#unspoken legacy

[invinciblerodent]

i should not be concocting elaborate daydreams about characters i haven't even heard speak in earnest yet, huh

i am vying against the desk, nails bloodied and knuckles white, please let me make up more guys (gn) to kiss those other guys (gn)

[mmmatchasims]

[namedafterflowerstournament]

Botanic Tournament : Hollies Bracket !

Round 0 Poll 1

[the-orange-wasabi]

rip kami glass, you would’ve loved pinkpantheress

[flowerish-cherry-blue]

untold by @sarahreesbrennan

«it's russell montgomery the third, actually,» said rusty, still grinning. «but i'd be obliged if you keep that bit of information to yourself.»

«i don't imagine any of us cares enough to remember,» jared said.

[kaidynsarell]

🍁🪻Sanguinis et Omnium Fractorum🪻🍁

Chapter 1- Of Stubborn and Impatience

🪻🍁🪻🍁🪻🍁🪻🍁🪻🍁🪻🍁🪻🍁🪻🍁🪻

Pairings- Sebastian Sallow x Female OC

Rating- This story is rated overall 🔞 (Ch 1 is SFW)

Tags- Fluff, Angst, Irritation, Unread letters, and MC (Clara) just being all around Sullen.

The full chapter can be found below the cut (2.7k words)

Ongoing Fic.

Chapters 1-5 are available on AO3 and Wattpad

Thursday, 1st September, 1892

The tea had long since cooled in the time it had sat, untouched on the little table near her four-poster bed. Clara Elmore had not moved since the clink of porcelain against the wood had snapped her unfocused gaze up to the round-faced blonde who’d set it there. Grace’s soft eyebrows had been pulled together in an expression she’d worn far too often around Clara over the past year. Worry. It made Clara’s bones itch. Worry lived too close to pity, and she hated pity.

She’d seen pity too often since the events in the Repository, and each time tasted more bitter against her tongue.

So, she’d hardly acknowledged her roommate's presence as the blonde had carefully set the tea down, and muttered something Clara hadn’t been paying attention to. Probably something about being around to talk if needed. Grace was kind and Clara was being rude. She couldn’t find it in herself to do more than chew on the inside of her lip and Grace had gone without another word.

Still, she sat there, staring across the emerald bed hangings of the two other four poster beds and stubbornly refusing to move from the spot on her mattress; until one particularly uproarious cheer from the common room below reminded her the others would eventually be coming back to the dorm, and she desperately wanted to be in bed before then.

Her being ‘asleep’ meant no one asked how she was doing, and that was preferable to giving some vague well-rehearsed lie, or worse, attempting to coalesce the cacophony of rambling anxieties into something that resembled sentence structure.

The latches of her secondhand trunk clicked noisily, though, not as loudly as the creak of the hinges which were well in need of oil. Morning would bring the official start of Seventh-year classes, and sleep meant finally unpacking and tidying the trunk she’d been neglecting. Uniforms came first. Second hand, like her trunk. But repaired, washed, and pressed by the warm wrinkled hands of her grandmother; who had insisted on caring for Clara’s uniforms when she couldn’t afford the cost of new robes. If love could be stitched, Clara would swear she could find it woven into each of the places her grandmother had repaired the holes and worn edges.

The soft feel of cashmere met her fingers next, and almost without thinking, she brought the deep burgundy scarf up to her face and brushed it over her cheek. It had been an unexpected Christmas present from Ominis in 5th year and was one of the only items she possessed that hadn't been loaned or purchased secondhand.

Being blind, the blond had not known what ‘burgundy’ meant when the shop-keep had told him the color. Instead, as he told her, he’d selected it because he thought it felt nice and believed she might enjoy it.

“Besides-” He’d clipped, in that biting tone only Ominis could achieve. “-I can hardly think these days with the excessive chattering of your teeth. Perhaps this will make them stop.”

His sarcastic irritation painted only a thin layer over the kindness of the gesture. A shield against the brief vulnerability the gift had shown her.

So, despite it being almost Gryffindorian by nature, she’d worn the scarf nearly every day that winter; much to Imelda’s chagrin and Sebastian's amusement.

Below the carefully folded uniforms and scarf, the remaining disorganization of the trunk could have convinced her she’d spent far more than two years surrounded by the walls of the castle. Her grandmother would have been disappointed. Clara dug on. Pulling out heavy books, jars of dittany and mallowsweet, spare wiggenwelds, broken quills, scraps parchment, and a pouch of seeds Poppy had insisted were a favorite of jobberknolls before her fingernails scraped the threadbare material at the bottom and settled on a worn leather journal.

Clara opened it, almost without thinking. Allowing the pages to fall open to a sprig of baby’s breath, pressed between pages speckled with ink; as though the journal itself had known the ghost of the boy who’d given it to her.

The ghost of a boy who’d loved so sweetly he’d stop to pick flowers for a girl, even amid the storm that had raged around them.

The boy who’d loved fiercely and unrelentingly, until the force of it tore him apart and bloodied green over their walls. Three Sallow’s had become two, and they all waited and feared the day two would become one.

In some ways, it already had.

Sebastian had disappeared without a trace; save for a single letter and a sprig of bluebells he’d left on the same table where the cold tea now took up residence. Clara had long since given up trying to figure out how he’d managed to access the girls' dormitories. ‘Impossible’ had only ever been a word to ignite his stubborn determination and Sebastian had a curious knack for finding his way into places he shouldn’t be.

Almost of their own accord, her fingers fumbled the rough edges of the pages. Leafed through them, past the little jotted notes and inked sketches. Past the pages pressed with heather and hyacinth to where that single bluebell pressed its pigment against the parchment and the violet painted over cream.

Gratitude and everlasting love.

Her fingers brushed the places the pigments bled against the parchment, and not for the first time, Clara wondered if Sebastian had known the language of flowers.

Had it been a coincidence the first had been baby’s breath?

Hope, new beginnings, and innocent love.

An image of messy brown curls and sun-kissed freckles tipped the edges of her memory. Tiny white flowers offered with a roguish smirk that had done little to distract from the way his gaze had darted too quickly between her eyes and the flowers held with trembling fingers.

Had it been a mere chance he’d offered heather before each of the brutal trials the Keepers had demanded of her?

Luck, protection, and admiration.

Could it have been happenstance he’d offered a hyacinth when she’d stubbornly refused to speak to him after his anger had exploded over her involvement with Lodgok?

Sorrow, regret, and forgiveness.

Somehow she didn’t think so. Sebastian may have been a lot of things. Playful, charming, and confident? Yes. Wildly chaotic and infuriatingly stubborn? Definitely. Insatiably curious and much too intelligent for his own good? Absolutely. But naïve? Naïve, was never a trait she’d been able to attribute to the Slytherin.

Perhaps that was the reason she’d never read his letter.

It had been discarded in a fit of anger, to be lost to the bottom of her trunk, and conveniently covered by a scattering of miscellaneous items. Out of sight, and pushed to the edges of her mind where she’d refused to acknowledge the places where the corners of it dug into her thoughts.

Neither of them had ever fully acknowledged whatever had been between them. Sewn with intricate strands of sugar-spun glass, and left unspoken. As though to touch it would have been enough to shatter the delicate balance in which they’d found themselves. Instead, it had been said in the furtive glances during long hours in the library. In the leaning closer until their shoulders touched, and in the uneven crashing of her heart when neither of them moved away. It had been found tucked beneath their palms in the moments they’d spent seated amongst fields of heather; his fingers curled around hers and brushing absentmindedly along the back of her hand as she’d used the other to connect the freckles across his cheeks.

In a single stolen kiss, under starlight by the lake. The softest brush of his lips over hers, and the stars had found their home, scattered across her skin.

Perhaps things would have been different had the brunt of stopping Ranrock's rebellion not fallen on her shoulders. Or if Anne had not been dying.

But it had. And she was. So they weren’t.

Clara’s fingers traced the outline of the delicate violet-blue flowers once again. Why she’d not tossed the flower away with the letter was a mystery, even to her.

Or maybe it wasn’t.

Gratitude and everlasting love.

She’d always walked a line between stubborn and impatient. In many instances, the two virtues fell on opposite sides of her problems and she often found herself in a battle of which would be the stronger. The letter had been no different, and her stubborn had won.

She’d refused to open it. To acknowledge whatever ‘goodbye’ he’d scrawled across the parchment. Refused the idea he’d said he loved her with violet petals and disappeared. That he might have written the same across the page and abandoned her. Stubborn had thrown the envelope into the corner of her trunk and denied its existence. Meanwhile, her heart had wrapped threads to the edges of her fingers and carefully pressed the bluebell between crisp pages where the violet may as well have been imprinted onto her skin.

She’d never said it to him. Flower or otherwise. Then again, she’d not left him either.

Stubborn could hide the letter and let her lose it amongst her belongings. Stubborn could hold her hand while she refused to acknowledge the possibility that he may never come back.

The crisp rectangle rested against the bottom. Beige framed by faded indigo. Still, she refused to touch it and her fingers scraped the bottom for any remaining items. A few gold coins, a crumpled potions essay she’d only half finished, the odd sock, and half a dozen hairpins until nothing else remained; save for the single four-sided polygon.

Stubborn may have masked her over the past year while the letter was hidden and out of sight, but impatience’ eager fingers flitted against the place her stubborn lived and curled under its edges. Worked it away like peeling wallpaper, until shaking fingers finally grasped the beige and left the indigo unadorned.

Another series of shouts from the Slytherin common room startled against her ears and Clara flicked her wand to her bed hangings. They closed around her in an instant. Cocooned her away between walls of emerald.

The seal of the envelope broke far easier than she’d anticipated and trembling fingers pulled out two pieces of parchment. One, which was blank and impatiently discarded somewhere behind her. And another, spiderwebbed with the splattered ink of his usual messy scrawl.

Sebastian's handwriting could have been classified as its own method of code. Atrocious. Which she had always found amusing, given Anne’s impeccable talent with calligraphy. It had been a point of pride when she’d finally learned to read it. Now, there could have been an N.E.W.T taught on the subject of deciphering Sebastian Sallow’s handwriting and she’d have achieved an Outstanding without question.

Something was comforting in the familiarity of it, and trying to ignore the wavering of the page below her trembling fingers; Clara finally lowered her eyes to the letter she’d allowed to be lost to the bottom of her trunk and refused to read for over a year.

Ara,

I know you’re angry. It’s okay. I would be angry at me too, and while I hope in time you can forgive me, I’ll understand if you can’t. I know leaving like this was selfish, but I couldn’t stay here, and I knew if I saw you I wouldn’t have the strength to go. Perhaps that makes me a coward too—another reason I��m not a Gryffindor.

The truth is, I need time. Time away from everything. Away from Scotland and Hogwarts. Time to gather my thoughts or maybe make sense of everything or……I don’t know……

Just time, I guess.

