Just a few days ago, during another one of your increasingly frequent phone calls, you asked him what he was doing for Christmas. He could have lied, come up with something on the spot.

But with how you so easily, and always coax the truth out of him, he let it slip. He told you he’d be alone, words subtly heavy. But they didn’t have the chance to even drop their weight before you were already inviting him to your friend’s party, insisting that he would be the most welcome.

And he’s here, and he sits beside you, and every time you laugh you lean your weight over him, and the room vibrates with the energy you fill it with, and each one of your friends is so enamoured with you, and for reasons he can’t fully understand it fills him with a sense of pride that shouldn’t belong to him. But it does, and it comes with so many other feelings.

You don’t push him to talk. You never force him into the spotlight when he takes a step back, quietly observing, choosing to stay in the background. Because you read him like it’s in your nature to do so, your soul seems to intuitively melt with his, and it intertwines in such a tight knot that he feels it constrict his throat. He knows he’s still alive because his heart is beating, just a little faster with each time you flash your dimples at him.

“Dimples. What are you doing, hm?”

Now, he’s in front of you, a small smile on his lips as you stand on your tiptoes, trying to dangle the mistletoe over both your heads. You’re struggling just a little, your hand unable to reach high enough, and the fake plant awkwardly brushes his hair, the tickling sensation causing his nose to scrunch. You laugh.

Looking up at your swinging movements, you lose your balance for the slightest second. Jeongguk’s hands move instinctively, catching you promptly by the waist to steady your body. But even after that, he doesn’t shift, his warm palms stilling. And when you face him, he’s closer and his chest brushes against yours. From this proximity, he witnesses the Christmas lights painting a galaxy of their own in your orbs.

You beam, “What does it look like? We have to kiss now.”

Jeongguk stares in your expectant eyes, brows wiggling and all. The more his mouth keeps in a straight line, the more the wiggling slows. You eventually come down from your tiptoes, letting the mistletoe fall to the side, tilting your head.

He snorts, looking away briefly to hide an embarrassingly wide grin behind his hand. When he turns back to you, your pout is enough to have him scrambling to meet your gaze.

“On one condition, though.”

You chirp, “Yeah?”

He licks his teeth, reserving you with a smug look, “Admit that you were scared to get your tattoo.”

Your smile vanishes in an instant, your expression falling into mock offense. With a dramatic roll of your eyes, you turn on your heel, pretending to walk away from him. Pretending, only because you know he won’t let you. And you’re proven right when his fingers wrap around your arm, tugging you back with enough force to spin you into him. Suddenly, you’re pressed so close you can feel the heat radiating from him. Your chin nearly touches his chest as you glare up at him, narrowed eyes meeting the mischievous glint in his.

He bites a smile, lips twitching, “C’mon, princess. You wanted to act all tough and shit, but I could feel you shaking.”

Your scoff is loud and incredulous, “You’re such a bitch.”

He only shrugs, “You want my kiss, no?”

“Oh my god,” groaning, it’s your turn to face the side to hide a grin, “Are you always this cocky?”

His chin tilts upward slightly, and you can tell he’s enjoying this, “Say it.”

You whip back around to meet him with a seriousness he hardly ever sees on you, and you even clear your throat, channeling every ounce of the determination he knows you for, every drop of resolve that makes you you. “Yes. I was scared shitless, Jeongguk.”

Foreign excitement brims out of him, not before his eyes widen just a fraction, and his nose scrunches the more he leans closer to you, inches from you, swinging side to side with exaggerated mockery and a grin splitting his face, “See! I knew—hmph.”

There’s no other second to waste.

The condition has been met, and now all the requirements for you to claim what you were promised, your reward, are there. Even more when kissing him means catching him mid-taunt and silencing whatever teasing remark he had ready.

Your lips touch his in effortless ease, breaking the air as they press together. It’s tentative at first, almost uncertain as you feel Jeongguk remain still.

But it doesn’t take him longer to move, mouth molding against yours in a sickeningly sweet hug, tasting each other with quiet curiosity, taking your time to adjust and melt, instructing your bodies to imitate the dance.

Your arms lock around his neck, his stronger and tattooed ones circle your waist, and the way you click together feels so right, almost too perfect, so perfect it scares you. When you arch yourself further into him, even the non-existent space between you unbearable, he accompanies the motion with his wide palms gliding along your back, squeezing you into him, feeling the curve of your hips.

The soft whine that scratches your throat and vibrates against his lips betrays you, along with the useless effort to contain the intensity of what you’re feeling. The emotion disarms you, the sound gasping in your chest, but in Jeongguk’s arms it feels safe to let go.

On Christmas day, you crown a youthful fantasy, the kind you’ll look back to even when you’re older. Jeongguk feels like he’d be the right person to stand by you to do so.

When he reluctantly detaches from you, his face keeps at a safe distance that’d allow him to go back and taste you, not before resting his forehead on yours and whispering, “Merry Christmas.”

You giggle. “Merry Christmas, Gguk.”

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simpingland · 11 months ago

Text

Req: Can you write something with Ewan Mitchell and his co-star (pronounced feminine) where they are on the set of season 2 and how he is surprised by every performances that fem gives (Fem's character is bad and perverse), since since the recordings of season one he was already staring at her surprised by her actings and now with Season 2 he wants to spend more time with her, plus he likes her.

The Rehearsal// Ewan Mitchell x Fem!actress

Summary: Ewan is a method actor and it has been working fine for him. But he regrets this decision when season 2 of HOTD starts with a love scene, being partner with a lovely talented actress who propaply hates him and his mathods. But nothing is better than asking for help when one needs it, right?

|~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~|

Ewan watched from the monitor, patch removed but wig still on, your close-up was impressive. One look at you and you could see all the ambitions that were going through your character's mind, and he himself regretted not having told you yet. The good news was that filming for season two had just begun, and in this new season, Ewan had the opportunity to do scenes only with you.

They shouted cut, and you immediately broke into a smile, laughing after such an intense scene. You received compliments as you were photographed to keep the raccord straight.

"Congratulations, that's a good start," the director said to you. "Remember you have a special sequence tomorrow, get a good rest."

Yes, you remembered. And Tom (who played your brother Aegon) smiled mischievously at you. It was a kissing scene with Ewan, with whom you had barely exchanged a word since the moment you were confirmed as part of the cast, a year and a half ago. You only spoke a little at the audition, which was a chemistry test, and he was a sweet, unassuming guy. When he was announced as the official actor of Aemond... it was something different. You didn't interact in the scenes in the first season, his scenes were shared more with Fabien and Tom, while you had shared scenes with Olivia and Phia (Alicent and Helaena). The chemistry your characters were supposed to have was only hinted by the placement of you both in the scene or montages of shots that you only saw once the series was released. And in the meantime, Ewan had stayed away from all those with whom he didn't share any dialogue, with the excuse of staying focused on his character. Tom had already told you numerous times that Ewan thought you were a fantastic actress, but you always responded the same way.

"If he does, let him tell me so. Then I'll be flattered.”

When the script for the second season came, both of you, in your respective homes, had your hearts skipped a beat. Your character would approach Aemond in the throne room in the middle of the night. And there they not only talk, but share a kiss that promises to go further in the following seasons. Aemond confessed his love for your character, and being that it was a story taken from the world of Game of Thrones, it was sure to end in much more intimate scenes. Normal for actors and comfortable for a cast that was so friendly and close. But with Ewan being so distant and serious? It was difficult. You didn't even dare to call him. Nor did he call you. What you did do was call Tom.

"She hasn't spoken to me once since we started filming. I've seen her look at me sometimes, like she's trying to talk to me but then, before I could say a word, she's gone quiet again. Tom...I don't think I should take being a method actor so seriously," he said to the other actor.

"It amuses me immensely to be the connecting point for both of you. Don't worry, Ewan, she's a sweetheart, and very understanding. She knows that everyone has their own procedure. So if she has respected your method, you should respect hers."

"And what is her procedure?"

"According to Phia, she loves to walk back and forth repeating her lines in a thousand ways."

Right, Ewan saw the video Phia sent around the group so everyone could see how lunatic you looked. And even there, after discovering you were being filmed, you smiled tenderly at Phia asking her to stop. What else would he have missed since you weren't talking?

You had already taken off your wig, your hair was loose and your dress had been off for quite a while. You were waiting to take off your make-up when your trailer was called. You were expecting anyone, happy to have any interaction with the wonderful team around you, but when you saw Ewan, the smile must have dropped a little.

"Sorry if I'm intruding. Is it late?" Ewan asked you as he saw your friendly greeting getting lost in the air.

It wasn't dark yet, and the next day's filming was starting early, so you genuinely didn't know what to say to him.

"Well... I have to finish off some of the lines for tomorrow.’

The lines you had to say with him, and he knew that. But since that wasn't an invitation, Ewan understood instantly and nodded.

"Well, I just wanted to tell you...it's been an awesome first day of shooting for you. It's no wonder you're a fan favorite."

That made you blush.

"Well, that means a lot coming from you."

He smiled sheepishly at you, you were taller than he was, standing on the trailer and he was on the grass a few stairs down. And yet he seemed way too big.

"I promise I'll be on time tomorrow so we'll have plenty of time to rehearse," he said, trying to get out of the strange conversation he had started.

You nodded and watched as he walked away, the patch in his hand and taking off his seatbelts. Did he come with the intention of chatting? My God, you'd had a chance to talk at length with your fellow cast member and you'd wasted it? You needed to go over the scene as much as possible!

"Ewan!" You called out to him, hanging almost on your doorstep, he turned with that agility that is so engaging on screen (and in person). "Are you done for the day?"

"I've got to get out of my costume. But...yes, I'm done."

"Would you mind..." you mumbled in an exaggeratedly loud voice for him to hear. How embarrassing. "Would you mind dropping by again to rehearse?"

Ewan stood still for a second. He watched you from afar, so affectionate and shy, totally contrary to your character, and felt a deep tenderness.

"I'll be back in half an hour," he promised you.

You looked forward to it, and you'd be lying if you didn't say that you'd put your make-up back on a bit. Ewan, on the other hand, was hurrying more than usual to remove his own clothes, forgetting to remove his fake scars in the rush that followed him. He was punctual, and in thirty and a half minutes, he was knocking on your door again.

"I really appreciate you doing this, Ewan," you said as he climbed into your trailer.

"Don't worry, it's going to be fun."

You looked at each other for a second, smiling, kind of gawking, which was nothing like the scene you had to recreate.

"How do you prepare for a scene?" You ask.

"I listen to some music. But I want to try what you do. "

He looked at you expectantly, and you suddenly felt embarrassed. Like the girls at the school function.

"So... I close my eyes, and I create a map where everything looks a little bit like the set."

"And what do we choose to be the throne?" Ewan smiled, which made you blush even more.

"Well... "There was a fully finished teacup, with the inelegantly squeezed bag next to it, dripping. You'd forgotten to clean it up completely. "That cup itself."

Ewan frowned slightly, teasingly, and nodded. The next step for you was harder to explain.

"Now, Ewan, I need some space."

He sat down on your couch, script to one side, the bastard having already memorized it all. And from there he watched live what he'd been craving for months, watching you pace back and forth. You read the annotations and your lines.

"They will never forgive our family for what I did," Ewan replied, intoning in the silky voice he gave Aemond.

"If it's any consolation, I doubt they would be willing to let us live even if we had given them the throne willingly, Aemond..." though you paced, your hands and gestures maintained theatricality, and you repeated the phrase three more times, all with trapped deliberation. "This pantomime of repentance can only convince Mother...but not me."

"What pantomime do you mean?" replied Aemond.

Then your character stopped looking at Aemond to stare at the Throne. In this case you stopped to stare at the ugly teacup. You had to hold back a smile. Ewan looked at it too.

"It's impossible to fool you, it always has been." Ewan got up from the sofa and approached you, as Aemond does with your character. "It is a crude, chaotic and ugly object, but always that which I have desired."

Then the laughter you'd been holding back escaped, unable to think of the mug as anything else. And Ewan laughed with you, all the tension disappearing instantly. Now he could understand the affection with which everyone spoke of you.

"I'm sorry, really," you said, getting serious again. "I'm sorry."

"Don't apologise, this is fun. I'm going to try your method. Shall we close our eyes?"

"That's right."