Besides, a whole world exists, and Anne still needs a cure. I can’t say if she’ll ever forgive me. I don’t even know if I deserve her forgiveness, or yours, but Anne deserves to live and I can’t afford to limit my search to Britain or Hogwarts. There are at least seven other wizarding schools I’ve not even touched. Can you imagine what could be found in the mountains of Uagadou or at Mahoutokoro? Even the ancient Egyptian wizards had vast libraries and I’ve not ruled out muggle means of healing either.

There has to be something, somewhere.

She could almost hear his voice through the page. The exuberance with which it bubbled up in those moments his thoughts ran faster than his lips could form the words and the syllables tripped over one another in a furious bid for freedom.

I know you’d have wanted to come, and I’d be lying if I said I won't miss you terribly. But this is my burden to carry. The world has already asked too much of you Ara, and I’ve asked more than most.

It’s time you get a chance to truly enjoy Hogwarts without threats looming over your head.

As you are likely already aware, I’ve established enchantments to render myself untraceable-

She was. She’d not sent the owls, but Ominis had. They had all returned days later, having been unable to locate the recipient, and Sebastian's whereabouts had remained unknown. Clara had never told the blond about the letter stubbornly tossed to the bottom of her trunk. And just as impatience had lost to stubborn, so had guilt, and the letter had remained locked away.

-but I’ve cast an alteration of the Protean charm on the blank page included with this letter.

( If I know you, you’ve immediately tossed that page away somewhere, and quite frankly, I’m very much counting on you not immediately setting fire to this whole letter as soon as you see it.)

If you write on that parchment, I’ll see the message on the matching copy I’ve got with me, and I’ll be able to write back to you.

As I’ve said, I need some time, but If you do choose to write, I promise I will write back to you, Ara.

I leave the rest in your hands, Love.

Yours, Always

- S

The letter dropped into Clara’s lap with a little flutter, caught on the air, and wavered a moment before settling against the plush emerald of her bedspread. In another instant, she snatched the blank parchment from the spot it had settled in the corner and studied it furiously. As though she might find the workings of the magic woven within the fibers.

Though her stubborn desperately wanted to toss the letter away and refuse to respond, impatience’s claws dug deep. Before she could stop to think of the ridiculousness of it, she’d found a quill and a bottle of ink and scooted the cold tea cup from the small table to make space for the blank page.

The tip of her quill hovered a long time over the parchment. Long enough drips of onyx slid down to contrast the beige. A steady drip, drip, drip as her mind vacillated between the myriad of things she’d wanted to say to him. Thoughts that had crowded her mind when she’d been too restless to sleep and she’d replayed all the things she’d have told him if he’d stayed.

If they’d had more time.

She settled for one word.

--Bastian?--

The ink hovered on the page. Glistened in the low candlelight and absorbed the muted tones of green that melted in through the window from the lake above.

The space below his name remained frustratingly blank.

Clara sighed and pressed her fingers into her eyes. He’d not said how long it would take him to respond and she resisted the urge to write. ‘This is stupid. I’m writing to a blank parchment and expecting it to write back.’

She settled for muttering it under her breath, as though the paper might have ears.

Though, she thought. He should be grateful she had written his name and not some version of ‘What the fuck were you thinking, Sallow?’

She decided she’d write that later.

Still, she stared at the blank space and drummed her fingers against the edge of the table. Caught in a stalemate, as stubborn and impatient battled furiously between scribbling another message, and locking the parchment back into her trunk for another year.

She almost didn’t notice when the page shimmered. It wasn’t much. Just a slight ripple of distorted light and in the place her ink had formed his name, new letters began to appear.

One by one.

In the familiar messy scrawl that embodied all of the chaos of its writer.

 …

…

…

.::Hello Sweetheart::.

[zelda-of-hyrule-tloz]

OMG I LOVE 💕 One of the best Zora OCs I've seen!!!

Yall like some LOZ oc's???

[moonpascaltoo]

sebastian sallow

MASTERLIST • HOGWARTS LEGACY • 11/22/24

˚‧⁺ ･ ˖ · ୨ৎ recs

𑣲 never forget I @zevrra

where sebastian is actually worried about MC and regrets casting crucio on them

𑣲 caught in the rain I @/zevrra

you and sebastian seek shelter inside an abandoned home where every feeling is laid to bare.

𑣲 truth or dare I @ppomumgranatum

Truths emerged and friendships were tested as you found yourself confronting two years' worth of suppressed feelings towards Sebastian. Drunk.

𑣲 the dance of love’s sweet potion I @/ppomumgranatum

When a potion meant to repel backfired, it became a mishap that turned your world upside down.

𑣲 marry me I @theealbatross

The 3 times Sebastian thought about marrying you and the 1 time he asked.

𑣲 fight the alchemy I @/theealbatross

Garreth asks why Sebastian isn’t dating you. Sebastian spirals.

𑣲 i love you, it’s ruining my life I @/theealbatross

Sebastian has the worst insomnia known to man and you are not dating him.

𑣲 never not been mine I @/theealbatross

Everyone wonders if you and Sebastian are together. Sebastian wonders when will everyone mind their own business.

𑣲 fever (what a lovely way to burn) I @shadowtriovibes

"since you saved Sebastian from Azkaban, he has met you in the common room every morning and you have gone to breakfast together. One morning he isn't there so you go to his room looking for him to find him in bed, poorly.”

𑣲 request I @/shadowtriovibes

Eric Northcott is relentlessly pursuing you, so Sebastian offers to act as your heroic boyfriend to get him off your back

𑣲 break a sweat part 2 part 3 part 4 I @/shadowtriovibes

sebastian makes the house quidditch team after training all summer. before his first match, you let him talk you into a bet over its outcome that will in all likelihood ruin your friendship. (merlin, you sure hope it does.)

𑣲 mind if i move in closer? I @/shadowtriovibes

𑣲 it’s a sign of the times part 2 I @/shadowtriovibes

Rivals-to-lovers Sebastian and MC use a Time-Turner to travel to the future with Ominis in search for a cure for Anne. Instead they find a girl who's the spitting image of MC trying to sneak into the Restricted Section in the 1910s, only she has freckles like Sebastian

𑣲 fissured composure I @anto-pops

After watching you hold your own against a handsy classmate, Sebastian is feeling particularly needy and steals you away to the Undercroft to show you just how worked up your right hook got him.

𑣲 possessive touch I @/anto-pops

Sebastian has never been the sharing sort. He was happy to loan people notes or quills, maybe even the occasional book from the Restricted Section. But not you. Never you.

𑣲 sudsy confessions I @/anto-pops

Sebastian confessing his long-harbored love for you while you’re naked in a bathtub.

𑣲 request I @/anto-pops

𑣲 unspoken attraction I @arthenaa

The girls and you have a talk on who they'll date amongst the students in Hogwarts. No one mentions Sebastian despite being deemed the most handsome in your year. You wonder why?

𑣲 jealously, jealousy I @awkwardauthorwrites

𑣲 i think he knows I @/awkwardauthorwrites

Sebastian helps Y/N with an interesting request

𑣲 violets and verbena I @/awkwardauthorwrites

Two years have passed since the events in Hogwarts Legacy, in which Y/N has drifted away from Sebastian. What happens when she has to spend some time in the hospital wing and he comes to visit?

𑣲 in the middle part 2 I @/awkwardauthorwrites

After a few months of knowing the reader the boys suddenly realise one day they are falling in love with the reader and start to become a bit bitter towards each other and very jealous if another guy gives her attention.

𑣲 wildest dreams part 2 part 3 I @/awkwardauthorwrites

Ten years have passed since the events of Hogwarts Legacy and Y/N is invited back as part of a reunion to celebrate.

𑣲 diesel is desire I @wttcsms

sebastian sallow is a good friend. so good, in fact, that when you find yourself under the ungodly influence of a lust potion, he's willing to help give you some relief.

𑣲 trust fall I @fairytalesandlegacies

Sebastian Sallow teaches you how to fight against the Imperius Curse late one night, and in the process, some long-kept secrets are revealed.

𑣲 i need you I @ravenelyx

Sebastian has different ways of dealing with being hurt. One of them is burying his face in your chest while you cuddle him

𑣲 who do you smell? I @roarieluz

Sebastian Sallow has had a crush on Y/N for a while now, this isn't news to him but when a strong batch of amortentia is made for potions class it is hard to keep his mind clear of anything that isn't about you and what he wants to do to you.

𑣲 the night shift part 2 part 3 part 4 part 5 I @writing-intheundercroft

You're the lead healer in the St. Mungo's intensive care unit, and a painfully familiar face ends up in your ward.

𑣲 a long time coming I @undergaunts

aka three times Sebastian is a flirt, one time he gets called out on it, and one time he finally does something about it.

𑣲 pining in potions class I @festivalsofmargot

Sebastian Sallow is forming a huge crush on you, and it’s hitting him all at once in a very annoying way. Something as simple as not being partnered with you in potions class eats away at him.

𑣲 pretty thoughts part 2 I @/festivalsofmargot

Sebastian is down bad for you, my dear reader. But a lot of overthinking on your part makes you blind to it. So, his only option is to keep chasing after you.

𑣲 a worrisome box of chocolates I @matchavellichor

𑣲 you look better in green part 2 I @fierymiasma

In which Sebastian sees the new transfer student wearing someone else’s scarf and proceeds to absolutely lose it.

𑣲 snow, scarves, and schemes I @spaceyaceface

Y/N is sick of Leander Prewett trying to court her. Luckily, she has a best friend named Sebastian Sallow who would love to help put an end to it. They devise a plan to pretend to court up until the Yule Ball. Should be simple, right? If only. 

𑣲 the one who stayed I @talesofesther

For a moment, Sebastian thought he lost you, and now the guilt for what happened is eating away at him.

𑣲 the winner takes all I @justauthoring

in which, leander prewett is a prick and sebastian shows him not mess with his girl.

𑣲 bludgered I @slytherizz

Sebastian never really knew what his friend saw in Isaac Cooper but he never questioned it - he made his friend happy. That is until a Quidditch match goes quickly awry and he realises his feelings for her may go far deeper than simple friendship.

𑣲 between the two of you I @cuffmeinblack

Rewriting of the events of the Shadow of the Study/Discovery quests.

𑣲 i crumble completely (when you cry) I @atlabeth

there's only one way to get into salazar slytherin's scriptorium.

[logansbaby]

Worst Logan is probably so touch starved

oh absolutely!!!!! thank you wonderful anon for sharing bc you’ve inspired this tiny drabble <3 extremely short but completely spurred on by my need to hug worst logan ty!

no warnings! just one use of slut by wade (ofc)

word count - around 1k

also, the song hear you me by jimmy eat world kept coming to me during this so! vibes maybe?

˚｡⋆⟡♡⟡⋆｡˚

Logan Howlett hates physical touch.

He hates the way people often go about trying to touch him, whether it be a brief tangle of fingers or a simple hug, he hates it.

He’s not entirely sure where it’s stemmed from, especially considering that as a younger man, he didn’t mind it. Maybe it’s because of the fact that people he cared for were always too far out of reach, leaving him a swirling mess filled with the aches that follow with unrequited feelings. Or, maybe its the fact that once he’d begun to open up to the people he considered family, he’d failed to protect them, only left to ruin their legacy with his destructive, lethal grief.

The reason doesn’t matter, not really, because he’s okay with being alone, nursing copious amounts of whisky shots to numb his loud thoughts.

His plan of rotting away in a bar alone goes to shit the minute Wade shows up and drags him into the shit show he’d landed himself in.

And somehow, after everything settles down, he finds himself stuck in a new universe, living with far too many bodies in Wade's apartment. He wonders why he stayed to begin with, especially with the way Wade pisses him off like no other, but he knows. In the back of his mind, he knows that the group of people he’s come to know have weaseled their way inside his guarded heart. Knowing doesn’t make it any easier to accept, though.

The red masked man often tells him he needs to get laid, get up and find someone to fix his grumpy, brooding act he has going on if he’s not going to let Wade do it himself (his words, not Logan’s).

And whenever he presses too much, Logan’s claws will unsheathe with that unmistakable snikt! before they dig into whatever limb of Wade’s is closest.

People had caught on very early that Logan dislikes physical contact, so it’s an unspoken rule by everyone to not push the man. Well, everyone except Wade— the man has been impaled by adamantium far too many times and never learns. That, or he just likes the pain a little too much.

So, it comes to a surprise to everyone when Logan doesn’t yell at you, sink his claws into a nearby surface in warning, or growl when you wrap the man in a hug the first time you meet him.

It’s at some party thrown by Wade— purely an excuse for the man to see Vanessa under the guise of a celebration for his newest hair system— or whatever the fuck he’d rambled on about, Logan wasn’t listening.

He’d been on his way out, the ghost taste of whisky tingling his tongue as he plans to waste away at the closest bar, when he catches a glimpse of something akin to an angel.

That something is you.

You— in all your pretty glory, a beacon of light that glows through the entirety of the dull apartment with just a single smile. Hair frames your face with wisps that kiss rosy-painted cheeks as you laugh at something someone says. A floral dress sits atop of curves that will absolutely haunt his nights. The scent of you tickles his heightened senses— a swirl of vanilla and honey so sweet that he suppresses a groan.

Logan believes then and there you’re a princess, an angel, something ethereal and enchanting. He wonders then why you’re friends with Wade.

He’s already speechless at the sight of you, wrapped up in thoughts, that he doesn’t realize you’re suddenly in front of him until an obnoxious voice startles him from the depths of his mind.

“Peanut! How could you leave without saying hi to sweetness here? Horribly rude if you ask me.”

Under any normal circumstance, Logan would’ve growled at the man before him, followed by a string of curses. However, he’s too occupied with his body thrumming at the sudden proximity and closeness to you.

“Hi!”

Of course, it makes sense that your voice matches your looks; sweet and syrupy with an addictive lilt.

Before he can utter a poorly spoken sentence, his body goes rigid, every muscle within him immediately tense as an unfamiliar weight is on him.

“Oh, peaches, you don’t want to do that, Wolvie isn’t much of a hugger—“ Wade’s warning comes too late, given the fact that you’re already wrapped around the man frozen in place.

And in an instant, the entire room is silent, because everyone here has witnessed Logan’s distaste when being touched, usually at the hands of Wade.

Logan’s body tingles with how still he is— waiting for that awful feeling to consume every bit of him at the touch of another.

Except, the feeling never comes.

Oblivious, your arms squeeze Logan’s waist as you hug him tightly, head resting against his chest, where his heart hammers maddeningly.

Why is he resisting the urge to bury his nose in your hair?

“I just want to say thank you. I don’t know how you did it, Wade won’t tell me. But I know you saved this universe and I couldn’t be more grateful!”

And, what?

He's confused. You’re speaking to him like you’ve known him your whole life, and he’s not used to this. He’s familiar with people regarding him with disgust or poorly conceived opinions, not this.

“I love my life, truly! My sweet little dog, my friends, my bakery, I couldn’t imagine it being taken away quicker than a breath, so thank you, Logan. Thank you so much!”

Genuine gratefulness coats your rambled words; it’s s then Logan realizes that you’ve pulled back, though your hands still rest causally on his hips, a kind smile gracing your face.

It also dawns on him that the dreaded feeling that often follows people touching him never came Instead, a pleasant tingle kisses the skin that your hands and body touched. Logan has never been more perplexed in his life.

The feel of you is taken away promptly, Wade yanking your body away from his and pulling you to his chest.

“Sorry sweetness, but Logan isn’t known for his love for hugs. He doesn’t like people touching him, it doesn’t end well. And, considering you’re you, I prefer you alive and healthy, not being turned into a human kabob.”

And at that, you feel horror fill you up, your heart sinking, face flushing.

Because oh my gosh, you never would have done that if you had known! but why did you anyway?! you always acted without thought and clearly it had caught up with you!

“I’m so, so unbelievably sorry! I— I didn’t mean to cross boundaries or make you uncomfortable! I’m so—“ before you can ramble yourself into further embarrassment, a deep voice cuts you off.

“S’okay.”

The words are simple, quick. Yet, the delivery of them shakes every person in the room to their core. The implication isn’t to be missed— Logan has never reacted that way to being touched before.

It’s quiet— the room watching with curiosity pooling their eyes and you’re filled to the brim with mortification. And then, the silence is gone when Wade gasps dramatically.

“Peanut, I’m hurt! I thought we had something special, I’ve been playing the long game. And now that’s ruined because some slut stole you away? With a hug? No offense, angel face, but I’m feeling catty.”

His nonsense snaps you out of your head and you roll your eyes, muttering a ‘shut up!’ before focusing on Logan’s face, the man currently glaring at Wade’s face.

“Logan, I’m so sorry. I really am—“

“Don’t worry about it.” He says, but what he really wants to say is please don’t be, your hug felt like home and didn’t make me feel sick for the first time in a long, long time.

You smile, weariness still present. The way your pretty lips stretch into a tiny grin, at him no less, he knows he’s got to get out of there, or he’ll spiral.

You’re about to speak again, but he can’t stop himself from following his instincts. He doesn’t say anything else before practically running out the door, his breath only releasing once he's out of your presence.

And while the man is gulping down numbing alcohol, mind a whirlwind of confusion at himself and youyouyou, the apartment is loud due to Wade having a breakdown.

“—Seriously! I get a claw to the stomach anytime I get to close but you waltz in and suddenly Logan is all for touch? I feel cheated on.”

“Wade, you’re completely overreacting. Maybe you should’ve warned me! I made a complete idiot of myself!” You huff, pacing the tiny living room to expel the anxiety coiling in your abdomen.

“No, baby. The only idiot is me for thinking he’d want me back!” Wade whines, dramatic as usual, and throws himself onto the couch, a move that lands himself in Vanessa’s lap. The woman pats his head in fake sympathy.

“Wade! Shut up, oh my god! He’s never gonna talk to me again!”

And unknowingly, both Logan and you are worrying yourselves sick about that damn hug and the spark that spread from your heart to his.

And maybe, just maybe, Logan doesn’t hate touch after all.

[jungwnies]

F1 GRID | the daughter of a rival team principal

୨ৎ : featuring : max verstappen, lewis hamilton, george russell, carlos sainz, charles leclerc, lando norris, oscar piastri ୨ৎ : synopsis : the daughter of a team prinicipal finds love in another team ୨ৎ : requested : yes

୨ৎ : genre : romance ୨ৎ : tws : father-daughter arguing ୨ৎ : word count : 4799 (~685 words each)

୨ masterlist ৎ

ᡣ𐭩 a/n : this was so fun to write i love it (charles was a personal favorite >.<)

ʚ・max verstappen

you’ve always known what was expected of you. as the daughter of mercedes f1’s team principal, your life has been one of luxury, pressure, and constant public scrutiny. your father’s legacy has always loomed large over you, and you’ve been trained your whole life to uphold it. but tonight, at a charity event during the off-season, something shifts.

you never expected to meet him. max verstappen—red bull’s star driver, known for his dry humor and sharp wit—has always been in the rival camp. you’ve heard about him, but when you finally talk to him, it’s different. his banter is sharp, but there’s something about the way he looks at you that makes your heart race. it’s not the usual flirtation you’ve experienced with other drivers; it’s deeper, more genuine.

a conversation turns into a quiet moment away from the crowd, and before you know it, you’re both caught in an unspoken connection. you try to convince yourself it’s just the heat of the moment, but the chemistry between you two is undeniable. as the night ends, the weight of your family’s rivalry presses on you. you can’t be with him. not him. not a red bull driver.

but the connection is too strong. as the weeks go by, you find yourself texting max in secret, sneaking around after races, and spending stolen hours together. you’re falling for him, and it terrifies you. you’re not just risking your own heart; you’re risking your family, your reputation, and the wrath of the media. but when max looks at you with those eyes—full of intensity and something more—you can’t stop yourself.

the pressure builds with every passing day. your family expects you to uphold mercedes’ honor, and you know your father would never approve. meanwhile, max—who’s used to constant scrutiny—becomes frustrated. he’s tired of hiding, tired of sneaking around, and you start to feel the weight of it all. the secrecy is suffocating, but you’re scared of what will happen if the world finds out.

then, during a crucial race weekend, everything explodes. mercedes and red bull are neck-and-neck, both fighting for the title. after the race, max wins, and mercedes is left picking up the pieces. that night, you and max decide it’s enough. you’re done hiding.

you sit across from your father and max’s team principal, the air thick with tension. your father’s face is a mixture of shock and fury as he demands to know why you would choose max. “he’s from red bull,” he says, as if that’s enough of a reason for you to walk away. max’s principal isn’t much better, questioning how this relationship could possibly work.

but max speaks up. “i’m not just a driver,” he says, his voice calm but unwavering. “i’m with her because i love her. i’m not hiding anymore.”

the room falls into a heavy silence. your father’s eyes narrow, a flicker of frustration crossing his features, but as he looks at you—really looks at you—he sees something he can’t ignore. the sincerity in your eyes, the depth of your feelings for max, is undeniable. this isn’t a passing phase or a rebellious act. it’s real.

“you really love my daughter?” your father’s voice is no longer harsh, but laced with something else—caution, perhaps even a hint of understanding.

max doesn’t hesitate. “i do. i love your daughter.”

your father exhales sharply, the weight of his words lingering in the air. “if you ever break her heart, i swear to god, i’ll make sure your engine never sees the finish line again.”

max, looking both relieved and earnest, nods. “i would never, sir. i’d never hurt her.”

over time, both families begin to soften. the media circus doesn’t go away, but the tension between your families does. slowly, the world starts to accept what you already knew: love doesn’t care about the rivalry between teams. it doesn’t care about the rules.

max wins another race. this time, you’re there, not hiding, not pretending. the cameras flash around you, and you stand by his side, proud. he looks at you with that same intensity, but now, it’s not a secret. your love is out in the open, stronger than ever.

and as you walk off the podium together, hand in hand, you realize that no matter what the future holds, you’ve already won. together.