You closed them at the same time, thinking about the huge room, illuminated by a silver light that simulated the moon. And after a few seconds, Ewan opened his eyes to look at you. Although you didn't have your white hair, or the elegant dress, your eyes were the same, as beautiful and bright as they were behind the cameras. And he had the privilege of being the focus of your attention and having them in the foreground.

"Though I think I was always more subtle with another of my longings..." he whispered close to your lips.

"That you tried at least" you whispered back.

"When I get the throne I'll need someone as sharp as you to accompany me. There is no woman in the seven kingdoms who compares to you."

Then came the kiss. You looked into Ewan's eyes, up his nose and down to his lips. What was there left to throw yourself? Not much, but with him being so reclusive, with that being one of the few times you spoke to each other, it felt strange to pounce on him without consent. So you walked away, leaving the scene there.

"We can work this out with the director and the intimacy coordinator, if you like," Ewan suggested, a little flushed and extremely sweet.

You poured him a cup of tea while you discussed the romance that your characters might have developed over the years that the series skips. You imagined romantic scenes that might have led up to that kiss and concluded that they were a toxic couple, but possibly better than Rhaenyra and Daemon.

"You know, I love the way you act and I love that I discovered your process," he confessed. "I think the admiration part is not going to be too hard to act out."

"Oh...my process is really ridiculous, everyone laughs at me. I'm glad it at least works. But it gives me a hard time at auditions," you laughed nervously.

"Well, it's true that it's fun to watch. But it's certainly worth it. I don't think you have anything to envy the others, you're...magnetic." He said it with a seriousness that moved you, adding to his intense gaze. "I'm sorry I wasn't smart enough to tell you sooner, because I've been thinking about it since the day they put me in the same room you were in, back at the audition.”

You froze a little, so you just said what you felt in the simplest way and with the most honest smile.

"Thank you."

Ewan took the last sip of his tea and before he left you remembered one of the thousand questions you had for him.

"Is there a reason you haven't removed the scar? Something to do with method acting?"

"Scar?"

You touched his cheek, where the scar began, and Ewan understood instantly.

"Ah, gee, I completely forgot to go through makeup. I'll get a telling off tomorrow."

"Not if you sleep on it until tomorrow" you joked. "Let me help you, I love fake wounds."

You stood next to him, towering over him a little, and lifted the thin layer of silicone with the delicacy you had seen in make-up artists. You were envious of the woman who was in charge of characterising a person as curiously attractive as Ewan. He also smelled exaggeratedly good.

When you took it off, you threw it into the creepy teacup from earlier.

"I've almost run out from, the costume department before," he justified himself. You took the opportunity to wipe that part of her face with a makeup remover wipe. "I usually do this part myself..."

"I know, but I like it..."

And while you were stroking his face with the excuse of cleaning it, Ewan was watching your lips, and didn't notice that you had noticed. You pushed the wipe away, stroking his chin, and at the same time, you both pressed your lips together. A strange kiss, something special, sweet and soft. You stretched it out, standing almost still, afraid of what would happen if you broke apart. When you finally did, you looked at each other with a look of confusion, though neither you nor Ewan pulled away.

It was a dangerous idea, he was your partner, and you had been unprofessional. You broke away.

"I think you should rest. I've distracted you too much." Your tone came out agitated and Ewan rose slowly.

"No, it's all right. I liked it. I liked everything. Didn't you?" He had emphasised the word 'everything' and was looking at you with lambent eyes.

"Yes...I loved being with you."

He said goodbye with a smile of his, and you bowed at your door like a little girl. Most of the team had already gone to rest and you barely noticed.

You had to put on more concealer than usual the next day because of the lack of sleep you'd had from that strange kiss. Ewan had kept his promise and had arrived a good while earlier to re-rehearse the scene. You did it without the kiss or the lights, just with the director's instructions and with your cheeks flushed as you exchanged glances.

"Did you practice with the kiss?" the intimacy coordinator asked you.

You were completely silent. Ewan answered for you.

"Not really, maybe it's better to give a first kiss at the moment of the shot. More realism."

"Well, then I guess you've worked out the sexual tension and dynamics of your characters."

Ewan nodded and smiled, which made you smile. Had he put hours of sleep into your little meeting yesterday? Yes, he had, and he told the woman who was putting on his scar who asked him who had removed it the day before. When you returned to the set, lights on, costumes on, cameras rolling, Ewan looked at you in the distance, asking you with his eyes if you were ready. You nodded with a shy smile, and began to act when they shouted action.

Aemond, still dressed and coming from the castle library, walked into the empty throne room to watch you. You walked behind him, in a smart dressing gown, your hair loose and trying uselessly not to make a sound. Aemond then spoke aloud.

"They will never forgive our family for what I did."

You approached Ewan, who still wouldn't look at you.

"If it's any consolation, I doubt they would be willing to let us live even if we had given them the throne willingly, Aemond..." You leaned into him a little, as the director had recommended. He was so tall and so tense that you felt as safe as if you were leaning against a stone pillar. "This pantomime of repentance can only convince Mother...but not me." Then Aemond would look down to see you out of the corner of his eye, which made your character - and you - nervous.

"What pantomime do you mean?"

Then you looked at the throne, now there was no laughter to disturb you, only the terrible seat of swords before you. And Aemond was looking at it too.

"It's impossible to fool you, it always has been. It is a brutish, chaotic, ugly object, but always that which I have desired."

After a pause, he turned fully around to look at you, his height becoming primordial in that short distance. In that low light, Ewan's visible eye looked into your eyes, dropping to your lips subtly.

"Though I think I was always more subtle with another of my longings..." he whispered in his velvety tone.

"That you tried at least" you replied trying to keep your composure. If they knew how hard you were struggling not to fall to your knees at that moment they would have nominated you for an Emmy by now.

"When I get the throne I'll need someone as clever as you to accompany me. There is no woman in the seven kingdoms who compares to you."

He stroked your face gently, something that coming from Ewan was tender and expected, immensely pleasing, but then you remembered that Aemond could never be so gentle in the face of his urges, and you let your own out. You pressed yourself against him, pressing your lips together with all the assurance you had longed for the night before. You could feel Ewan intensify your kiss even more, placing his hand on your neck. All the possible kisses that had been going on in your head during the night were now dwarfed by the kiss that was happening right there. As fierce as your characters, with the longing you had just discovered that you and Ewan had shared for a year and a half.

It was only when they shouted 'cut' that you broke apart, catching your breath and barely breaking away. Some applause, chatter and comments from the team, you could hear little of what they were saying. You pulled away flushed, laughing at the sudden intensity. You looked at the director as Ewan smoothed his jacket.

"Let's look at the shot, I think it was simply perfect, congratulations."

Another round of applause, and you felt Ewan brush your unruly hair out of your face, stroking it as he ruffled your hair.

"What a pity not to have to repeat this scene..." He confessed.

"That's the thing about being so talented," you joked.

"Obviously..." he removed his patch and turned back to you to ask in a quieter voice, "although I'd love to have more private acting classes with you..."

You smiled at the hint.

"I'll give them to you if in exchange you let me remove your fake scars again."

"Deal."

#house of the dragon #house of the dragon fanfiction #aemond targaryen #ewan mitchell #aemond one eye #prince aemond #aemond targaryen x reader #aemond targaryen imagine #hotd x reader #ewan mitchell fanfic #ewan mitchell x reader #celebrities x reader #house of the dragon imagines #hotd #hotd imagine #hotd fanfic #house of the dragon x reader #house of the dragon aemond

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rotting-decepticon · 2 months ago

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MERFORMERS MATING BEHAVIOR

(i may add to this/change things in the future! the au belongs to my friend @muletia ! some merformers don’t have special mating rituals, so if you see one without a courtship ritual, this is why, and they simply court like regular merformers.)

OPTIMUS PRIME (BLUE WHALE/SPERM WHALE)

as a blue whale…

in real life, male blue whales produce complex songs to attract females and establish dominance! this carries onto Optimus himself, making a unique song for his fated mate! as a human, while you may not understand his language nor his intentions, it’s flattering he’d want to sing for you! if you hum/whistle back, expect to be dragged into the water, since you accepted the whales courting song <3

as a sperm whale…

in real life, sperm whale mating involves males competing for females through "jousting" or "sperm whale fencing," where they clash heads to establish dominance, and females may choose the strongest male. Males migrate to warmer waters to breed, but Optimus doesn’t participate in this because he has you <3 he will also fight off any Decepticons or Autobots (he always apologizes to his comrades after) trying to court you until you accept his mating attempts.

RATCHET (SEA LION/WALRUS/CLOWNFISH)

as a sea lion…

in real life, female sea lions initiate courtship and copulation by displaying submissive postures in front of the male, and males are polygamous, mating with more than one female, and maintain territories during the breeding season of May to August, with territorial behavior. merformers however only have one mate, so theirs is a little different. males often fight for territory and protect it, waiting for their mates. usually in their territories are their dens, where they will protect their pups once their mates gives birth, and will protect that den with their lives, especially if they have a mate and pups to protect! if you so happen to be in a submissive posture in front if Ratchet, he may take it as a mating invitation and mount you.

as a walrus…

In real life, adult males make taps, knocks, pulses, and bell sounds underwater to attract females and show superiority. Fighting occur/ between males who “joust” with their tusks, with mating takes place in the water. So for Ratchet, he’ll fight off any other ‘potential mates’ until you accept his mating attempts, where he’ll take you under the water to mate, before taking you to his den.

as a clownfish…

Males attract females through courting behavior characterized by extended fins, biting, and chasing. During spawning, the males become increasingly aggressive. When spawning begins, the male will chase the female to the nest at which time the female will make several passes over the nest until she releases her eggs. In merformers, the female usually passes out after spawning due to exhaustion, where their mate will care for them and the eggs or young (if they give live birth) until they wake up, watching over the eggs/young is shared between parents, one protecting them while the other hunts. For Ratchet, expect him to be following or chasing you around the island and in water, gently nipping and biting at you until you accept his mating attempts!

ARCEE (SEA OTTER)

In real life, Mating is aquatic and often involves violent and prolonged copulations during which the male approaches the female from behind and grasps her face and nose with his teeth, sometimes pulling her head underwater while attempting to subdue her, and will mate with her near taking and on a haulout rock of the female's choosing. So once its mating season, beware of entering the water with Arcee, as she may approach you from behind and begin her mating behavior, even dragging you towards a rock to mate. She’ll make it up to you after, however <3

SMOKESCREEN & BUMBLEBEE (SEALS)

In real life, males initiate true mating behavior by chasing, neck- and flipper-biting, and embracing. When approached, females respond by growling, head-thrusting, and flipper-waving. Copulation usually takes place in the water. For Smokescreen, he may be more or less aggressive, constantly biting, chasing, and embracing you until you accept his advances, with Bumblebee being a bit more gentle since he’s afraid of actually hurting you.

BULKHEAD (MANATEE/SEA TURTLE)

as a manatee…

Mating takes place in the water in a variety of postures. Breeding herds consist of one cow in estrus accompanied by several bulls. An estrus female can be pursued for weeks by several males. The cow often twists and turns violently, apparently to escape her suitors. While Bulkhead isn’t in a breeding herd since almost everyone left the island, during mating season, expect Bulkhead to mate with you as soon as you enter the water, he will apologize after though.

as a sea turtle…

In real life, The male sea turtle climbs onto the female turtle’s back and holds on to her carapace with the long, sharp claws of his front flippers. The way he hooks on to the edge of the female’s shell often results in a scratched shell and bleeding wounds in the soft parts of her body. Copulation can take place on the surface or under water. Because of this, you aren’t safe on land, so be careful! While Bulkhead will try to be gentle with you, it’s hard with his claws.. after mating, he will tend to any wounds he may have left behind.

WHEELJACK (SWORDS-FISH)

In real life, males use their gonopodium to fertilize females, who can store sperm for later use, enabling multiple births from a single mating session. However, since merformers only have one mate for their entire lives, swordsfish merformers will fight for their mates to ward off any potential mates but also as a show of strength, so expect Wheeljack to fight with the others often, to showing off his strength as a potential mate. Please just accept his courtship advances, the poor Autobots already have to fight off the Decepticons they don’t need to deal with a horny and aggressive swordsfish merformer </3

MEGATRON (LEOPARD SEAL/ORCA)

as a leopard seal…

In real life, during mating season, the females and males make long-distance mating calls to each other, and during mating, growl at each other continuously, sometimes the male even bites the other. So be careful humming or whistling too close to Megatron during mating season, as he may think of it as a mating call and you’ll end up being bred by the horny seal.

as a orca/killer whale…

In real life, mating behavior involves both males and females having multiple partners, with mating occurring within stable social groups (pods) and often appearing similar to general play behavior, including chasing, physical contact, and fluke slaps! Since Megatron considers the Decepticons his ‘pod’, expect them to be around most of the mating process, and with Megatron chasing or touching you until you accept his advances!