ʚ・lewis hamilton

you’ve always been part of the f1 world, living in the shadow of your father, the red bull team principal. but one night, everything changes when you're forced to attend a press conference with him. you’re trying to stay out of the spotlight, your eyes gliding over the room, until they land on him: lewis hamilton. despite the rivalry between red bull and mercedes, something shifts when your gazes meet—an undeniable connection, one that neither of you can ignore.

after the press conference ends, lewis, ever the charmer, approaches you with that trademark grin. “so, you're the red bull princess, huh?” he says, his voice playful, though there's something deeper in his eyes. you nod, taken aback by the intensity of the moment.

"you don’t look like the type to be stuck behind a desk," he adds with a smirk, his tone light but his gaze searching yours.

you laugh, trying to hide how your heart skips a beat. "guess i’m not."

the next few weeks are a blur of stolen glances and quiet exchanges. with every conversation, every private moment, you both feel the connection deepening, though the tension between your families grows. your father’s rivalry with mercedes runs deep, and the last thing you need is for the media to catch wind of anything. but as the whispers start, you can’t fight the pull between you and lewis any longer.

the secrecy wears on you both. the constant sneaking around, meeting in hidden corners, avoiding the constant press. it’s like living a double life, and eventually, it becomes too much. you feel suffocated by the pressure of hiding your love, and lewis, frustrated and restless, isn’t happy either.

then comes a pivotal race. both red bull and mercedes are facing setbacks, and the competition is fierce. the tension is at an all-time high. after the race, the world is still buzzing with the results, but you can't think about anything else. you need to see him.

as the race concludes, you rush through the paddock, your heart racing. cameras flash all around you, but you don’t care. you spot him—lewis, standing in the pit, grinning like he just won the world. without thinking, you run straight to him. the noise of the world fades as you leap into his arms, and he catches you effortlessly, spinning you around in a burst of joy. it’s a moment of pure freedom—a declaration that you’re done hiding.

the cameras capture everything: your arms around him, your laughter echoing through the chaos. the media goes wild. your father, watching the broadcast from his office, doesn’t know whether to laugh or shout. he stares at the screen, eyes widening in disbelief as you and lewis embrace on live tv.

"what the hell…?" he mutters under his breath. his fists clench, watching his daughter—his little girl—defy everything he’s worked for, the legacy of red bull and its rivalry with mercedes. for a moment, he’s stunned, unsure of what to think.

later, when you sit down with him, you brace for the confrontation. but instead of anger, he looks at you with a quiet understanding in his eyes. “you’re my little girl,” he starts, voice softer than you expect. “i’ve spent my life trying to protect you, to keep you away from this madness. but if this is who you love… then i’ll support you. even if it’s from a rival team.”

you feel the weight of his words settle in your chest. the rivalry still exists, but in that moment, you realize that family comes first. your father’s approval means more than anything, and his acceptance gives you the freedom to live your truth.

ʚ・george russell

it’s a late afternoon at the track, the sun casting long shadows over the paddock as the roar of engines fills the air. you’re standing near your father, the principal of red bull racing, watching the teams prepare for another race. it’s business as usual—except, today, something feels different.

as you glance around, your eyes land on him: george russell. mercedes’ promising young driver, always composed and focused. but today, it’s not the usual competitive edge you notice. instead, you spot a technical issue on his car, a minor glitch in the system that could cost him on track. without thinking, you stride forward, your pulse quickening with a mix of adrenaline and nerves.

“george,” you call, your voice cutting through the air.

he looks up, surprised to see you, but a flicker of recognition crosses his face. “y/n,” he says with a slight grin. “what’s going on?”

you point to his car. “there’s an issue with the engine cooling system. you need to recalibrate the sensors, or it’s going to overheat during the race.”

george raises an eyebrow. “and what would you know about that?”

you shrug, a playful smile on your lips. “i come with my dad to work almost everyday, i'd like to think i’ve picked up a few things.”

he laughs softly, shaking his head. “i guess i’ll trust you then. but i’m not sure if i should be worried about red bull’s tech advice.”

“don’t worry,” you reply, “i won’t sabotage you… too much.”

the banter flows easily between you, and there’s an undeniable chemistry that neither of you can ignore. but as you walk away, your mind starts to race. you’re intrigued by him—his dry wit, his easy smile—but you know better than to get too close. your father’s rivalry with mercedes runs deep, and you’ve been raised to see them as the enemy, not a potential partner.

over the next few weeks, you and george find yourselves crossing paths more often. each meeting is brief, a stolen moment outside the paddock or in the midst of chaos during a race weekend. you talk about cars, racing strategies, and even your shared interests beyond the track. there’s an easy connection, a bond that grows deeper with every conversation.

the secrecy of your meetings becomes a burden. you’re both constantly looking over your shoulders, afraid of getting caught. the fear of your families finding out and the potential consequences of your secret relationship weigh on you. yet, with every stolen kiss and quiet exchange, your feelings for george only grow stronger. the risk of it all feels worth it when he’s around.

however, the stress of hiding the relationship begins to strain you both. george’s success on the track only adds pressure. every victory for him is a reminder of the ever-present distance between you two. your father’s disapproval weighs heavily on your conscience, and it’s starting to affect your work.

during a pivotal race, both teams face challenges—red bull’s strategy falters, and mercedes struggles with tire issues. you and george exchange secret messages, working together to help each other’s teams without crossing the line.

as both teams fight to salvage their positions, your collaboration becomes more than technical support—it’s a defiant stand against the rivalry. the race ends with both teams barely staying afloat, but you and george share a quiet triumph, knowing you made a difference.

the media catches on, and the truth comes to light. both families are shocked, but as they see the depth of your love, your father’s anger softens. slowly, the walls between red bull and mercedes begin to crumble.

you and george publicly announce your relationship, standing together before the media, no longer hiding. the rivalry may still exist, but your love has bridged the gap, and together, you step into a new chapter where love, not competition, drives you forward.

later, your father calls you and george into his office, a wry smile on his face. after a moment of silence, he looks at you both, then shrugs. “i suppose if you’re really in love, i can’t stop you. just know… i can’t promise i won’t use my daughter to sabotage mercedes from time to time.”

you and george laugh, and your father chuckles, his eyes softening. "but seriously," he adds, "i trust you both. just don’t make me regret it."

with that, the tension breaks, and for the first time, the future of both families feels a little brighter.

ʚ・carlos sainz

the press room was buzzing with the usual chatter—drivers answering questions, team principals looking sharp, and the sound of cameras clicking at every moment. you were there as part of your father’s entourage, the daughter of mclaren’s team principal. you’d been to countless media events, but today, something felt different.

the crowd parted as a familiar face made his way through: carlos sainz, ferrari’s star driver. his warm smile met yours from across the room. you’d seen him race plenty of times, but there was something about his presence that stood out today—something that made your heart beat a little faster.

you’d heard stories of how intense the rivalry between mclaren and ferrari was. it was ingrained in you from a young age, something your father had hammered into your head. he was fierce about his loyalty to mclaren, and he expected nothing less from you. but despite that, the moment your eyes met carlos’s, you felt an undeniable pull.

he smiled at you, as if recognizing that spark too, and before long, the two of you found yourselves chatting during a brief lull in the press event. he was charming, his wit sharp, and his dry humor caught you off guard. you laughed more easily than you expected, feeling the weight of your father’s expectations and the animosity between your teams fade away in the warmth of his presence.

“you know,” carlos said with a grin, “i’ve always thought mclaren had some of the best engineers. too bad we’re always on opposite sides of the fight.”

you smirked. “guess it’s more fun that way, isn’t it? keeps things interesting.”

the chemistry between you was immediate, and in that brief conversation, you realized you wanted more. but you couldn’t—could you? your father would never approve. ferrari and mclaren had been bitter rivals for as long as anyone could remember. still, you couldn’t shake the feeling that there was something real between you and carlos.

over the next few races, you both found ways to keep in touch, meeting up in secret whenever possible. the stolen moments became your escape, a brief reprieve from the weight of being the daughter of mclaren’s team principal and the strain of hiding your growing feelings for a ferrari driver. every touch, every glance was like a silent promise, and with each passing day, it became harder to keep things a secret.

but the pressure was mounting. the media was getting more curious about the subtle tension between you and carlos. you had to be careful. every word, every action had to be carefully measured.

then came the race that changed everything. the tension between mclaren and ferrari reached its peak. your team was struggling—strategy issues, tire troubles, nothing was going according to plan. and then there was carlos, pulling off a brilliant move and clinching the victory for ferrari. the crowd roared, but for you, the noise faded into the background. all you could focus on was the moment he crossed the finish line, knowing you couldn’t stay hidden anymore.

you rushed through the chaos, your heart pounding in your chest. the cameras were everywhere, but you didn’t care. you didn’t think. you just ran. when you reached him, you didn’t hesitate. you jumped into his arms, and in one swift motion, he spun you around, laughing in joy.

the world saw it all. it was a moment of defiance—no longer hiding your love for him, despite everything you’d been taught about team loyalty and rivalry. the media exploded, cameras flashing as they captured the intimate moment. the tension between mclaren and ferrari had never felt more real, and yet, in that moment, it didn’t matter. you were with carlos, and that was all that mattered.

back at the paddock, you could feel your father’s eyes on you from the distance. he hadn’t yet approached, but you knew the storm was coming. when he finally did, his expression was unreadable, his jaw clenched in frustration.

“what the hell is this?” he demanded, his voice low but sharp.

you took a deep breath, walking toward him. “dad, i… i’m in love with him.”

for a moment, the silence stretched between you. then, your father’s gaze softened, just a little. he let out a long sigh, glancing back at carlos, who was now waiting a few feet away, watching the exchange with uncertainty.

“you really love him?” your father asked, his voice unsteady for the first time.

you nodded, meeting his eyes. “i do. it’s not a fling, dad. i promise you.”

he stood there for a long moment, his gaze flicking back and forth between you and carlos. then, in a move that surprised you, he chuckled—a little bitterly, but still, a chuckle.

“well, if you’re serious about this, i guess i can’t stop you,” he said, the tension in his shoulders easing. “but don’t expect me to go easy on ferrari next season.”

you laughed, relief flooding through you. “deal.”

and just like that, the walls that had once seemed insurmountable between your world and carlos’s began to crumble. the rivalry between mclaren and ferrari wouldn’t disappear overnight, but maybe—just maybe—the future of racing didn’t have to be defined by the battles between teams.

as you stood there, hand in hand with carlos, you realized that love had bridged the gap. you weren’t just the daughter of mclaren’s team principal anymore. you were someone who had found something real, despite all the odds. and that was enough.

the road ahead would be challenging, but with carlos by your side, you were ready to face it all—together.

ʚ・charles leclerc

you’d spent your entire life draped in mclaren orange, fiercely loyal to your father’s team. everyone at the paddock knew you—not as just the team principal’s kid but as a sharp-tongued, quick-witted presence who had zero tolerance for nonsense. so, when charles leclerc, ferrari’s golden boy, casually strolled over during a media event and commented on your bold mclaren jacket, you didn’t miss a beat.

“bold choice for you to critique fashion,” you said, raising a brow. “didn’t you wear that same ferrari polo yesterday? or is it just your uniform now?”

charles blinked before breaking into a grin. “it’s called consistency, chérie. something mclaren might want to try with their cars.”

your jaw dropped, but his cheeky smirk made it impossible to stay annoyed. instead, you laughed. “touché, leclerc. but let’s see how consistent you are on track this weekend.”

it started with playful banter, but the more you ran into charles during race weekends, the more intrigued you became. beneath his smooth charm and the ferrari-red facade was a kind, passionate guy with dreams that matched yours. the chemistry was undeniable, and soon, stolen moments between press conferences turned into late-night conversations over text, and quiet dinners away from the spotlight.

every meeting felt like rebellion—not just against your father’s expectations but against the entire cutthroat nature of the sport. you’d grown up in this world of rivalries, but with charles, you started to see it differently. the sport didn’t have to divide people; it could bring them together.

still, you knew what you were risking. your father had built his career on the rivalry with ferrari, and your mother… well, she’d always been the level-headed one in the family.

the turning point came after a thrilling race in monaco. charles took p1 in a breathtaking finish, and as he climbed out of his car, the crowd roared. you stood at the edge of the podium celebrations, your heart racing—not for mclaren, but for him.

as he spotted you in the crowd, you didn’t care who was watching. you pushed past the cameras and ran up to him, wrapping your arms around his neck and kissing him in front of everyone. the world faded away, leaving only the two of you in that moment.

later, when the footage made its inevitable rounds, your father called you into his office. his expression was thunderous, but before he could launch into a tirade, your mother interjected.

“oh, please,” she said, rolling her eyes. “love is love. let her live her life.”

your father looked between you and your mother, his frustration melting into reluctant acceptance. “fine,” he said, sighing heavily. “but if this boy breaks your heart, i’ll have him banned from every paddock on earth. do you hear me?”

“loud and clear,” you said, grinning.

charles became more than just a rival driver; he became your partner. the road wasn’t easy—balancing the pressures of your families, the media, and the sport itself was a challenge—but together, you proved that love could transcend the boundaries of loyalty and rivalry.

in time, even your father warmed up to charles, admitting that maybe ferrari wasn’t entirely the enemy. your relationship became a symbol of change, inspiring others to see beyond the rivalries and focus on what truly mattered.

and as you stood with charles at the end of yet another race, hand in hand, you knew you’d crossed the finish line—not just for love but for a new chapter in both your lives.

ʚ・lando norris

you weren’t supposed to be here—not in the simulator room of a mclaren facility. as the daughter of ferrari’s team principal, you had absolutely no business wandering into enemy territory. but your father had dragged you to yet another pre-season media day, and curiosity (plus boredom) got the better of you.

what you didn’t expect was to find lando norris, slouched in the simulator seat, muttering under his breath as he reset for yet another lap.

“maybe if this sim wasn’t ancient, i wouldn’t be two-tenths off,” he grumbled, smacking the steering wheel in frustration.

you couldn’t help yourself. “ever thought about turning left for a change?”

lando’s head snapped up, startled, before his lips curved into a grin. “great. ferrari’s princess is here to give me driving tips. what’s next? you gonna show me how to do a pit stop?”

“someone has to,” you shot back, stepping into the room. “clearly, mclaren hasn’t figured it out yet.”

his laugh was genuine, softening the edges of his earlier frustration. “careful, or people will think you’re defecting.”

“oh, please,” you said with a smirk. “if i wanted to sabotage ferrari’s reputation, i’d just let you borrow one of our cars.”

what started as playful banter quickly spiraled into something more.

the teasing didn’t stop after that. you’d bump into him at races or media events, and without fail, lando always had something to say.

“so, which ferrari secret are you leaking today?” he’d whisper as you passed him in the paddock.

“wouldn’t you like to know?” you’d reply, raising an eyebrow.

but beneath the sarcasm, there was something else—an undeniable connection that neither of you could ignore. it wasn’t long before stolen moments turned into late-night chats, and teasing jabs softened into something deeper.

you started meeting in secret, far from the prying eyes of the paddock. sometimes it was at quiet restaurants in cities where races were held, other times it was just sitting on the tailgate of his rental car, talking about everything but racing.

“do you ever get tired of all the rivalry crap?” you asked one night, staring at the stars.

“all the time,” he admitted. “but i’ve got to say, it’s a lot more fun with you around. even if you’re technically the enemy.”

you rolled your eyes. “please. if i were the enemy, you wouldn’t still be here.”

the turning point came after a pivotal race. ferrari had a disastrous weekend—your father’s strategy calls backfired, and both cars finished far outside the points. meanwhile, lando claimed p1, his first win of the season.

you should’ve stayed in the ferrari garage, consoling your team and putting on a brave face. instead, your feet carried you to parc fermé, straight into lando’s arms.

“you’re not supposed to be here,” he teased, grinning as he pulled you into a hug.

“yeah, well, someone has to congratulate you properly,” you said, your voice muffled against his chest.

the cameras were everywhere, catching the moment as lando lifted you off the ground and spun you around. by the time your feet touched the ground, you knew there was no hiding anymore.

when your father saw the footage, his face turned a shade of red you didn’t think was physically possible. “you hugged him. on camera. at parc fermé,” he fumed, pacing the ferrari motorhome.

“yeah, dad, i did,” you said, arms crossed. “and i’m not sorry about it.”

your mother, sitting calmly in the corner, rolled her eyes. “oh, please, let them be. even if it’s… inconvenient.”

your father stopped pacing, glaring at her before turning to you. “fine. but if he breaks your heart, i swear i’ll sabotage his car myself.”

when you relayed the conversation to lando later, he laughed, pulling you close. “your dad’s terrifying, you know.”

“yeah, but he loves me,” you said with a grin. “and he’ll come around. eventually.”

lando kissed your forehead, his voice soft. “good, because i’m not going anywhere.”

ʚ・oscar piastri

the first time you met oscar piastri, it wasn’t under the most glamorous circumstances. as ferrari’s golden child, your father had sent you to oversee a joint project with mclaren, which was code for "keep an eye on the competition."

you were mid-yawn at the coffee machine in mclaren's hospitality area, waiting for the machine to finally churn out your much-needed cappuccino, when a voice interrupted you.

“some of us actually have work to do, you know.”

you turned, glaring at the culprit—none other than oscar piastri, standing there with his arms crossed and an eyebrow raised.

“well, some of us need caffeine to tolerate said work,” you shot back, not budging.

he smirked. “right, because ferrari's success clearly hinges on how long you hog the coffee machine.”

“it’s only fair since mclaren’s been stealing all the glory lately,” you retorted, crossing your arms.

his laugh was low and unexpected, and it caught you off guard. “touché. but seriously, i need my coffee.”

you rolled your eyes but stepped aside, gesturing dramatically. “be my guest, glory-stealer.”

what started as sharp-witted banter evolved into something… else. the project forced you into countless meetings, strategy sessions, and shared moments of quiet in the paddock.

late nights at the track turned into debates about racing philosophies—he’d argue for precision, and you’d counter with passion. more than once, you’d find yourself splitting snacks when the paddock catering failed you both.

“you’re really committed to this whole ‘traitor’ thing, aren’t you?” he teased one evening, munching on a shared bag of chips.

“it’s called strategic sabotage,” you deadpanned, stealing another chip. “someone has to keep mclaren humble.”

he grinned, leaning a little closer. “you’re terrible at hiding your motives, you know.”

“and you’re terrible at hiding how much you love this,” you said, gesturing between the two of you.

he didn’t deny it.

after a grueling race weekend, where mclaren edged out ferrari in the standings, you found yourself in the paddock sulking with a bottle of water.

oscar appeared out of nowhere, slipping a folded piece of paper into your hand.

“don’t open it now,” he murmured before walking off, his usual nonchalant demeanor intact.

curious, you waited until you were alone to unfold it.

"we make a good team."

the words were simple, scribbled in his messy handwriting, but they hit you harder than you expected.

your flushed face must’ve been a dead giveaway because your father cornered you that evening.

“do you want to explain why you look like a lovesick teenager?” he asked, arms crossed.

you froze, trying to come up with a convincing lie, but he sighed before you could. “it’s piastri, isn’t it? of all the drivers—him?”

“it’s not—” you stopped yourself. lying wouldn’t work. “okay, yes, it’s him. and he makes me happy, dad.”

your father stared at you for a long moment, his expression unreadable. finally, he muttered, “fine. but if he so much as breathes in the wrong direction, i'll send a hit out for him.”

you couldn’t help but laugh, relief flooding you.

when you saw oscar later that night, you couldn’t resist telling him about your father’s “conditions.”

oscar grinned as he wrapped an arm around you. “i think i can live with that.”

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

[ninibeingdelulu]

Calmness ✧

Plot: Ken and you have a real daughter.

A/N: kinda short :(

Soft evening light filtered through the den, casting everything in that warm, nostalgic glow you'd come to associate with pure contentment over these past few blissful years together.

Ken's attention remained transfixed on that vintage baseball game rerun flickering across the flatscreen.

Body settled deep into those overstuffed couch cushions with one leg casually crossed over the other in peak middle-aged dad repose.

But it was the tiny, swaddled bundle cradled against his barrel chest that held your rapt fascination from the archway.

Soaking in every precious detail of their serene tableau with an overflow of maternal adoration swelling in your breast.

At just three months old, your newborn daughter remained utterly oblivious to her surroundings - cherubic features smoothed into perfect repose while bronzed lashes fanned over porcelain cheeks.

One little fist tucked up beneath her chin while the other tiny starfish hand rested atop Ken's broad pec, rising and falling with each of his steady rumbles.

Her doting father absently brushed the pad of his thumb in soothing circles over the minuscule knuckles. Never once taking those transfixed mahogany pools off your slumbering miracle's face as if committing every microscopic shift to eternal memory.

That singular worshipful reverie you'd immediately recognized and fallen hopelessly in love with all over again these past few weeks.

The exact same soul-deep look Ken once bestowed solely upon the orphaned kaiju he'd raised before watching her depart for greener pastures - now magnified tenfold through his unbreakable connection to your shared offspring.

A permanent reminder of the family you created together from that cosmic loneliness.

"She's not at all like Emi was , is she?" You murmured, footsteps barely audible across the plush carpet until dropping onto the open cushion space beside him.

Ken responded with only a low rumbling hum from his broad chest while immediately unfurling that sheltering arm around your shoulders.

Cocooning you into his solid, familiar warmth until your cheek smooshed comfortably against the firmness of his shoulder. Close enough to press a wandering caress across your tiny miracle's silken crown.

"No - she's not. She's ours." A meaningful pause preceded Ken's soft, gravelly rasp ghosting across your hairline. "Our daughter...our real baby that you gave me, sweetheart. One I'll guard with my life the same way I do for you always."

Melting into the tender, possessive squeeze encircling your trim waist, you craned your chin up against his collarbone to receive that lingering brush over your puckered lips.

Ken's soulful gaze locked onto yours - swimming depths of protective ferocity tamed only through utter reverence for the two solitary souls anchoring his universe now.

The unspoken mantra of doing anything to safeguard the loves of his life until extinction itself.