STARSCREAM (SAILFISH)

In real life, unlike other billfish, sailfish have a unique mating ritual where females attract males by waving their sails above the surface. Spawning occurs with males and females swimming in pairs or with two or three males chasing a single female, male-female pairs form and reproduce through external fertilization, where the female releases her eggs into the water column while the male releases his sperm, which some sailfish may do if they don’t feel like carrying the eggs to term. At first, after ‘courting’ you (aka you just showing off something to Starscream and him mistaking it for courting), Starscream may at first attempt said external fertilization, only to be confused when you don’t produce eggs. Eventually he mates with you regularly after recovering from his embarrassment.

SOUNDWAVE (OCTOPUS/STRINGRAY)

as an octopus…

In real life, when it’s mating time, the male will stand in an arched posture and use a pumping action to maneuver their spermatophore (a along the length of the arm which holds rows of sperm called a spermatophore) down their arm till it lands safely in their hectocotylus (basically the ‘sex arm’, since octopi have no genitals) Their sperm packets travel down their arm about every 15 minutes during an hour-long mating period. Then, a male will mount a female’s mantle in the hopes of making a quick getaway in case she changes her mind while he’s making his sperm deposit. Males must proceed with caution and be tactical in their approach because some female octopuses have cannibalistic tendencies. Because of such, expect Soundwave to be very cautious during mating you, as he also would not want to be eaten, so he will pin you down and restrain you during mating, but will be very gentle as to not cause you harm. After mating however, expect him to be very attentive, at times forcing you to eat if he must. This is because female octopuses usually die after the eggs hatch (in real life female octopuses protect the eggs she lay, but for merformers carey eggs most of the time until they hatch or lay them a week or two before) because she doesn’t eat, and Soundwave doesn’t want you to die! You’re his mate, after all…

as a stingray…

in real life, stingray mating behavior involves males pursuing females, often biting their fins and body, with some bites preceding copulation to maintain contact, and females may flee from persistent males. So if you’re in water, beware of Soundwave, as he will bite and pursue you until you agree to mate.

SHOCKWAVE (JELLYFISH/ANGLERFISH)

as a jellyfish…

In real life, while most jellyfish reproduce by releasing sperm and eggs into the water, some species, like Copula sivickisi, have a more elaborate mating ritual involving a "courtship dance" where the male uses his tentacles to grab a female, drag her around, and then transfer a sperm packet to her, which she then stores in her stomach. When Shockwave realizes you can’t just release eggs like his species can, he’s fine with doing it the ‘regular way’, being careful not to sting you. He’s not embarrassed like Starscream, since he realized more quickly than the other did.

as an anglerfish…

In the bizarre mating ritual of some deep-sea anglerfish species, tiny males latch onto much larger females, often permanently fusing with them, becoming a sexual parasite and relying on the female for nutrients, while providing sperm for fertilization. While Shockwave is.. aware of his species “un logical” way of reproducing, he may have some small, unique traits even if he won’t.. “fuse” with you. For example, if you were to eventually carry the creatures (affectionate) eggs, expect him to latch onto you and be a bit more clingy (in his own ‘cold’ way), and barely leaving your side, only leaving to hunt for food for the both of you.

KNOCKOUT (LIONFISH/"BLUE DRAGON" or Glaucus atlanticus)

as a lionfish…

in real life, lionfish mating involves males initiating courtship by searching for females, resting beside them, and then circling before ascending to the surface with the female, where they release two mucus-coated egg clusters that are then fertilized by the male. Knockout, since he’s more familiar with humans than the other Decepticons, knows this won’t work, so he settles for simply doing it the other way. He will, however, still circle around you anytime you’re in water, both because he’s happy to see you but also to show you’re his mate, not anyone else’s!

as a blue dragon…

Blue dragons, being hermaphroditic sea slugs, require mating with another individual to produce viable eggs, and their mating behavior involves careful navigation to avoid stinging each other, resulting in strings of eggs laid on floating objects. Knockout is very careful not to accidentally poison or sting you while mating, and if you are hurt when mating, he will be quick to tend to you.

#yandere d-16 #optimus prime #earthspark x reader #transformers animated x reader #yandere transformers #transformers #transformers g1 #g1 transformers #transformers idw #transformers megatron #transformers one #transformers optimus #transformers x reader #yandere transformers x reader #merformers #merformers x reader #yandere merformers #yandere merformers x reader

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harrysfolklore · 2 months ago

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i don't like red - lh44

summary: alana hamilton is excited to see her dad racing again. however, she’s not a big fan of his new team’s color wc: 1.3k

read the bestest fist :)

folkie radio: F1 IS BACK BABYYYYY, honestly i love writing dad!lewis and this idea popped in my heard a while ago and i just had to write it ! hope you like this, we all need some comfort about that race

MASTERLIST | MY PATREON

Alana Hamilton is a clever child, with a growing interest in the world her father is part of. At just five years old, she knows with unwavering certainty that her daddy is the best driver in the world. His number is 44, a fact she proudly recites to anyone who'll listen, and he drives a sleek black and teal car that matches his racing suit.

For Alana, race weekends are magical. They mean hanging out with her beloved uncles Toto and Bono, watching Georgie drive alongside her daddy, and sometimes playing with her little friend Jack.

The paddock has become a second home, its sights, sounds, and faces as familiar to her as her own bedroom. So when the first race of the 2025 season arrives and you lead her towards a different part of the paddock than she's used to, confusion clouds her bright eyes.

The sea of red before her is a stark contrast to the silver and teal she expects, and Alana's little hand tightens in yours as she looks up at you, confusion clear on her face.

"Mommy, where are we going?" Alana asks, her voice tinged with uncertainty. "Daddy's garage is the other way." She points towards the familiar Mercedes area, her brow furrowed in confusion.

You squeeze her hand gently, trying to find the right words to explain. "Remember how we talked about Daddy driving for a new team this year? We're going to his new garage."

As you finally approach the Ferrari garage, Alana is even more confused when she fails to spot any familiar faces, "Mommy where is Uncle Toto and Uncle Bono? And Georgie? Is Carmen here? I want her to paint my nails like last time."

Before you can reply to Alana's barrage of questions, a familiar voice calls out, "There's my little champion!"

Alana's head whips around, her face lighting up as she spots Lewis. "Daddy!" she exclaims, breaking free from your hand and running towards him. Lewis scoops her up, planting a kiss on her cheek.

Alana giggles, but then pulled back, her tiny hands on either side of Lewis's face as she examines him seriously. "Daddy, why are you wearing red? Did you spill pasta sauce on your racing pajamas?"

Lewis chuckles, exchanging an amused glance with you. "No, sweetheart. Remember how we talked about Daddy driving for a new team? This is my new team's color."

"But I like the silver car," Alana's lower lip transforms into a pout. "Can't you paint this one silver?"

"I'm afraid not, princess," Lewis says gently. "But you know what? Red is a very fast color. And look," he points to his race suit, "my number 44 is still here. Some things don't change."

"But I don't like red," Alana insists, "I like silver."

Lewis put Alana down, crouching down at her level, "I know it's a big change, sweetheart," Lewis says softly. "But sometimes change can be exciting. Want to see the new car? It might be even faster than the old one."

Before Alana can respond, Charles Leclerc approaches, a warm smile on his face. He crouches down next to Lewis, bringing himself to Alana's eye level.

"Hello there!" Charles says cheerfully. "You must be Alana. I'm Charles, your dad's new teammate. It's so nice to finally meet you!"

Alana regards Charles with curiosity, but there's still confusion in her eyes. She looks back at Lewis, then to Charles, and then around the garage again.

"Do you know where Georgie is?" she asks Charles, her voice small but determined. "My daddy always drives with Georgie."

Charles' smile softens with understanding. "George is still with the other team, Alana. But I'm here to be your dad's new teammate. Maybe we could be friends too?"

Alana doesn't respond immediately, her gaze drifting back to the unfamiliar red surroundings. "I don't like red," she repeats, more to herself than anyone else.

Sensing the need for a distraction, Charles' face lights up with an idea. "Hey Alana, would you like to meet my dog, Leo? He's here in the garage and loves making new friends."

At the mention of a dog, Alana's eyes widen with interest. "A doggy? Here?"

"Yes! He's very friendly. Would you like to play with him?" he asks, "My girlfriend Alex is here as well, and I bet she'd love to meet you. She said your dress is so pretty."

Alana's interest seems piqued by this,"Really? She likes my dress?"

Charles nods enthusiastically. "Oh yes, she thinks it's beautiful. She'd like to be your friend too. What do you say?"

Alana looks up at you and Lewis, seeking permission. You nod encouragingly, relief washing over you at seeing a spark of happiness in her eyes.

"Go ahead, sweetheart," you say. "Just remember to be gentle with Leo, okay?"

As Charles leads Alana to meet his dog, you feel Lewis' arm slip around your waist. You lean into him, both watching as Alana's giggles begin to fill the air.

"That was... more dramatic than I expected," Lewis murmurs, his voice a mix of relief and lingering concern.

You turn to face him, reaching up to straighten the collar of his race suit. "She's just used to everyone at Mercedes," you reassure him. "She knows them since she was born, it's a big switch but she'll adapt."

Lewis smiles, his eyes softening as he watches Alana play with the dog. "You're right," he kisses your temple softly. "She's smart, just like her mom."

"And stubborn, just like her dad."

Your moment is interrupted by the sound of Alana's delighted laughter. You both turn to see her on the ground, giggling as Leo licks her face. Charles and Alexandra kneeling beside her and engaging with her.

A few minutes later, Alana runs back to you and Lewis, her eyes sparkling with excitement. "Mommy, Daddy! I love Leo, he's so fluffy! And Charles is funny, he does silly faces. And Alexandra's dress is so pretty, it has flowers all over it!"

You can't help but smile at her enthusiasm. "That sounds wonderful, sweetheart."

"They're my new friends!" she pauses, her expression becoming slightly more serious. "But can I still say hi to Uncle Toto and Uncle Bono and Georgie later? I miss them."

Lewis smiles at her fondly, touched by the way the team that was a huge part of his life, was a huge part of his little girl's too.

Lewis kneels down, pulling Alana into a hug. "Of course you can, princess. They're still our friends, even if we're on different teams now. And guess what? You'll make even more new friends here too."

"Okay, Daddy," Alana nods, her smile returning. "I don't like red, but I like your new friends."

The adults laugh, making Alana giggle too. Through the day, Alana's initial hesitation about the new team begins to fade as she spends more time in the Ferrari garage. She becomes fascinated by the bustling activity and the shiny red cars. Lewis takes her on a tour, explaining the different parts of the car and introducing her to the mechanics and engineers.

Alana is fascinated to see her dad race again, her eyes wide as she sees the red car fly in the circuit, even when she insists that she doesn't quite like the red.

After the race, you and Lewis hold each of Alana's hands as you walk through the paddock, you spot Toto, Bono, and George near the Mercedes garage and Alana's eyes light up, she tugs on Lewis' hand.

"Daddy, look! It's Uncle Toto and Uncle Bono and Georgie! Can we say hi? Please, please, please?"

Lewis chuckles and nods, leading her over to his former team members. They greet each other warmly, with Alana receiving plenty of hugs and hair ruffles.

"Well, well," Toto says with a grin, crouching down to Alana's level. "If it isn't our favorite Hamilton!"

Alana giggles, but then her face turns serious. "Uncle Toto, I have a very important question."

"Oh? And what's that, sweetheart?"

Alana leans in close, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "Do you think we can paint Daddy's new car silver when no one's looking? I don't like red."

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verstappenverse · 6 months ago

Text

The Price of the Podium

Pairing: Max Verstappen x Reader

Summary: In the relentless pursuit of racing glory, Max faces the emotional fallout of missing an important weekend in his relationship, leaving your future uncertain.