"You've already given me more than enough happiness to last a trillion lifetimes, babe. Thank you," he whispered hoarsely against your skin.

"For being everything I could've dreamed during those cold, empty decades..."

You stifled the tiny sniffle by reclaiming his questing mouth in a searing, needful communion - conveying through satin caresses alone just how desperately you treasured this man and the profound sanctuary of family he'd bestowed upon you.

Your Ultraman, protector, partner, and living legacy of insurmountable love all in one. Cradling you both to his gallant hero's heart for eternity.

[r3starttt]

BEHAVE

PAIRING: Caitlyn Kiramman x reader

SUMMARY: Being her controversial young girlfriend but she's sooo mean about it.

CW: Mean Caitlyn. fingering and public sex if u squint. A mix of Cait act 1 and after act 3 because that eye patch makes her so hot.

TAGLIST: @lewd-alien @greysontheidiot @jolyne @sapphic-ovaries @tlouloser @prwttiestbunny @visobsession @thesevi0lentdelights @lvlymicha @stickycherritart @patronagrona @halle5s @usuck @thalchmy @lovelyy-moonlight @fakevalentine

A/N: this was a headcanon but it's too long so, enjoy(? also I apologize because this is very self indulgent and maybe it doesn't feel like it's Caitlyn at all but who cares!

* first post of the year!!!! ahhhh praying I can write so much more

"Do you truly believe I wouldn’t notice?" Caitlyn’s voice brushed against your ear, a velvet whisper laced with reproach as her hands rested on your shoulders. She guided you through the sea of silk gowns and tailored suits, her touch light yet insistent. The weight of her name—Kiramman—still carried its unyielding responsibilities. These endless soirées, gilded in pretension, were as much a part of her world as the air she breathed.

You hummed in acknowledgment, your brow furrowing as the opulent liquor in your glass shimmered with each step. The crystal caught the golden glow of chandeliers, creating ripples of light that danced with the cadence of your movements.

"I distinctly recall telling you not to speak to her," Caitlyn said, her voice low but firm, a melody of restrained fury and high-society decorum. And there it was—why she was upset. Her words, precise as a scalpel, made the realization cut deeper.

Jealousy. It wasn’t the first time.

She was a woman molded by singularity, the only child of a family whose legacy loomed large. Years of hard work and calculated poise had shaped her, yet even Caitlyn Kiramman wasn’t immune to the corrosive sting of possessiveness. She had drawn comfort from women, and in doing so, learned too much about how easily temptation could unravel the strongest resolves. She knew what could happen when the wrong hands reached for what they desired.

"And I didn’t," you replied, your tone measured but pointed as you placed emphasis on the pronoun. "She spoke to me."

But you knew the defense was weak, the excuse thin. It wasn’t about who initiated the conversation—it was about the way you let it linger, the playful barbs you traded in defiance of Caitlyn’s clear wishes.

"Look at me."

She halted, steering you into a quiet corner where the hallway stood mostly empty save for the occasional passing silhouette. Her grip shifted to your chin, blue-painted nails biting just enough to demand your attention. Tilting your face upward, her single piercing eye—framed by the violet eyepatch that gleamed under the estate’s polished lighting—locked onto yours.

"That woman," Caitlyn said, her tone laced with hate, "will go to any lengths to provoke me. She is petty, immature, and cannot tolerate the fact that I chose you." The emphasis on you was punctuated with a fleeting brush of her thumb along your cheek.

"And why is that?" you countered, tilting your head slightly, an air of defiance laced in your words. You knew the unspoken truths hidden in her gaze, the ghosts of her past lovers lingering in her quiet. You weren’t the first to occupy her bed, but you intended to be the last. Still, the question hung in the air, daring her to acknowledge the vulnerability that simmered beneath her jealousy.

Her posture shifted, the tension momentarily releasing as she let go of your face, her hands finding yours. "Behave," she murmured, her voice carrying a polished warn. "You’re not some foolish girl in need of coddling , are you? Didn’t you insist I treat you like a grown woman and not—what was it?—a 'sweet indulgence,' like those other girls you claim I once entertained?"

Sharp, clever, and unrelenting , Caitlyn always knew how to turn the blade back on you, her wit as honed as the rifle she wielded with such precision.

"I’m merely observing," you replied with a shrug, feigning indifference though the sting of her words lingered. "You seem awfully afraid of some women. Almost as though you know them too well."

Her laugh was soft, almost a scoff, but her grip on your waist tightened. Caitlyn wasn’t one to retreat. Instead, she seized the moment, her free hand taking your glass and setting it on a side table near the staircase alongside her own. Without a word, she led you upward.

The quiet intimacy of the stairwell was a stark contrast to the party below. The golden light softened as you ascended, and with each step, the air between you grew heavier, thick with the unsaid.

Your heels echoed against the polished marble, mirroring hers as you followed her onto one of the estate’s many balconies. Caitlyn left the balcony door ajar, the muffled hum of the soirée seeping through like a distant murmur.

Her lips grazed the delicate curve of your neck, warm and insistent. "Do you know what I used to do?" she murmured, her voice low-- confessional. Her hands found your waist, steadying you as though she feared you might falter under the weight of her words.

"I would take them home," she began, her tone as smooth as the feel of her hands on your skin. Her fingers tightened ever so slightly, a possessive gesture had you folding already. "I would ask about their lives, their dreams... enough to slip beneath their guard."

Her lips traveled upward, brushing the corner of your jaw, then your cheek, before stopping just next to your ear. "And then," she continued, her voice a breath against your skin, "I would lean in, cup their necks, let my gaze linger on their lips... kiss them."

As the words left her mouth, she mirrored the act with you. Her fingers glided to the nape of your neck, holding you firm, her lips capturing yours with a deliberate fervor. The kiss was unhurried yet commanding, a declaration rather than a question.

"I would undo their clothes, piece by piece, savoring the soft of their skins." Her hands traveled down, tracing the contours of your frame with reverence until her fingers found the hem of your dress. Slowly, she gathered the fabric, the rustle of it rising in harmony with the quickening beat of your heart.

"I would caress their thighs," she continued, her voice dropping with promise. Her hand slid beneath the folds of your dress. She paused there, letting the silence be filled with the distant hum of the party behind you.

Her gaze met yours again, piercing. She pressed her knee in between your legs, her fingers making small circles over your clothed clit, feeling the fabric damp under her touch. A smile spread on her face, almost a mocking laugh escaping her as her forehead leaned closer to your own. "Yeah? feels good, doesn't it?" Her breath hovering over your lips before you nodded, opening your lips further to try and get a kiss she denied.

"I would love to feel how wet they got... listening those whimpers and the many obscenities spilling through such pretty lips." Her other hand went behind your waist, digging her fingers into you.

Your head tilted down as you got pressed into the railing. Worried that someone might see.

It wouldn't be new to them. Cailtyn had been caught endless times by those working for her or around her- and she couldn't care less. Making her girls go louder each time.

"I loved to hear how they pronounced my name in between gasps." Her wet lips pressed another kiss into your neck. Her hand guiding your hips to move against her leg as she slid her fingers up and down your covered slit.

You held behind onto the railing, using it to impulse your body as you wished against her fingers and her body and just enjoy yourself while using her. Your lips pressed too tightly to not let any sound out.

Your eyebrows furrowed to a point it hurt. Caitlyn made you mad, she knew how to put you in your place every single time.

"Be a good girl and let me hear you, love." She pressed herself closer to you again, her fingers busy with your wet. She had minutes that felt endless just rubbing at your clit over your clothes, providing you the friction of her knee against your cunt or her fingers over your hole- teasing to pull your panties aside and fuck you-- But that was it.

And maybe all of it had you falling for her one last time. Opening your lips to moan and whimper against her own. She wanted the show and if she asked so nicely why would you deny her?

But just as you felt like maybe there could be a way to convince her to fuck you like you wanted, she stopped. It was almost too abruptly it hurt.

"Go to the bathroom and compose yourself," Caitlyn instructed. Her grip tightened on your chin, tilting your face upward with a practiced ease that left little room to argument. The intensity in her eyes was an unspoken demand.

"I will not endure the embarrassment of your behavior tonight." The sharp edge of her accent making each syllable bite. Her fingers pressed into your cheeks, just enough to remind you of her control, her authority over this moment. "Your age is already... challenging for me. Do not make me regret this, love. Do you understand?"

You nodded, the motion awkward under the restraint of her hand. A wave of heat prickled at the corners of your eyes, tears threatening to spill, not from pain but from the raw sting of her words. Your voice came out small, broken, as though the very air had been stolen from your lungs.

"I'm sorry," you murmured an apology barely audible, stifled by the weight of her fingers against your face.

"Don't apologize," she snapped, the command as firm as it was cold. Her gaze bore into yours, cutting through your composure. "Just do as I ask. Prove to me that you're capable of being what I need you to be."

Her lips hovered dangerously close to yours, her breath warm, intimate, yet void of comfort. "Show me you're worth it-" She paused to make it clear, it was a warn if not a threat. "And never, ever speak to her again. Not a word, not a glance. Or it's over. Is that clear?"

There was no room for negotiation, no softness to temper her gaze. Her words were final. Like anything else around her, it was an unspoken contract you had no choice but to sign.

[lifeonmarz-blog]

The 12 houses explained: short word format

1st: Aries, Mars, Yang, Dragon, Bee, Face, Eyes, Eyebrows, Voice, Accent, First Glance, Passion, Drive, Self Esteem, 3rd Eye, Intuition, Hard on yourself, Mutable, Patience, Leader, Stoic, Muscles, Neck/Head tension, Animals, Intensity, Head scarf, Tender headed, Attracting energy vampires, Hard headed, Red, Purple, Sexual energy, Humor, Introvert/extrovert, Fear of child baring because loss of freedom, Judgement, Lymph nodes, Guitar, Fast talker, Sharp talker, Forward thinking, Warrior, Personality, Spine...

2nd: Taurus, Venus, Yin, Panda, Neck/Throat, Throat chakra, Mouth, Thyroid, Heart, Pink, Blue, Fluid, Security, Resources, Musician, Silent, Introvert, Nose, Scent, Taste, Parent, Singing, Arms, Dancing, Food, Breeze, Partnership, Sharing, Values, Luxury, Pleasure, Easy going, Soft spoken, Naivety, Split decisions, Indecisive, Moon, Father, Sturdy, Poker face, Children, Trustworthy, Grit, Victory, Horses, Trials...

3rd: Gemini, Mercury, Yin/Yang, Jack Rabbit, Hands, Feet, Speech, Tongue, Lungs, Fast pace, Exercise, excitement, Bounce back, Joy, Vigor, Youth, Fidget, Anxiety, Habits, Expressive, Musician, Storyteller, School, Journalist, Moral system, Networking, Group, Siblings, Questioning, Stocks/trading, Choices, Dedication, Picky, Options, Dare Devil, Flirt, Long lasting, Hopes, Trees/Forest, Art, Comedian, Chances, Materials, Time, Loyal, Boundaries, ...