1.5k words / Part 2 / Masterlist

Max's heart raced as the engine of his RedBull roared beneath him. The familiar hum had become a source of comfort, a steady rhythm that guided him through countless laps and countless victories. But today it felt different, a harbinger of an approaching storm that threatened to dismantle everything he held dear.

The season had been merciless. Each race had been a relentless pursuit of perfection, each lap a battle against time and competitors. Max understood that this world demanded sacrifices, but lately the weight of those sacrifices had changed.

When Max glanced at his phone during a fleeting moment of respite his stomach dropped as a surge of guilt swept over him. A string of missed calls and urgent messages from you filled the screen, each one more desperate than the last.

Hey, can you please call me when you get a chance? I need to talk to you.

Max, you’re really starting to worry me. I don’t understand what's going on?

It’s been three days since we spoke properly. Can you at least let me know you’re okay?

Max’s gaze fell on the calendar, he had promised again to visit your extended family this weekend, a significant step for you both that had been previously filled with excitement and anticipation. Your family were eager to meet him, and Max had been looking forward to it as well. But now with the punishing schedule of the season, he was struggling to find even a moment to breathe, let alone make the trip.

He knew he was being a coward, but it was easier to avoid the situation than confront it directly and risk letting down the person who mattered most.

As Max approached the racetrack for another testing session, the weight of his choices hit him like a sledgehammer. He was about to miss an important milestone in your life together and he didn't think you'd be so forgiving this time.

His mind was full of conflicting emotions. He wanted to be there for you, to prove to your family that he was serious about your relationship, but the world of racing had a way of consuming everything in its path leaving no room for personal commitments.

The testing session was a blur. Max’s driving was flawless, but his thoughts were elsewhere. The track blurred into an endless ribbon of asphalt. He pushed himself to the limit, hoping that the adrenaline would drown out the guilt gnawing at his conscience.

Finally, the session ended. Max’s team were in high spirits celebrating the improved performance. He barely registered their enthusiasm, his mind was occupied with the image of you waiting for him in a small town, wondering why he had not shown up. He could picture you there, waiting for him, checking the clock, wondering if he’d even bothered to leave. And it wasn’t just about this weekend, it was about every missed call, every text he hadn’t answered, every promise he’d let slide.

The moment Max stepped out of the car he took a deep breath and pulled out his phone. He dialed your number hoping against hope that you would answer. After a few rings your voice came through the line tinged with weariness and frustration.

“Max?”

“Hey, I’m so sorry. I know I’ve been out of touch.”

“Out of touch? You’ve been completely absent! I was supposed to introduce you to my family this weekend. It was important to me.”

“I know. I wanted to be there, but things just got out of hand here. I’ve been trying to make time, but…”

“But what Max? You keep saying you’re trying, but you’re never here. There's always an excuse.”

“I’m really sorry, I’ve been working so hard this season...I thought I could make it work, I just…”

“You know what? I don’t want to hear more excuses right now. You’ve missed something important to me again, and it hurts. I needed you here, and you weren’t.”

The silence on the other end of the line was heavy, almost unbearable. Max could feel the pain that you were struggling to mask, like a knife twisting in his gut. It cut him deeper than any criticism he’d ever faced on the track.

“Please. I know I messed up, I’ll make it up to you, I swear.”

“Make it up to me? I don’t even know if that’s possible anymore. This wasn’t like the other times when you just forgot or lost track of time; you made the choice not to come. I’ve tried to be understanding—I know how hard this season has been, and I know how much time and dedication it takes. I never wanted to undermine that. But I don’t know how much longer we can do this. I get it, you have to make tough choices sometimes, and I’ve done my best to support you, to step back and let you focus on your goals. But it’s happening too often now, and it feels like every time, you’re choosing this…this life over us. Over me. Every single time.”

Max’s throat tightened. He wanted to argue, to explain more, but he also knew that he couldn't keep making excuses for his absence, and he couldn’t bear to hurt you anymore. He’d run out of explanations, out of promises he knew he couldn’t keep. He wanted to say something, anything to fix it, but he could hear the finality in your voice. You’d reached a breaking point, one he’d seen coming but had been too afraid to acknowledge.

“I don’t know what to say,” he finally whispered, the words feeling hollow even as he spoke them.

The silence stretched on.

“I understand if you need space.” he murmured, barely able to get the words out, blinking back tears.

Your voice was barely a whisper throat locking up, it felt like he was giving up. Was this even worth fighting for if he wasn't?

Then, in a voice so small it broke his heart all over again, you whispered,“You’re right. Maybe space is what we need right now.'

The line went dead, leaving Max alone in the garage. The celebration of the session’s success felt hollow. The echoes of the track still rang in his ears mingling with the ache of your absence.

In the days that followed Max tried to bury himself in the upcoming races, hoping that the endless rush would drown out the regret gnawing at him. He avoided reaching out to you honouring your request for space. Each day felt like an endless rotation of driving, media commitments, and sleepless nights. The thrill of racing was overshadowed by the growing distance between you and him.

You had always been patient and understanding of the demands of Max’s career. You had supported him through the highs and lows, celebrating his victories and comforting him through the losses, but it hadn’t been enough. Each missed call and unanswered message chipped away at your resolve. You couldn’t keep repeating the same cycles and expecting a different result. The weekend you had planned for Max to meet your family was meant to be a milestone, a step toward a future together. Instead, it felt like a crushing disappointment.

You replayed the conversations you had with Max in your mind, trying to reconcile the man you loved with the absence he had become. You had pictured this weekend as a chance for Max to understand the importance of your family, to see the life you had outside of his world. The hurt and frustration you felt were compounded by a growing sense of doubt—doubt that maybe this life of constant motion had created a rift too wide to bridge.

You needed time to process the hurt, to focus on yourself and figure out where to go from here. The support you had hoped for seemed distant and unreliable, and the future you had envisioned together felt uncertain.

Loving him had been a beautiful dream, but you knew it was time, you hesitated just a moment before hitting send.

Max,

I need you to know that I’m not angry anymore. I’m just… tired. I need to focus on myself right now.

Max read the message over and over, his hands trembling. The message was brief and seemingly final. The reality of your words sank in, there was no dramatic declarations, no harsh accusations, just a simple statement of exhaustion, a quiet resignation that tore through him. He wanted to call, to beg you to come back, but he knew it was too late.

As the season drew to a close, Max stood on the podium, the roar of the crowd a distant echo, his gaze searching as if somehow he’d see you there. The trophy was in his hands, but it didn't feel like he had expected. He looked out over the crowd searching for a sense of fulfilment that seemed to elude him, it all felt like ashes without you beside him.

Max only thought of you as he stood amidst the celebrations, and he couldn’t shake the feeling that in the pursuit of his dreams he had sacrificed something far more precious, and wondered if there was a path back to what he had lost.

#max verstappen #max verstappen x reader #f1 x reader #f1 #max verstappen fanfic #max verstappen imagine #max verstappen masterlist #max verstappen x you #f1 imagine #max verstappen one shot #max verstappen fic #max verstappen angst

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reiding-writing · 7 months ago

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hi!! huge congrats on 2k!

I was wondering if I could get a workshop session?

I was thinking early seasons (1 or early 2) spencer who is experiencing extreme jealousy over reader (maybe an ex of hers comes back, or there's someone hitting on her) and he's super confused on why he's feeling like this and goes to someone (likely morgan) is like man. what is wrong with me.

and morgan's like hey. let me touch your hand when I say this. (& is more serious than normal because he knows how powerful of any emotion extreme jealousy can be).

WRONG SUITOR — SPENCER REID!

spencer doesn’t understand why he hates it when you smile at other guys.

spencer reid x reader | fluff | 0.9k | event masterlist.

main masterlist.

a/n — obliviously jealous spencer is the best spencer

Spencer couldn’t shake the feeling.

It gnawed at him, deep and unfamiliar, every time he glanced over at you.

You were standing near the coffee machine, laughing at something James, a colleague from the field office, had said.

The way you leaned in, smiling, just seemed to prod at something raw in Spencer. His hands fidgeted with the book he wasn’t reading, his mind racing far too fast to keep up.

Jealousy.

That’s what it was, wasn’t it? But why? He wasn’t dating you or anything.

You were just... friends.

Sure, he cared about you, more than he would admit, even to himself, but this wasn’t supposed to happen. Not to him. Not like this.

He watched James’ hand brush your arm, the way you genuinely seemed to enjoy being in his presence and listening to what he had to say, and something inside Spencer tightened.

His breath hitched, heart thudding painfully in his chest.

What was he feeling? Why did it physically hurt? He’d read about jealousy, studied it, even profiled it countless times. But to feel it so intensely terrified him.

It was something that happened to other people, something he’d see from the outside. He wasn’t supposed to feel it himself.

He wasn’t supposed to sit there at his desk like an idiot and think about the fact that you’d never smiled that brightly in his direction or laughed genuinely at one of his dumb science ‘jokes’.

He wasn’t supposed to imagine a sinkhole that swallowed James whole so he’d never have to see you look at him ever again.

He didn’t like it at all.

With his mind spiralling, he pushed away from his desk and made a proverbial beeline for Morgan’s.

He felt a different type of jealousy at how relaxed Morgan seemed—eyes glued to a case file with a pen between his teeth—but his head lifted when Spencer approached, his brows furrowing in concern.

"Hey, pretty boy, what’s up? Why do you look like that?" Morgan tilted his head at the sudden approach, casually leaning back in his chair. Spencer just sighed.

He didn’t know how to start, how to explain his thought process without sounding like an absolute creep or just plain psychotic. He ran a hand through his hair, the discomfort clear in his posture.

"I... I don’t understand what’s wrong with me," Spencer said finally, the frustration spilling into his voice as he glances over in your direction. "Every time I see her with someone else, it’s like—I don’t know—this... this knot in my chest, and I can’t focus. I’ve never felt this before, and I’m not sure why it’s happening now."

Morgan’s eyes followed Spencer’s, expression softening instantly as he caught sight of you. There were sparks of amusement in his eyes, but he knew this wasn’t a time for teasing. He beckoned Spencer a little closer with his hand, letting it rest on his shoulder and giving him a look more serious than Spencer expected.

“Reid…” Morgan sighs like Spencer’s blind, like he’s trying to figure out how to let the news break easily.

“I’m jealous, I know,” Spencer rips off the bandaid for him.

"Hey, man," Morgan presses his lips together sympathetically. "It happens,”

“But why am I jealous-? I don’t—” Spencer cuts himself off frustratedly.

“It's because you care about her, Reid. More than just as a friend.” He paused, watching the realisation flicker across Spencer’s face.

"But—" Spencer stammered, his mind racing. "I don’t—I mean, I’ve never thought about—"

Morgan smiled softly but didn’t let it go. “You have, man. You just didn’t recognize it before now. And that’s okay. But you need to face it, or it’ll eat at you.”

Spencer blinked, his mind whirling, trying to process everything Morgan was saying. Was that it? He had feelings for you? Feelings he had been too blind, or too afraid, to admit?

Morgan squeezed his hand against Spencer’s shoulder with an exasperated sigh. “You gotta figure this out, man. Don’t let it fester. If you care about her, really care, talk to her. Trust me.”

Spencer nodded, but his thoughts were still a mess.

Honestly, he wasn’t expecting Morgan to even take him seriously, let alone offer him genuine advice instead of making fun of him for his apparently glaringly obvious crush on you.

It must be bad.

Spencer glanced over at you again, and this time, instead of just jealousy and frustration, he felt something clearer. Something deeper.

Maybe Morgan was right.

Maybe it was time to stop running from it.

Maybe, it was time to tell you.

#𝜗𝜚 book fayre。#spencer reid x reader #spencer reid #criminal minds #criminal minds x reader #mgg #spencer reid fluff #criminal minds fluff

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deramin2 · 7 months ago

Text

A Quick Guide To Getting Caught Up On Critical Role Fast

This guide is for people who want the fastest way official to get caught up on all 3 Critical Role campaigns without seeing the full actual play episodes. They're all made so that the AP will still be enjoyable later even if you know what happens. There's no "right" way to get into the series, and already having an idea of what happens can even help make the APs more enjoyable and easier to understand.

Summary:

The Legend of Vox Machina

Crit Recap Animated

Exandria: An Intimate History

Critical Role Abridged

Guide:

Campaign 1:

The Legend of Vox Machina on Amazon Prime is the animated adaptation of C1 by the same creators. Sam Riegel said the creative approach is this was the version in a later play. All the important bits are there, but they get to those moments differently.