4th: Cancer, Moon, Yin, Owl, Family, Mother, Compassion, Creation, Birth, Life, Regret, Sleep, Nipple, Breast, Anus, Stomach, Womb, Bellybutton, Heart, Sacral, Blue, White, Yellow, Ocean, Cold, Night, Cycle, Fly on the wall, Unspoken secrets, Pores, Suicide, Whispers, Distracted, Outsider, Alchemy, Caregiver, Chef, Guidance, Critical, Teeth, Passage/Gateway, Humming, Drums, Weight on your back, Pressures, Gratefulness, Gratitude, Obedience, Horse, Animals, Words that cut...

5th: Leo, Sun, Yang, Lion, Spine, Heart, Pets, Fun, Youthful, Children, Love affairs, Expression, Dance, Gymnastics, Loud, Bright colors, Short trips, Friends, Aunts/Uncles, Get togethers, Cars, Innovative, Actor, Protection, Magician, Gardening, Gossip, Alchemy, Adulthood, Relaxing, Bonding, Self destruction, Slick words, Hard work, Spotlight, Sharing, Rebuilding, Clothing, Renewed vision, Drawing board, Companionship, Grounding...

6th: Virgo, Mercury, Yin, Ant, Crane, Praying Mantis, Work environment, Routine, Structure, Time, Patience, Health issues, Hygiene, Nervous system, digestive system, Pancreas, Gallbladder, Notebooks, Writing, Movies, Home, Relaxing, Forgiving, Generous, Social Life, Bonding, Practice, Foresight, Letting go, Stable, Helpful, Tense, Pressure, Negative thoughts, Reminisce, Addiction, Sorrow, Indecision, Indigestion, Saving Finances, Strong will, Codependency, Maturing, Realizing, Criticism, Self Honoring...

7th: Libra, Venus, Yin, Dragon Fly, Peacock, Marraige, Partnership, Contracts, Joint endeavors, Kidneys, Bladder, Blood, Caring what others think, Voice, Accent, Culture, Rebuilding, Learning new ways to do, Home decor, Learning gratitude, Giving, Reseveing, Welcome home, Comfort, Jot, Warmth, Spring, Flowers, New thought processes, Building Legacy, Defending yourself, Possessions, Slower living, Connecting to nature, Center of attention...

8th: Scorpio, Pluto, Mars, Yin/Yang, Vulture, Jaguar, Phoenix Death/Rebirth, Fears, Dark, Dreams, Escaping, Running, Hoarding, Lack, Homelessness, Strength, Stamina, Restart, Hard work paying off, Legacy, Against all odds, Elimination system, Pelvis, All the holes in the body, Burgundy, Purple, Black, Sex organs, Releasing worries, Manipulation, Smothering, Misunderstood, Coffee, Over giving, Partnership, Friendship, Sensuality, Secretion, Body odor, Roses, Fruit trees, Chapel, Railroad, Balancing, Power, Unseen forces, Intimidation, Relaxation...

9th: Sagittarius,Jupiter, Yang, Donkey, Whale, Shark, Liver, Legs, Posture, Religion, Long distance, Foreign travel, New ideas, Creative thoughts, Energy, Witty, Nomad, Idealistic, Larger than life, Focused on success, Friendship, Gatherings, Social Life, Relaxing, Luxury, Boundaries, Tired, Mental Illness, Restrictions, Insecurities, Grandparents, Quiet time, Relationships, Sharing, Attention, Harmony, Rebirth, Hard work, Getting over, Time, Late night thoughts, Male role model, Weight on your back, Responsibilities, Greedy, Guarded, Proud, Protection, Unique, Lavender...

10th: Capricorn, Saturn, Yang, Sheep, Alligator Honey Badger, Cactus, Sterile, Marble, White, Grey, Cold, Winter, Snow, Reputation, Social status, Farming, Popularity, Bones, Skin, Nails, Hair, Sharp, Leather, Goat, Structure, Skin conditions, Over explaining, Hard on others/yourself, Violin, Holding onto the past, Hard choices, Seeing others happen, Collecting, Finding purpose, Unique interest, Creative ways to make money, Standing up for yourself, Tunnel vision, Sharing, Networking, Group efforts, Working on love...

11th: Aquarius, Uranus, Yin/Yang, Moose, Mongoose, Snake, Friends, Parties, Organizations, Goals, Hopes, School, Science, mutable, unique style, Different friend groups, Water, Lakes, Rivers, Driving, Circulatory System, Pituitary glands, Changing course, Fear of change, Social media, Learning to stand alone, Trusting intuition, Defending loved ones, nonchalant, Increasing expectations, Std, Dead tree, Sticking it out, Elders, Community, Taking a stand, Protest, Elections, Politics, Numbers, Releasing restrictions...

12th: Pisces, Neptune, Yin, Fish, Birds, Friends, More to go around, Letting go, Releasing Past, Decor, Eye for style, Luxury, Opinionated, Energy field, Subconscious, Mountains, Fog, Spa, Skincare, Hygiene, Safety, Frienemies, Luck, Protection, Unprovided jealously, Foreign, Secret, Being watched, Self expression, Confidence, Talents, Anxiety, Depression, Breath, Dreams, Sleeping, Ufc/boxing, Always wanting more, Magician, Plants, Sunshine, Exotic, Target, Maturity, Completion...

[ultravi0lence14]

Season Of The Witch

dean winchester x witch!reader

5k | fluff, slight angst

summary: as a natural born witch, you never felt the need to do all the insidious acts that other, more malignant witches did. funny enough, you hunted them like a hunter did your kind. this hobby of yours led you to the winchester’s, which led into a long journey spent with them and unspoken feelings for the eldest brother.

*based on this request

the cold wind whipped at your face, making your hair fly in every direction. your car was parked on the side of the road, a desolate spot that stared off onto a lake. you were sitting on the car’s hood, spell book in hand as you tried to figure out which spell would be the best to help find this witch.

it was weird really. a witch that hunted down other witches. but as strange as it sounded, you weren’t evil at all. born in a very long lineage of witches alike, your mom always raised you on the pretences of good, never allowing you to stray into the clutches of evil.

she had raised you in a peaceful environment, showing you the ways witches could use their craft to benefit others. different spells, healing charms, herbs, and warding symbols were all you knew growing up, and it didn’t really seem to bother you.

the two years since she had passed seemed like a millennia ago, but her legacy that stayed alive in your path made you believe that she’d be proud in you.

a week after she had passed, a witch had stumbled upon your small town, looking for a place to wreak havoc. you weren’t having it, and in an attempt to get her to stop — talking her down until she backed off — the witch sent a bookshelf flying at your head, nearly missing if you hadn’t dodged out of the way.

that was the first witch you’d ever killed. and honestly, it didn’t feel right in the beginning.

this was your own kind. women who also shared the same craft that you did. but it dawned on you very quickly that they weren’t using it correctly. these witches were using the power of magic to cause harm when it’s intended purpose was to spread good.

it was then two years ago that you decided to go rogue, scoping out cases done by witches and dealing with the problem before it got out of hand.

you had come across hunters in your time. wanting to kill you, believing your good girl act was all a ruse. though with quick words — and sometimes spells if needed — you got them off your back.

this time, it wasn’t as simple.

the foggy atmosphere of michigan brought a sinister, and dull feeling to the small town you were currently in. a newspaper article led you here, spouting a story about how kids in the town had been randomly disappearing, only to then go back to their homes three days later with no memory, to then break out in a horrid sickness.

you knew this all too well. it was a powerful spell used by witches to stay young forever. almost like the purpose of rapunzel’s hair in tangled but with the youth of children. it was sick and twisted, and you never once in your life thought of using it.

really, you didn’t need to. though your mom was a witch your dad was human. this meant that you were basically a regular person, but with magic flowing through your veins. it was pretty cool, but it didn’t happen for most witches, which had some resorting to this form of cruelty.

moving throughout the town, you could feel the energy that the witch was leaving off; pure evil and unadulterated demise. you wanted to stop her as quickly as possible, though you noticed there was something in your way.

well, actually two somethings.

hunters, and notorious ones at that. sam and dean winchester were known throughout not only the supernatural world, but the hunter community. they were good at what they did, and you couldn’t lie to yourself and believe that them being in town — presumably working on the same case — didn’t scare the crap out of you.

those two were well known for killing anyone in their path. so you decided to stay low, taking a more bookish approach while working so you wouldn’t run into the two brothers.

that’s why you were looking through your spell book. you were trying to find something that would help you with the whereabouts of the witch. but it wasn’t working.

with an unsatisfied huff leaving your lips, you hopped off your cars hood, getting into the drivers seat and pealing back onto the road, moving towards the nearest bar you could find.

a calm, peaceful drink at some bar was all you needed. you wanted to get your mind off of the imposed threat of the winchester’s, and focus more on saving the children in this town.

ten minutes later, you found a run down dive bar surrounded by even more deserted buildings. it wasn’t pleasant looking, definitely having been opened for a couple of decades, but you were desperate for a pick me up, and this was the closest place you could find.

the smell of cheap beer and stale air took over your senses when you opened the door. the place wasn’t too busy, just a couple of stragglers who seemed to be regulars in the place. with that in mind, you walked towards the bar, head down so you wouldn’t catch anyone’s eye and start any unwanted conversations.

you really didn’t know what to even think about when you sat at the bar top, a glass of something strong in your hands. you were in this rut that seemed to have started after your moms passing. you’d throw yourself into cases, taking your mind off of the pain of losing her. you never really coped with her death, and as time moved on, the effects of it were starting to wear you down.

everything was for her. she wanted to be a person that was seen as a beacon of hope, a saviour they could always count on. and yeah, you had been doing that for the past two years, saving children and adults alike from the clutches of different witches. but when had it stopped making you feel fulfilled? when had it taken away that riveting feeling of honouring your mom and left a chore in it’s wake.

the thoughts were running around your head, almost about to make you catatonic when a voice cut through the air. it was familiar, yet you couldn’t pin point where you’d heard it from.

“we’ve got everything we need, sammy. the whereabouts of the witch, her motives, the artillery to take her down. why can’t we just go gank her now?” oh dear god.

of course it was the winchester’s. why would you be able to have a peaceful drink without those two being there? it was almost like the universe was playing a sick prank on you, laughing in your face at your already down mood and throwing something in the mix to make you feel worse.

but then you listened closely, really getting a good understanding at what they were saying. “it’s not that simple,” spoke the youngest winchester, who you knew was named sam. “she’s powerful dean, possibly the most powerful witch we’ve ever come across. this case would definitely call for backup, but we don’t have any. so we’ve got to think clearly and not make any stupid decisions.”

his words made a small light bulb flicker in your head. the idea was stupid — really stupid if the winchester’s weren’t up for what you had in mind. but you were desperate, the shit realization that just dawned on you needing to be squashed. they had the resources you needed, and what was the harm in having a bit of help?

knocking back the rest of your drink, you got off the bar stool and started walking towards the hunters’ table. though you were nervous they would shoot you right on the spot, you couldn’t show them that. so with an unabided confidence that you didn’t even know you had, you slid into the booth beside the eldest winchester.

you watched as both their expressions twisted into confusion. you awkwardly smiled as dean looked at you, and then at his brother with an expression void of any emotion but pure bewilderment. “can we help you-“

“let’s just cut to the chase,” you had cut him off, telling the two your name before jumping straight into business. “i’m a witch.”

the two men’s eyes widened, and before either of them could reach for a weapon, you lifted your hand in a ‘wait’ motion, halting their movements while also putting fear in sam’s eyes that your hand pointed at him was going to throw him across the room.