The Legend of Vox Machina has 3 seasons out now that cover events up through at least episode 85. A 4th season is in the works and will probably cover the final arc.

Campaign 2:

An animated adaptation for Amazon Prime called "Mighty Nein" is in the works, but not out yet.

Crit Role Animated is an older comedic summary series presented by their Lore Keeper that covers the whole campaign in 10 videos. Great if you want the gist.

It's like a history crash course history video meant to get you curious to learn the full story later. Great way to get a sense of who people are and what they've done. Available on YouTube and their streaming platform Beacon.

Exandrian History Review:

Exandria: An Intimate History is a timeline review of key events in world history, starting from the creation.

It was released before Campaign 3 as bonus content. It represents what the average person in Exandria knows about world history up to that point.

youtube

Campaign 3:

Critical Role Abridged is the Campaign 3 AP condensed down into 1 to 1.5 hours. It mostly cuts down combat to the narrated results and reduces table chatter and indecisiveness. It's a great way to experience the full campaign.

Critical Role Abridged is coming out 1 a week at a time on YouTube and 2 a week on Beacon. YouTube is currently up to episode 25. Beacon is up to episode 47. The AP is at episode 109. At some point you'll have to switch to full episodes to catch up.

Wiki:

There's also 2 world-class wikis where's you can look up extensive and meticulously cited information about anything you need. I prefer The Encyclopedia Exandria.

Viewing Notes:

An important thing to know about "continuity" in Critical Role is that it takes a more realistic view of how history is passed down through the ages and even dedicated academics will never know the full story or be fully correct. They know versions colored by in-world biases and lost knowledge.

Which is great for you the viewer because any campaign you comes into, the characters don't know most of what happened in past games. What they actually know will come up in game. The players have above table reactions and some subtle in jokes, but try not to act on meta knowledge.

It's structured a lot like reading one history book and then wanting to go back and read more about past events that set the stage for all those things to happen. They've tried to make it easier to come into the story happening now.

I certainly enjoyed watching the full APs from the beginning, and I think you can get a deeper understanding of the story from them, but it takes thousands of hours to catch up on the story that way and it isn't realistic for everyone. Each series builds on the consequences of past events more than they rely on unexpected twists, so already knowing what happens just helps you notice all the little things that led to them. Similar to how Shakespeare's plays are often more enjoyable to watch unfold if you already know the basic plot points going into them.

Happy viewing, and I hope this helps you or someone you know get into this very rich and interesting story!

#critical role #critical role meta #critical role campaign 1 #the legend of vox machina #critical role campaign 2 #critical role campaign 3 #Youtube

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d-targaryenshoe · 1 year ago

Text

Once and Forever - Anthony Bridgerton

Word count: 1332

Summary: Not everything is meant to be seen as a duty when one feels different, am i right?

The ballroom of the Bridgerton household was abuzz with activity, as the crème de la crème of society gathered to celebrate the impending union of you and the beloved Anthony Bridgerton.

You were praised as the most enigmatic beauty of the season, your arrival at the ton had been nothing short of legendary.

Rumors swirled of your heritage, your tragic past, and the scandalous circumstances that had brought you to England.

Now, as you took your place at Anthony's side, your every move was scrutinized, your every word analyzed, and every touch felt like a spark igniting a blaze.

Despite your outward appearance of calm, Anthony could feel his heart racing as he looked into your eyes.

He'd never been so torn between his duty and his desires.

On the one hand, he knew that this marriage was the only way to ruin the 'rake' rumors, on the other, he couldn't help but feel an undeniable attraction to you.

He longed to tell you how beautiful you were, how your laughter filled the halls of the house, how your presence lit up the room like the sun on a summer's day.

But he didn't know how.

You, for your part, could feel the tension emanating from Anthony.

You'd thought him arrogant and dismissive at first, but as the night wore on, you found yourself growing more and more confused.

His eyes seemed to bore into your skin as if he were trying to see past your facade and understand the real you.

You wished he would say something, anything, that would put you at ease.

But you knew that your marriage was about more than just your feelings, it was about duty and obligation.

And so, you smiled and laughed and tried your best to fit into the world he'd built for himself.

Yet, you thought that the most thoughtful thing to do was to distance yourself from heartache and a whirlwind of emotions.

And so you did.

You spent your days in solitude, trying to find comfort in the familiarity of your rooms.

The servants, who had once treated you with such admiration and awe, now ignored your presence, as if you were nothing more than another piece of furniture.

You found yourself missing the sound of laughter and music that once filled the halls of the house, but you knew that it was better this way.

Anthony, on the other hand, was a different story.

He seemed to be everywhere you went, always watching you, always studying you.

It was unnerving, to say the least. You wondered if he was trying to find some fault in you, some reason why you shouldn't be together.

Perhaps he was looking for a way out of your arranged marriage.

The thought brought a twinge of sadness to your heart, for you had begun to hope that perhaps, in time, you might find some sort of happiness together.

The servants, too, seemed to be more attentive to him than ever before.

They hovered around him like a cloud of gossipmongers, whispering and giggling whenever he was near.

You couldn't help but feel a stab of jealousy. You wanted to be the one who made him smile, the one who made him forget about everything else.

But you knew that it was not to be. Your marriage was about duty and obligation, nothing more.

One day, as you were wandering the gardens alone, lost in your thoughts, you heard footsteps approaching.

You looked up to see Anthony walking towards you.

His expression was solemn, his eyes filled with a mixture of sadness and longing.

For a moment, you couldn't breathe. You'd never seen him look at you like that before.

"Y/n," he began, his voice gruff with emotion.

"I... I wanted to apologize for my behavior. For treating you the way I have. I know that I haven't made it easy for you to adjust to life here, and for that, I am truly sorry." He paused, taking a deep breath before continuing.

"I want you to know that I did not choose this arrangement lightly. I did it because I believed it was the best thing for my family, and for my siblings who look up to me. I thought it was my duty to protect them."

You looked up at him, your heart racing. His words were like balm to your wounded soul.

"I understand that, Anthony," you said softly.

"And I appreciate your apology. I want you to know that I didn't come here under false pretenses. I know what our marriage is about, and I accept that."

He studied your face for a moment as if searching for some sign of deception.

"You're not just saying that?" he asked, his voice hoarse. "You truly accept it?"

You nodded, your heart swelling with a mixture of affection and understanding.

"Yes, I do. And I want you to know that I'm not angry with you. I understand why you did what you did, and I respect that."

Anthony took a step closer, his eyes never leaving yours.

"I... I wish things could be different. That we could be different." He hesitated as if searching for the right words. "I want to try, y/n. I want to make this work between us."

"At which moment has there ever been an, us, Anthony?"

His features twisted in thought as if he were trying to understand your words.

"I don't know," he admitted softly.

"Perhaps there never was. Perhaps we were always meant to be pawns in a game greater than ourselves. But... I want to try. I want to see if there's something more between us. Something real."

You felt your heart skip a beat at his words.

You wanted to believe him, to trust that he was sincere. But you couldn't help but feel a sense of caution.

"Anthony, I... I appreciate what you're saying. But I don't want to hurt you, or your family."

He took another step closer, his expression solemn.

"Y/n, I understand that. Yet, I want you to know that I will always put your happiness first. Above everything else."

His voice cracked slightly on the last word, and for a moment, you stood there in silence, the weight of your words hanging between you both.

And that was the very exact moment that you decided to do something very unexpected.

You stepped forward, closing the distance between you both, and tentatively placed your hand against his chest.

He looked down at you, his eyes wide with surprise, as if he couldn't quite believe what was happening.

You smiled up at him, feeling a warmth spread through your body that you hadn't experienced in a very long time.

"Anthony," you breathed, "I... is this a smart thing to do?"

He smiled down at you, his eyes softening.

"I don't know, y/n. But I do know that I've never felt this way about anyone before. And I think... I think I want to find out where this leads us."

As if emboldened by his words, you leaned in closer, your lips meeting his in a gentle kiss.

His hands came up to cradle your face, his thumbs brushing against your cheeks as he deepened the kiss.

It was a tentative, exploratory kiss, a first step into uncharted territory.

You could feel the heat from his body, the strength in his embrace, and for a moment, you forgot about everything else.

You pulled away from the kiss, breathing heavily, your face flushed.

He looked into your eyes, searching for some sign of what you were feeling.

You reached up and traced your fingers along his jawline. "I know," you whispered, your voice shaking slightly. "I want to find out as well."

He smiled down at you, a genuine, heartfelt smile that lit up his entire face.

"Me too," he said, his voice barely more than a whisper. "Me too."

#bridgerton fanfiction #bridgerton netflix #colin bridgerton x reader #benedict bridgerton #anthony bridgerton #eloise bridgerton #colin bridgerton #benedict bridgerton x reader #bridgerton x reader #bridgerton #anthony bridgerton x you #anthony bridgerton x reader #anthony x reader #benedict bridgerton x y/n #benedict bridgerton fanfiction #benedict bridgerton fanfic #benedict x y/n #benedict bridgerton x you

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roxineedstosleep · 1 year ago

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Could you do a snippet for yandere platonic Batfam where reader accidentally gets hurt and is able to hide it for a few days until someone (May be Dick?) finds it and asks / gets upset about it? Love your writing!!! ♥️♥️♥️♥️

Hi there!!!

First of all: Thank you sweetie!

It's been a while since I've written, mostly because of the university, I'm about to graduate and I'm crazy because I'm approaching my final exams (I even have to defend my research work to be able to get my bachelor's degree)!

But, I got to thinking a bit about what you have written above… and even more so because I myself am a little bit crashed after my last film shoot for my final year of my degree. And can I just say that being in a bad way and having to hide it is terrible.

So… here goes!

(I'm sorry if I sound a bit comical in this writing, but I think the best way to get over something is to laugh at yourself a bit so you don't think about the pain too much; I hope you enjoy it anyway.)

Disclaimer: I don't know if you've noticed, but English is not my native/mother tongue. Occasionally, when I think too much, I write them in my language and then translate it in a trusted translator. So, if there's a grammatical problem or a strange term, it's the translator's fault.

Let's face it… having a large family is terribly exhausting.

It's never quiet enough, everyone is in everyone else's business, you can't leave your favorite mermelade in the fridge for less than a day. Someone is always occupying the bathroom or using your favorite shampoo or watching something on TV at too much volume and someone is probably occupying your bed at nap time.

Did I mention about meddling too much in other people's business? Yes? Well… triple it.

Having multiple siblings was new.

Having multiple siblings, a father and a butler/grandfather isn't exactly bread and butter either.

It wouldn't be so bad to belong to a large and numerous one if it was your blood family and you had lived with them all your life. I mean, sometimes blood is too thick and you have no choice but to learn to love them or just be nice to each other.

Like I said, it wouldn't be so bad if they were really your family.

But the Waynes were not your family. Not distant relatives or anything like that.

You were just living your life, as quietly as possible… and poof!

New room, new butler/grandfather, pets beyond belief, 4 new male siblings and a father with serious emotional constipation issues. And, to add more salt to your wound…. all have serious abandonment issues and death-related trauma.

After several escape attempts, sleep strikes, hunger strikes and any other kind of protest that an anarchist could be proud of… you realized that it was simply impossible to get out of this without risking the path of death.

Which, to top it all off, was also unreliable because apparently your older brother Jason had revived as well as another of your siblings. So no, dying was also not a viable option to which one could resort in the worst case scenario.

What to do?

Well, not much. Trying not to die of suffocation of affection or finding a way to have privacy while going to the bathroom just seemed to be the best survival tools you could resort to.

What does that entail?

It implies that Tim was going to give you hours and hours of lectures on his latest discovery of a case, even if you don't understand half the things he's told you or mentioned at all.

Richard and Damian trying to teach you new tricks almost every second, taking you to the Zoo or not leaving you alone to go to the bathroom.

That Jason, oh holy cow he is the only one more relaxed, takes you with him on his motorcycle to eat ice cream and to the public library. Without being able to scape, because it seems that you have a kind of GPS inserted in the bone marrow.

(Sometimes you don't know if it's true or not, but sometimes you also felt pain between your bones, almost during the cold seasons, and you didn't want to burst your poor little head thinking of different viable possibilities knowing them. No scars, no remembering anythins about any surgery).

Have a grandfather who will not hesitate to make you cookies, your favorite foods whenever you want … without leaving you aside at any time.

Plus a terribly quiet father, who if he can will carry you for as long as you spend time together, won't let you near the secret basement and enjoys being in the same room with you.

Do you see any privacy in this?

No, because even at the bathroom door would be the pets trying to get in and see you for themselves while you want to do your business.

The worst of that? Titus always judge you when you close the curtains.

As I mentioned and it was clear: Having a large family implies little privacy… Having a large, obsessive family means NO privacy.

So, knowing that you have over 50 nanochips tracking in all your clothes, two security monitors embedded - God knows how - in your body (monitors that only tell you if you are in designated safe place), 20 high definition surveillance cameras in every room and a Great Dane chasing you like a chick …. How the heck do you fall down the stairs and hit your pelvic bone without anyone noticing?

No kidding, how?

And if you had to blame someone for your fall… you'd totally blame Damian for it.

It's not that the kid pushed you down the stairs, but over time he had tamed himself into various things and relaxed into looking his age. You know!!! He started acting like a normal teenager!

What do Damian's kids do at his age? Well, they leave things lying around and have messing around them when they can, of course they do!

You just wanted some yogurt with orange marmalade. Maybe some oatmeal cookies. Alfred had left it for you in the fridge when he noticed you'd been watching video tutorials on homemade marmalade for hours. Who were you to deny such a gesture of generosity?

I mean, Alfred was the one who allowed you to hide in the attic for hours on end so you could have some time to yourself.

And how did it end? You, slipping down the main stairs of the old Wayne mansion, down a nicely polished wooden staircase, rolling all the way down (which is no small flight of stairs, it should be noted) to the bottom of the first floor.

Now, lying on the ground is not so bad in itself. What is bad is not being able to feel your legs and still not being able to understand how you manage to tidy up your neural wiring so that your legs can still move on their own and go to the kitchen to rescue all the delicacies Alfred left you in time.

And it's a good thing you managed to do it… because within seconds Bart had rushed in to ransack the fridge and the fruit basket.

But that's not the point.

The important thing is that this time you managed, I insist a little on the feat of action, to climb up to your room and not notice how you couldn't really feel your legs.

You ate, you lay down… and to your bad or good luck, you couldn't get up …. and without anyone noticing there was an emergency and everyone went out to sort it out.

Weak limbs, limited movement and you don't want to mention the embarrassing actions you did in order to go to the toilet.

It's not like you hid it either, I mean, there was no one who could even notice because they weren't entirely available to watch you. Nor is it that you would have run away, otherwise they would have been at your side in less than a second.

The detail, as they insist, is that you had probably bruised your back badly and your body was now taxing you extra for your food craving.

I insist, you did not hide anything.

But still, when you're found completely itchy on the floor, ridiculously trying to run away in the direction of the bathroom… that's when everyone really goes crazy.

First, having to carry you and not dying of embarrassment when you notice that Bruce definitely doesn't give a damn about having to carry you to the bathroom and do almost everything for you.

Or having Dick and Jason carry you and fit you into some kind of weird medical scanner they have in the cave.

Or that Tim keeps track of your periods, types of meds you take and, for fuck's sake, knows how the fuck to inject something into your spine.

Or that Damian had the gall to look a little embarrassed when he heard that a pair of boxers lying outside the laundry basket was to blame for all this.

NO matter.

At the end of the day they heal you, pamper you, leave you alone when you need to take a nap and figure out a way to fix it without looking like complete maniacs who built some kind of internal plumbing that sucks up the dirty laundry and throws it straight into the washing machine.

Like the time they didn't look like maniacs by sanding all the edges of the tables and nightstands.

Or the time they bought a whole brand of sanitary towels when they realised that not all women use tampons.

Don't worry, they're looking out for you… even if they look like deranged Arkhan freaks in the process.

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melatonindeficient · 3 months ago

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i just hate how Mel and Jayce never actually broke up.

Like if they did, I would probably (not really but whatever) be less salty about the way their paths diverged. Their last conversation had an hollowness to it, as if in making Jayce's character arc about saving Viktor rather than him trying to be a truly good leader (subtle shade at how I wish there was a greater focus on the Piltover-Zaun conflict) they forgot about about the fact that he also had other relationships (I'm also referring to how it felt like he didn't speak to much of anyone this season (and yes I'm aware this is partially due to him being in a hole for half the season, I'm referring to the rest of it)). Just because their lives were going in different directions and they were changing didn't mean they didn't have love binding them (I mean that was literally the premise of jayvik, and vi and jinx).

When they first saw each other again, they were two people who had undergone immense amounts of trauma over the course of a very short period of time—that conversation was never going to go very well. And as much as I hated the way he spoke to Mel at first, Jayce's reaction to seeing her makes sense; I mean, he saw Salo, who wasn't particularly likeable, and took him out just because the voices said so. Plus, in addition to his head splitting in two, his best friend had just walked away from him and used Hextech—Jayce's lifelong dream and reason for living—for an immoral cause. If Viktor could betray him, who was to say that Mel—his lover, yes, but also a tactical politician—wasn't also playing some long game?

We see his sense return to him during their passenger conversation, but his uncharacteristic bluntness makes it almost seem like he was severing their relationship, but I think that's a crazy thing to assume when he was preoccupied with a rapidly approaching battle, and one in which he'd have to attempt to kill his best friend (again! And this time in a more stable state of mind where he'd actually be able to register it!).

Now for my glorious queen Mel; she doesn't seem to have much of a say in any of this. She spends years in control pulling the strings of Piltovan politics, only to have all of her control seized from her in an instant. Then she comes home and her boyfriend—this one unchangeable force in her life, this one person she likely thought would remain the same—had changed. They never even get a chance to understand each other, and unlike the majority of the conversations Mel has, she doesn't have the upper hand or even a level playing field.

(personal opinion leaking through here because whyyy why could they not have just one more soft scene before she lost everything and he got absorbed into the freaking cosmos)

Anyway, Mel doesn't just let things happen to her, and it's not like the Black Rose just took that trait away from her (which is established because she could've taken her mother's betrayal and done nothing, but rather chooses to fight for the city she chose rather than the one that molded her). So the way that their last conversations went makes it seem like either she'd been expecting them to break up (which she deadass had no reason to) or they were both holding on to a hope that that conversation was just unfinished, and they could scream and yell and comfort and console when they weren't facing an imminent threat.

It's unfinished. It's empty.

Obviously I would've loved to see them together and happy forever and ever amen, but if they had to split i wish they'd actually split. Some angst or something instead of that empty ass fucking conversation.

#does this even make sense #meljay #jayce talis #mel medarda #goldenforge #this scene HEAVILY fueled the hate part of my love-hate relationship with jayvik #i needed to get this out of my system #arcane s2 #midnight yap

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f1daydreamers · 10 months ago

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𝐁𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐁𝐚𝐫𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐫𝐬 [𝐓𝐀𝟔𝟔] 𝐏𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝟑

gif credits: @trenty

Pairing: Trent Alexander-Arnold x Fem!Reader

Summary: Arne, in hopes to focus on his team’s mental health as much as their physical, recruits a younger but just as educated psychologist to work one-to-one with the more reserved players. Trent is one of them.

A/N: Check out the masterlist for the first two parts if you haven’t read them already! Also, thank you so much for the kind comments on my posts, they mean more to me than you’ll ever know!

Warnings: this one’s a bit more fluffy, still a very reserved Trent tho

Word Count: 1.9k words (7 mins reading avg)

…

The first match to kickstart the club’s season was undeniably close.

The pressure had been mounting palpably in the last few weeks, evident in the increasingly focused, sharper, and heavier training sessions.

You didn’t have a personal experience with them, more so the ones that Conor had been complaining about.

But despite being unable to travel to the US, you’d personally assumed that preseason had been a success.

You’d caught highlights when they dropped and heard murmurs of staff satisfaction with certain performances circulating around the centre.

You hadn’t been able to get many sessions in though, only a touch few with Conor, as he was your top priority given his age.

He’d done remarkably well the previous season under Jurgen when top performances were needed, but working on his mental stability was always a key factor and one of extreme importance.

"Congrats," you smiled warmly as the Irishman approached, his own smile mirroring yours. You acknowledged his successful time in America.

“You must be feeling great,” you remarked, smiling gently.

His dimples were evident as he nodded, a sense of fulfilment telling in his stance. “Yeah, yeah. It was good, enjoyed it proper.”

You let him continue on, giving brief welcomes and some hugs to the players as they piled in one by one within the hour before their training began.

You felt a pang of frustration as Trent walked directly past you, refusing to even meet your eyes as he acknowledged only a few of the staff who were standing off to the side.

Dismissing it, you turned your attention to Wataru as he approached next.

You needed to focus on the players who were working with you. It was crucial, especially as the season was fast-approaching.

Or so you kept telling yourself.

“Y/N,” you glanced back, a smile forming as you spotted Arne trying to catch your attention.

“How are you doing?” He asked as you fell into step with him, continuing to walk down the corridor towards the gym where he was headed.

“Good, yeah. You?” You kept it short and sweet, fully aware that he was a busy man.

“Doing okay. About your request you sent before preseason,” Arne continued, prompting both of you to stop and face each other, a hopeful anticipation in the air.

“It’s fine with me and Lee doesn’t have any issues with it. But, if there is no improvement, then the sessions will need to resume as planned. Okay?” He nodded affirmatively.

“Yes, of course. I-I understand. Thank you.” You replied gratefully, your appreciation evident as he patted your shoulder before leaving you.

…

The city was buzzing with activity as match day quickly approached. Red flares blazing around the city, shirts and scarves already adorned the day before.

The players were being put through their paces in the final training session before the big game. Having an hour free in the mornings after your request was approved meant you could utilise it in a different way.

You observed the session from the sidelines, making mental notes of the players' demeanours and interactions. Trent was, as usual, intensely focused. Every movement, every touch of the ball deliberate.

After the session had concluded for the day, you made your way to the changing rooms. Some were discussing tactics, sharing jokes, and some were lost in their thoughts, mentally preparing.

You approached Conor, who was pulling his boots off his feet, and sat beside him.

"Ready for tomorrow?"

He looked up, his shoulders slumping. "Yeah, I think so. Just need to stay focused."

"Remember what we talked about," you reminded him gently. "Always be ready, visualise your game, see yourself succeeding."

Conor nodded, a small smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. He raised his fist, and you met it with a bump. "Thanks, Y/N. It helps, you know."

A wave of relief washed over you. Reminding yourself that you were doing a good job was one thing, but hearing it from someone you always tried to help was another.

"I'm glad," you said, giving his shoulder a reassuring squeeze.

Upon hearing Arne clasp his hands together, forcing everyone to quiet down and hear the gaffer out, you silently gave Curtis and Wataru a nod before slipping out of the room.

As you turned, you nearly collided with Trent. He tutted, sidestepping in order to slide past you and into the changing rooms. You'd hoped that once he was informed of your approved request, he'd be slightly less frowny.

But seemingly, the opposite was happening.

…

You had just finished Curtis' report when a knock on your door interrupted your thoughts. Mustering a tired smile, you called out, "come in."

Lee popped his head through the door, and you rose from your chair. "Hey, everything okay?"

He entered the office, closing the door behind him but not completely. With his hands raised in mock surrender, he said, "yeah, yeah, all good. I just uh wanted to ask if you caught Trent." "I thought you approved my request?" you asked, eyebrows furrowing in confusion. "I did," he confirmed, stepping forward. "But I saw Trent hanging around your office just after training." "What? Why?" you asked, bewildered. You tried to think back to earlier, but all you remembered was that you were definitely not in your office. "He didn't say. Didn't seem happy, though." Lee shoved his hands into his pockets, shifting his weight on to either feet. "Not much difference there, then." You sighed, placing your hands on your hips. "I'm confused. If he knew about the request, why would he show up?" You asked, and the senior consultant shrugged, crossing his arms over his chest. You both thought about it for a moment until Lee spoke again, "are you sure Arne let him know?" Your head tilted, mouth slightly parting as realisation dawned on you.

Oh.

"I'm pretty sure Arne didn't because you were meant to," you said, trying to keep your tone casual despite the frustration creeping in.

The first session Trent had supposedly shown up for, you weren't even there. Suddenly, his avoidance of you after you'd exited the changing rooms made a lot more sense. He must’ve just come down from your office. "I was?" Lee asked, clearly taken aback. You let your head fall back in exhaustion but slowly nodded moments later. Shuffling through the papers on your desk, you found the one you needed and handed it to Lee. He scanned over the text, before he looked up again.

“Y/N, I feel terrible. I can go find him." Remorse painted itself across his features.

"It's okay," you replied. "It's better if he hears it from me." You aimed to justify poorly.

Because you had a very successful track record of not pissing Trent off, obviously.

...

Later in the day, you found yourself back in the canteen, grabbing a quick coffee.

It was well past noon, but with the mountain of reports you needed to write about the players' psychological states before tomorrow, caffeine was your only ally.

Trent walked in, looking for a snack. Being on the bottom of his 'I don't want to talk to you' list every day meant the outcome of your conversations with him were quite forseeable.

Deciding to address the elephant in the room, you walked up and pushed all doubts to the back of your mind. You reached out and touched his arm to get his attention, and he reacted immediately.

He turned to face you, and you lowered your hand slowly.

“Can we talk for a second?” you asked, trying to sound as casual as possible.

His jaw hardened. “I'm busy.”

"I promise it won't take long." You countered.

"Considering I don't care about your promises, that don’t mean shit to me." He's on a roll with the irony, you thought to yourself.

You glanced at a sympathetic Carol who was standing on the other side of the serving station.

"Please?" You blinked slowly, praying to the powers that be to instill some patience in the man.

He picked up a bag of trail mix, before watching your face for a few seconds. You were half-expecting him to tell you to eat shit, but you were wrong.

An unusually pleasant surprise.

You nodded to a quieter corner and led the way, with him following behind before you whisked around.

"I'm so sorry." You fiddled with the cup of coffee in your hand.

Past his hardened anger, you'd felt bad for him. The courage to have shown up only to be let down isn't a feeling that would've altered his perception of you.

"I don't care." His gaze bore into yours, unyielding.

You frowned slightly. "I do. I told you I'd keep trying to reach you and-"

"What's your point?"

His eyes travelled down to your fidgeting fingers before dragging back up to your face. He sighed, clearly bored.

"Lee was meant to tell you," you paused, gathering your words. His eyes narrowed.

A flush of guilt coloured your cheeks. "I put in a request before preseason to cancel our sessions together."

You looked up, trying to gauge his reaction. The crease between his brows was prominent. "It was approved, and Lee was supposed to tell you, but he must've forgotten."

It hurt to let someone down. As a chronic people-pleaser, this likely frustrated you way more than it did Trent.

He leaned against the wall behind him, bringing one knee up. He crossed his arms but his eyes lightened. "So, you're telling me that..."

He paused to pop an almond into his mouth. "You admitted defeat?"

Either he was smirking, or you were being incredibly delusional.

You shook your head. "No, I never gave up on you. I thought maybe you needed a different approach." Explaining your previous actions felt pathetically awkward.

His lips pressed together. "Or maybe you just couldn’t handle it."

You rolled your eyes, your features still guilt-ridden. "Does that make you happy or something?"

His eyes roved over your features, and for a moment, his expression softened.

"Oh, you have no idea, psychologist."

You swallowed, feeling a flutter of surprise. Your eyes widened slightly, the gentleness in his features unexpected.

Just then, Curtis walked by and caught the tail end of your conversation. “Are you two flirting or fighting?” He teased, winking at his Scouse counterpart.

Your expression didn't change, but Trent looked over, staring at him. “Can’t you tell the difference, mate? Your missus must have a hard time putting up with you.” He remarked a little too quickly.

Curtis' mouth fell open as some of the players snickered at the exchange. To your surprise, Trent let out a genuine laugh - an unfamiliar sound that retained your attention.

He pushed off the wall and ambled over, casually draping an arm over his friend's shoulder.

On another day, maybe you would've joined into the jokes that were being thrown around but you were oddly rendered silent.

His almost playful disposition was a complete contrast to the tension that had clouded your interactions since the day you'd met.

It was almost as if he genuinely believed he was rid of you, and this moment of levity was his way of signalling relief.

You took a deep breath.

The casual banter, although lighthearted, felt jarring. Without another word, you walked out of the canteen, the enigma of his sudden change nagging at you.

As you exited, Trent’s gaze followed you, his eyes tracing your retreating figure. He seemed poised to follow you, a sign of a subtle, perhaps unconscious shift in his stance.

His eyes lingered on your departing form, as if grappling with an unspoken urge to either see where you were going or say something to you, though he wasn't quite sure what.

Yet only as he started to move, Curtis' voice cut through the moment. "Oi, where you off to?" Trent shook his head, a half-smile still playing on his lips as he rejoined the group.

Oddly, his attention remained fixed on the door for just a bit longer, as if expecting you to turn back around, before he fully immersed himself back into the conversation.

…

Part 4

Masterlist

Comment below if you want to be part of the taglist! Once you are part of it, you'll be reminded for every part of the series until its completion!

Taglist: @trentwife @bluebreadenthusiast @julovesurmom @blubsberries @remmysthings @heyjudeb @keepitabuckxx @vivi-grace @hoddystark @hiireadstuff @trentione @missusstark @iamasimpingh0e

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umlewis · 2 months ago

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lewis hamilton is interviewed during the press conference on media day, australia - march 13, 2025 (transcript under the cut)

Interviewer: "Lewis, can I start with you? The switch to Ferrari has been huge news all winter. Can I ask you about your first race vibes? How different is the experience here in Melbourne now, compared to when you joined Mercedes in 2013; even when you joined McLaren back in 2007?" Lewis: "Good afternoon, everyone. It's good to see everybody. Yeah, naturally it's… I'm very, very fortunate I've had this amazing career in Formula 1, and starting with McLaren here in 2007 was an epic feeling, and then starting with a new team again with Mercedes was, again, incredibly special. I think this is very reminiscent, probably, of my first year. I think for all those years I've gone up and down the paddock looking and seeing the red garage, and now I'm actually in the red garage, so it's a real nice feeling." Interviewer: "Quick word on the car? Is it one that inspires confidence?" Lewis: "Yeah, so far I definitely feel so. The first few days we've had in running, obviously three days in the car, but difficult to know where we stand with everyone else. But we just try to keep our heads down and just focus on our job. Carlos was incredibly quick, Kimi was really quick. It was difficult to know who's where. Looks like it's going to be close between us all. But for me, I've been just itching to get going, I guess. It's been a long time coming, and to think that this is gonna be my first grand prix… One of those other firsts with the team. As I experience that all through the year, it's pretty… I feel very honored and very grateful to have the opportunity."

[time jump] Journalist: "David Croft, Sky Sports F1. Kimi, Lewis, Carlos, great to see you back again. Lewis, you're smiling and you're in red, and it just kind of looks good and it feels good, I'm sure. But every Ferrari driver feels the expectation and the pressure. How are you turning that pressure into pleasure? 'Cause you look like you're loving every second." Lewis: "Yeah, I mean, firstly I'm smiling just 'cause looking at this youngster here, you know, and just happy for him. He's doing so well and conducting himself so well. And taking that first leap and getting that first opportunity to be in Formula 1, it's so, so special, and I know how many years of dedication it would have taken for him to… Obviously he's starting four years earlier than I was. You're eighteen now, huh?" Antonelli: "Yeah." [laughs] Lewis: [laughs] "Yeah, jeez. So [laughs] it's just exciting to see, so that's what I was initially smiling at. And then the other part is, yeah, I don't… I've not approached this role with… I think just, always through the years, the pressure that I've put on myself has always been ten times higher than any other pressure that can be put upon me, and I think I've not joined this team and been made to feel any pressure. I have an expectation for myself; I know what I can bring, I know I can deliver, I know what it's gonna take to do that, and it's just getting your head down and working away. So I come with a very open mind, coming into this weekend. It is about getting into a season, it's about getting into a good rhythm. As I said a while ago, still learning this new car that's quite a lot different to what I've driven for all of my previous career, in the sense of the Mercedes power. Coming to Ferrari power, it's something quite new. Different vibration, different feel, differernt way of working. The whole team works completely differently. I was just sitting, looking at the race trace from last year, and it's upside down compared to [laughs] the previous ones. I'm, like, looking at it from what I've…" Sainz: [unintelligible] Lewis: "Same for you?" Sainz: "Yeah, I don't understand…" Lewis: "Don't understand it at all. I'm like… [laughs] So you're looking at things all in from a different perspective, which makes it exciting and challenging, so… This is the most exciting period of my life, and so I'm really just enjoying it and I'm so excited to get in the car tomorrow."

[time jump] Lewis: "I completely forgot what the question was." Interviewer: "What are your objectives for this season?" Lewis: "Yeah, well, I think… I mean, Carlos was answering it pretty well, so I was kind of following him, thinking he's taking all the words out of my mouth, really. I think, as he was saying, joining a new team, the sooner you can get to performing at the high level and getting results, the better, but inevitably there is a transition period and there is a foundation that's needed to be built. And I'm sure both of us, that's what we've been doing over the past couple of months. And the first half of the season really is kind of… It is that foundation building; those relationshpis, the trust you're building with absolutely every single person within the team that you get to work in. And it's not something you just step into the door and trust and respect is… Whilst respect is given, trust is something that's built over time. I think, for me, of course I mean the goal is to win and the goal is to take the team forwards. I've had some not so spectacular years, and trying to see if I can have a better year than I have the last three. And yeah, there'll be lots of factors which can add to that."

[time jump] Journalist: "More or less, this question is to Lewis: After a lot of attention and expectation that have been created in these days around you and the team, after this weekend, you will be happy if…?" Lewis: "Huh?" Sainz: [unintelliglble] Lewis: [laughs] "Yeah, it'll definitely help to be in the top ten. [laughs, reporters laughing] Well, I mean… I don't remember where I finished here last time. You guys won it. I don't think it was that great." Sainz: "You didn't win." Lewis: "No, I didn't win. You won. I know, you won. [laughs] Yeah, what would I be happy with coming away this weekend? I don't know. As I said, I don't have expectations. I just ultimately wanna come away knowing that I've given it absolutely everything and I've excelled in the way that I know I can, that I felt comfortable in the car, and just one foot in front of the other. So I don't know what that means in results, but of course we won't know 'til tomorrow whereabouts we truly stand within the top teams, but I'm hoping that we're able to compete for the top five, so [laughs] somewhere in that space."

#lewis hamilton #f1 #formula 1 #australian gp 2025 #fic ref #fic ref 2025 #australia #australia 2025 #australia 2025 thursday #kimi antonelli #carlos sainz

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deathmetalunicorn1 · 5 months ago

Note

I've been wanting to make a request since i discovered your blog! I really love how you write the characters in general!

I wanted to request headcanons of nikola tesla, hades and thor with a s/o that is like fluttershy! Like a very shy and introverted person who is very sweet and an magnet to animals with their gentle aura, in nikola tesla part reader is a nurse and with hades and thor is a minor goddess of nature.

I hope it dosent bothers you! If you don't want to make this request just tell me i understand!

Have a great day!

I haven’t watched all of it, but I have seen season one, so I at least know this character now and I will try my best with this. I will admit Fluttershy is one of my favorites, but my favorite is Applejack!

-You were a minor forest goddess, one that many knew of but not many spoke to, mainly because you were painfully shy, preferring the company of your animals to the company of others.

-There were a few that you would converse with on a regular basis, like Brunnhilde and the other Valkyries, and Zerofuku liked to come and visit you, mainly because you felt calm and safe for him to be around.

-You were very peaceful and preferred to talk things out rather than fighting, you hated violence with a passion and the thought of it always scared you.

-Many of the other gods and the human warriors respected this, not fighting in the forest you called home. Many of them were like Zerofuku, using your quiet and peaceful forest as a place to relax and enjoy a quiet place.

-That’s where you met (Love), after he was told to go and relax somewhere quiet and Brunnhilde suggested your forest. He had never met you before, but he had heard of you from others, how you were a gentle and kind goddess.

-When he saw you in the distance, surrounded by baby bunnies, he went to approach, to greet you as this was your domain. He wasn’t prepared, however, when he stepped on a branch, it sent not only the bunnies, but you as well, scrambling away in fear.

-This led to him unintentionally scaring you even more as he went after you, trying to tell you that he meant no harm. All you saw was this unknown man chasing after you, telling you to stop, which of course scared you more.

-It was about twenty minutes later when he finally ‘caught’ you, finding you up a tall tree, looking terrified of him, but he spoke up to you, “Thank you for stopping. I wanted to speak to you, my name is (Love).”

-It took a few tries for him to hear your name, as you were very soft spoken, but once he heard your name, he smiled, seeing that you looked a bit nervous, “Y/N? That’s a pretty name!”

-He threw you off, taking a seat below the tree you were in, and talked to you about your forest, commenting on the different wildlife he had seen, relaxing with you. It wasn’t like his (lab/office/training grounds), it was quiet but refreshing.

-You knew that this was a powerful man, in his own way, as you did know him, but it was a little strange to see him being so calm, just talking to you about your forest and the creatures in your forest.

-You remained in your tree, but you sat up on the branch, looking down at him and you did talk to him, your voice soft and gentle, almost a little hesitant, but he was happy that you were speaking with him.

-(Love) became a frequent visitor to your forest, and you grew used to him being around, not hiding in trees and sitting a little closer when he would speak with you.

-You enjoyed his company as he was respectful to you, never trying to demand anything of you, like going somewhere else with him, and he wasn’t violent or cruel to your animals.

-(Love) grew to enjoy your company as well, seeing what a kind and gentle person you were after you opened a bit more to him, growing more comfortable with him.

-(Love) was surprised by you one day, after he fell asleep after a rough couple of days dealing with his own issues, when he woke up to his head on your lap, humming quietly as you put flowers in his hair, letting him relax.

-You were so kind and gentle and when you realized he was awake you turned bright red, freezing as you squeaked, panicking as you thought he was going to be mad, but he surprised you by taking the flower you were holding in your hand and putting it behind your ear, smiling softly up at you.

-You covered your face with your hands, unable to handle the romantic gesture, but remained still and silent as (Love) enjoyed the quiet moment with you, trying not to laugh at you. You were so cute.

#record of ragnarok #ror x reader

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estapa-edwards · 11 months ago

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hughes sister who plays for the rnagers and falls in love with matt especially as she sees hwo sweet he is off the ice and hate how the media makes him look like an ass. matt who quickly falls for her, he stays with her when he gets called up to the rangers

ALWAYS - M. REMPE

paring: Matt Rempe x reader

word count: 2k

requested? yes

warnings: use of y/n.

*¨¨* ≈☆≈ *¨¨*:·..·:*¨¨* ≈☆≈ *¨¨*:·..·:*¨¨* ≈☆≈ *¨¨*:·..·:*¨¨* ≈☆≈ *¨¨*:·..·:*¨¨*

Y/N Hughes had always been the odd one out in her family. Her brothers, Jack, Quinn, and Luke, were all renowned hockey players, carving their names in the NHL history books. Y/N, on the other hand, was also a hockey player, but she was making waves in her own right as one of the few women in the sport to play in the NHL, proudly representing the New York Rangers.

Her journey hadn’t been easy, facing skepticism and doubt at every turn. But Y/N had her brothers' unwavering support and her own determination to prove the doubters wrong. And so, she had become a formidable presence on the ice, known for her agility and sharp instincts.

Yet, even in the bustling world of professional hockey, fate had a way of introducing unexpected twists.

Her latest task was scouting new talent, and that’s how she found herself at a Hartford Wolf Pack game, keeping an eye on Matt Rempe.

Matt was known for his size and physicality, a giant on the ice with a reputation to match. The media often painted him as the enforcer, someone who used his fists more than his skills. But as Y/N watched him play, she saw something different. His movements were calculated, his plays strategic. He had a grace that belied his imposing figure.

After the game, Y/N decided to introduce herself. She found Matt in the locker room, his tall frame hunched over as he unlaced his skates. She took a deep breath and approached him.

“Hey, Matt. Great game out there,” she said with a warm smile.

Matt looked up, slightly surprised. “Y/N Hughes, what are you doing here?”

“I wanted to come down and check out your game. You were impressive.”

He shook her hand, his grip firm but not overwhelming. “Nice to meet you. I didn’t know you were with the Rangers now. How are Quinn, Jack, and Luke?”

“They're doing great. Busy with their own seasons,” Y/N said. “But let's talk about you. I’ve been watching your progress and I think you’ve got a lot more to offer than what the media shows.”

Matt’s smile widened slightly, a mixture of surprise and gratitude. “Thanks. It’s frustrating sometimes, being seen only as the enforcer.”

“I can imagine,” Y/N said. “But from what I saw tonight, you’re a lot more than that. You’ve got some serious skills out there.”

“Appreciate that, really,” Matt replied. “It’s nice to hear.”

--- --- ---

Y/N and Matt kept in touch after that initial meeting. They talked about everything: hockey, life, their families. Y/N found herself looking forward to their conversations, intrigued by the man behind the tough exterior. Matt, too, found himself drawn to Y/N’s intelligence and kindness.

One evening, after a particularly grueling game, Matt invited Y/N out for coffee. They sat in a cozy corner of a small café, the warmth and aroma of freshly brewed coffee surrounding them. The bustling noise of the city outside was a stark contrast to the intimate bubble they had created.

“I hate how the media portrays you,” Y/N admitted, stirring her coffee absentmindedly. “They make you out to be this brute, but you’re so much more than that.”

Matt sighed, leaning back in his chair, his eyes focused on the steam rising from his cup. “It’s frustrating, but I try not to let it get to me. I know who I am, and the people who matter know too.”

Y/N looked at him, her eyes reflecting empathy and understanding. “It’s just unfair. They don’t see the person I see. The one who’s thoughtful and strategic on the ice, and kind off it.”

Matt's gaze softened as he looked at her. “You really see all that?”

“I do,” Y/N said, her voice firm but gentle. “You’re an amazing player and an even more amazing person.”

Matt reached across the table, taking her hand in his. The touch was warm, grounding. “And I think you’re pretty amazing too, Y/N. You’ve accomplished so much, breaking barriers and proving everyone wrong.”

A soft blush crept up Y/N’s cheeks. “It hasn’t been easy, but it’s worth it. And having people like you who believe in me makes it all the better.”

Matt smiled, his thumb gently brushing over her knuckles. “You make it sound so simple, but I know it’s not. You’re strong, Y/N. Stronger than most people I know.”

They sat in comfortable silence for a moment, the connection between them growing stronger with each passing second. The café around them buzzed with life, but it felt like they were the only two people in the world.

“What’s your favorite part of playing in the NHL?” Matt asked, breaking the silence.

Y/N thought for a moment, her eyes distant. “Honestly, it’s the feeling of belonging. Growing up, I always felt like I had to prove myself, even to my own family. But now, when I step on the ice, I know I’m exactly where I’m supposed to be. It’s empowering.”

Matt nodded, understanding completely. “I get that. For me, it’s the camaraderie. The team becomes your family. And even though the media focuses on the rough side of the game, there’s so much more to it. The friendships, the trust, the mutual respect.”

Y/N smiled, squeezing his hand. “That’s what I love about you, Matt. You see the bigger picture. You’re not just a player; you’re a teammate, a friend.”

Matt felt his heart swell with emotion. “And you’re not just a player either, Y/N. You’re a trailblazer, an inspiration. I’m really glad we met.”

“Me too,” Y/N replied softly, her eyes locking with his. “I feel like I can be myself around you. No pretense, no expectations. Just me.”

“And I wouldn’t want it any other way,” Matt said, his voice barely above a whisper.

--- --- ---

As their friendship blossomed, so did Matt’s career. He was called up to the Rangers, a momentous occasion that he wanted to share with Y/N. They celebrated together at a small bistro near Madison Square Garden, the excitement of the news still buzzing in the air.

“I knew you had it in you,” Y/N said, hugging him tightly. Her eyes sparkled with pride and genuine happiness for him.

“I couldn’t have done it without you,” Matt replied, his voice filled with emotion. He held her a moment longer, feeling the warmth and sincerity of her support.

They settled into a booth, ordering their favorite dishes and a bottle of celebratory champagne. As they waited for their food, they talked about the journey that had brought them to this point.

“It feels surreal,” Matt admitted, toying with his fork. “Just a few months ago, I was grinding it out with the Wolf Pack, and now I’m here, in New York, with the Rangers.”

“You deserve it, Matt. You’ve worked so hard,” Y/N said, her eyes fixed on his. “And you’re going to do great things here. I just know it.”

Matt looked at her, his heart swelling with gratitude. “You’ve always believed in me, Y/N. Even when I doubted myself, you were there, cheering me on.”

“That’s what friends are for,” Y/N said, her smile soft and warm. “And besides, you’ve always been there for me too.”

The night continued with laughter and stories, both of them reveling in the moment. As the evening drew to a close, Matt walked Y/N back to her apartment. The city lights cast a soft glow over them, the hum of traffic a comforting backdrop.

“Thanks for tonight, Y/N. It meant a lot to me,” Matt said as they reached her door.

“It was my pleasure,” Y/N replied, giving him a friendly kiss on the cheek. “Get some rest, Matt. You’ve got a big day tomorrow.”

--- --- ---

In the following weeks, Matt adjusted to life with the Rangers. The pace was faster, the competition fiercer, but he thrived under the pressure. And through it all, Y/N was there, her unwavering support a constant source of strength for him.

Their friendship deepened, the line between friends and something more blurring with each passing day. They spent more time together, exploring the city, sharing meals, and confiding in each other about their hopes and fears.

One evening, after a particularly tough game, Matt found himself at Y/N’s apartment. She had insisted he come over, offering her company and a home-cooked meal as a remedy for his rough day.

“You really didn’t have to do all this,” Matt said, looking at the spread of food on the table.

“I wanted to,” Y/N replied, handing him a plate. “You’ve had a long day. You deserve a break.”

As they ate, they talked about the game, the highs and lows, and their dreams for the future. The conversation flowed easily, their connection deepening with each shared word.

After dinner, they moved to the couch, a comfortable silence settling between them. Y/N turned on the TV, flipping through channels until she found a movie they both liked.

“Thanks for being here, Y/N. I don’t know what I’d do without you,” Matt said, his voice soft in the dim light of the living room.

Y/N looked at him, her heart swelling with affection. “You’d do just fine, Matt. But I’m glad I can be here for you.”

They sat together, side by side, the movie playing in the background. Slowly, almost tentatively, Matt reached out and took Y/N’s hand in his. She glanced at him, a soft smile playing on her lips, and gave his hand a gentle squeeze.

--- --- ---

As the months passed, the bond between Y/N and Matt grew stronger. They supported each other through the highs and lows, finding strength in their friendship. But it was clear to both of them that their feelings had evolved into something deeper.

One evening, after a particularly exciting game, Matt invited Y/N out to celebrate. They went to the same café where they had shared their first coffee date, reminiscing about their journey.

“I’ve been thinking,” Matt began, his heart pounding. “We’ve been through so much together, and I feel like...”

“Like what?” Y/N prompted gently, her eyes locked onto his.

“Like I’ve fallen for you, Y/N,” Matt said, his voice barely above a whisper. “You’re not just my best friend. You’re the person I want to be with.”

Y/N’s heart skipped a beat, her eyes widening with surprise and joy. “I’ve fallen for you too, Matt. I’ve been afraid to admit it, but I can’t imagine my life without you.”

Matt reached across the table, taking her hand in his. “Then let’s be together. Not just as friends, but as something more.”

As Matt's words hung in the air, charged with emotion and vulnerability, Y/N felt her heart swell with joy and anticipation. She had hoped for this moment, dreamed of it even, but to hear Matt express his feelings so openly stirred something deep within her.

With tears of happiness glistening in her eyes, Y/N leaned forward, closing the distance between them. Matt's hand tightened around hers as their lips met in a tender, heartfelt kiss. It was a moment of pure connection, a silent promise of the love that had blossomed between them.

The world around them seemed to fade away as they lost themselves in the sweetness of the kiss. There was no need for words, no need for explanations. In that moment, everything they needed to say was conveyed through the gentle press of lips, the warmth of their embrace.

As they pulled away, their breaths mingling in the quiet space between them, Y/N felt a sense of peace settle over her. She looked into Matt's eyes, seeing the reflection of her own feelings mirrored back at her.

"I love you, Matt," she whispered, her voice filled with sincerity and affection.

"I love you too, Y/N," Matt replied, his voice soft but unwavering. "Always."

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