“before the two of you start your whole hunter shtick, i’m not evil, i swear.” the looks on their faces were skeptical, but you were too tired to even elaborate. “long story short, born a witch, mother raised me good, she died and i decided to kill witches who are evil, kind of.” the last two words were lilted up a bit, producing confusion on not only your face but sam and dean’s.

they had no idea what they were just faced with. sam looked at dean across the table, and they had one of their infamous silent conversations. dean clearly didn’t trust her, but sam believed that she was telling the truth, not understanding why she would tell such an elaborate lie to get into cahoots with them.

sam placed his hands on the table, leaning closer towards the mysterious girl so he could get a better read on her. “so i’m guessing you’re looking after the same witch we are?”

“yes.” you spoke, pulling your personal journal and spell book out of your bag. you saw dean’s hesitant face as he peered at the book, different assumptions of horrors and malignant spells that were beyond the bindings splaying across his face. though when you opened it, he saw nothing but good and graceful magic that could thwart the evil that lurked throughout the world.

opening both your journal and spell book to specific pages, you pointed at each, annunciating your points as dean and sam looked on curiously. “this is the witch we’re working with, as you two already figured out.” you started, pointing to your journal were you had written down a mental note of her. “and this is the spell that i thought could stop her, but i seemed to have been wrong.”

the intrigue on sam’s face had grown, and in an instant he was spinning your spell book towards him, flipping through the pages like he was trying to look for something specific. you just watched on confused, not knowing what his motives were but still interested in what he was thinking about.

“what if,” he mumbled to himself, stopping on a page and flipping it around to you and dean. “we combined that first spell you showed us and this one? they both have the agents to take down this witch, the only problem is that there is no spell where the ingredients correspond. so what if we just. . . meshed them together?”

his words came off confusing to you at the start, but when you really started to think about it, the plan was borderline genius. with a little tweaking of the spell, you’d have all the resources you’d need to take down this witch.

“that could work.” you balked out excitedly, grabbing a pen from your bag and eagerly writing down the instructions and ingredients from both spells. though, before the pen could even touch the paper, you felt a hard gaze on yours. looking to your left, the cool, emerald eyes of dean winchester were staring back at you.

a dark forest green had taken over his irises, and you could tell that he wasn’t too fond of this plan like his brother was. “do you think we’re fucking stupid? no way in hell are we going to work with you. let alone allow you to cook up some half-assed spell that unknown to sam and i, could be used to kill us.”

expecting nothing less from the eldest brother, you just stared back at him with a straight expression, not really wanting to entertain his paranoia. “wow,” you breathed out, flipping back and forth between the two spells. “you really are as paranoid as they say.”

he just looked at you affronted, words barely gracing the tip of his tongue before you cut him off again. “if i wanted to hurt you two, don’t you think i would’ve done it by now? personally, i don’t have the time — nor energy, to cook up some elaborate plan to kill you both. so stop complaining and go pick these up for me.”

a piece of paper was slammed between the two brothers, a plethora of herbs and ingredients you’d need to conduct the spell.

dean just looked at you with an exasperated expression, a snarky grin appearing on his face in it’s wake. “if you think we’re going to run around and do your chores, than you are extremely mistaken, sunshine.”

sam had listened to dean grumble the entire way to the store. he’d grumbled the entire way back. he even grumbled as you combined it all together. it was clear as day that dean wasn’t having any of this, but sam was having too much fun to put a stop in it.

he could tell you were trust worthy, and with that he allowed you to make your herb stew in the back of the impala, the three of you like sitting ducks outside of the witches house.

dean almost had a conniption when sam offered up that idea, saying he’d kill you on the spot if you got any herbs in the cracks of the backseat. though with sam’s famous puppy dog eyes, here he was; an overpowering smell taking over his nostrils as you added the last ingredient.

“okay,” you breathed out, dusting off your hands in the bowl. “the logistics of the spell are pretty simple; you guys go in, throw this on her, and i’ll be in here saying the spell.”

dean just scoffed, turning around and looking at you with a face of disbelief. “yeah, there is no way in hell we’re leaving you by yourself. let alone in my baby. c’mon sabrina, you’re coming with us.”

the role of your eyes was palpable as you stepped out of the car. you handed off the bowl to sam as dean breathed down your neck, hounding in on your personal space to make sure you wouldn’t make a run for it. his hand was lingering over the small of your back, and you felt stupid for the shiver that ran up your spine.

both sam and dean slowly walked into the house, guns in hand as they prepared for a battle. in your experience, the witch was always hiding somewhere in her home to do her spell work. what you weren’t expecting though, was for her to be right in the living room.

she was doing a spell of sorts, one to draw in people and bring them to her home. it was like that scene in hocus pocus, and you had to laugh at the stereotype of it all.

at the sound of your giggle, her head snapped up, attempting to throw the three of you across the room. but you were quicker, and with a wave of your hand you blocked her attack with meticulous precision. dean looked shocked, though sam was waiting for the nod of your head, indicating when he can throw the mixture.

when you did, sam doused the witch in the mixture. she screamed in agony, something you weren’t suspecting, but you just kept going with the spell. you started chanting the incantation, watching as her skin bubbled in a way that meant her body was liquifying from the inside.

it was gnarly, you knew that; so did sam and dean. faces of disgust etching on all three of your faces as she dropped to the ground, presumably dead.

“did it. . . work?” dean spoke hesitantly, walking closer to the witch and poking at her.

you just nodded your head, flipping to the page in your spell book that would help with the sick kids. it was a reversal spell, and as you finished the incantation, you saw the talismans on the witches alter smash, making you know that the spell was broken and the kids were safe.

the rest of the evening went by in a blur; you going with sam and dean to the hospital to see if the kids were okay, the two brothers asking you countless questions on what a good witch ‘really is’, and now they were dropping you back off at your car, looking at you as you leaned against the driver side door.

“it was nice having some help.” you said, smiling at both of them and going in to give sam a hug. “thank you.” you breathed out, moving from him to his brother. dean was more tense, but he revelled in the feeling of your body against his. you smelt nice, and he couldn’t help but be intoxicated by your sent.

than an idea popped into his head, and he pulled away so he was only at an arms length. “what if you joined us?” dean spoke, eliciting your eyes to widen and sam’s eyebrows to raise.

“wait, seriously?” you questioned, looking dean in the eye as his hands stayed firmly on your shoulders. it was a weird position, but you felt a strange sense of serenity with his hands soothing your skin.

“yeah,” dean’s voice sounded like he was unsure, but he knew that what he was saying was the truth. “sam and i can only do so much, and having a witch on our side would be a great advantage.”

sam nodded in agreement, looking over at you with a smile. “he’s right, and you’re pretty cool.”

you just laughed, thinking about their proposal for a second. this work wasn’t something you enjoyed anymore, but new parameters? two new people for you to work with? you weren’t just going to be hunting witches anymore, this was going to be all supernatural creatures alike. it was exhilarating, and you couldn’t say no.

“sure, why not.” you spoke with a grin, watching as sam and dean’s face matched yours. this was the start of something new for you, and you could see that something good was going to happen.

the months had gone by in a haze, the thrill of being on the road with sam and dean something you hadn’t felt in a long time. they were good hunters, and every new case they brought forth, a new sense of being was burning into your bones.

ghosts, vampires, and wendigo’s alike, the three of you were hacking through the supernatural population of america one by one. it was nice, knowing you were helping so many more people. and that for once, you had people alongside you that didn’t make you feel alone.

this case was no different, and with the looming threat of a werewolf in town, the three of you were on edge waiting for that next full moon. it was in a couple of hours, and only having been in this small town for one day, you were starting to feel doubtful that you’d be able to stop the wolf before it attacked tonight.

sam had been on his computer all day, going through old town records and different lores on werewolves to figure out what the beast had in store. dean was out in the impala, patrolling the streets and seeing if he could find anything suspicious. you on the other hand, you were creating new spells.

ever since the spell you and sam had concocted worked, you’ve been itching to make more. it was the thrill, the anticipation of when you spoke those words, would the outcome be positive. it most often than not worked, and you loved watching spells of your own merit being used to stop supernatural beings.

the mechanics and rush behind it enthralled you, and the quickness in which you came up with new spells couldn’t be stopped.

a loud huff broke through your excited haze. you turned and watched as dean forcefully shut the door behind him, throwing his jacket and shoes on the ground before flopping on the bed adjacent to the one you were sitting on.

“this is pointless,” he groaned, hands going to run down the expense of his face. “there’s no suspicious activity in town, you’ve had your nose in a book all day sammy, and halliwell over there has been making so many spells, i think the smell is frying our brains.”

a soft smile just graced your cheeks, ignoring the snickers from sam’s lips as you placed your spell book on the bed. you moved to sit beside dean’s sprawled body, hand resting on his shoulder in a comforting fashion as he peaked an eye at you from behind his hand.

“don’t get so stressed, dean.” you soothed, hands going to push a stray hair that went rogue on his forehead. “we’ve dealt with worse and have been successful with less, everything will work out as planned.”

another loud sigh just left the eldest winchester’s lips, his body propelling upwards as he went to sit properly beside you. “thanks sweetheart,” he whispered, leaving a feather light kiss on your cheek that had your face reddening. “how do you always know the right things to say?”

a swarm of butterflies flew around your stomach as you watched dean’s lips move. you knew this silly crush on him was inconvenient for both you and your dazed brain, so you just hoped you could push it down far enough until it fizzled out.

“magic.” you grinned as dean just rolled his eyes, hands going to lightly shove you as he walked over to where sam sat hunched at his computer.

it seemed as though everyone was fed up with the outcome of this case, the loud slam of a laptop indicating that sam had shut his. when you turned your head, you could see the exhaustion and frustration on his face.

he had scrubbed his hand down his face, massaging his forehead with his fingers as you watched him contemplate all his life choices leading up to this very moment. you were all tired, and there was only one thing you knew that took the edge away from every single person in this room.

“i’ve got an idea!” you mused, standing up and walking towards sam’s slumped position. dean was stood by the chair adjacent to you and his brother, watching inquisitively as a bright smile lit up your face. “let’s go get a drink. clear our heads.”

all you got in return was a nod from both brothers, silence blanketing the three of you as you all made your way to the impala. not even ten minutes later, you were seated in a small town bar, tucked away in a booth in the back while sam and dean conversed about something you hadn’t picked up on.

your eyes had racked over the patrons in the bar, seeming to mostly be locals who were known by the owners. but one guy was sending alarms off in your head. you couldn’t explain it, but he just didn’t seem to fit in, a sinister motive behind his exterior.

a slight sense of curiosity washed over your body, and with a slight inclination to sam and dean that you were going to grab another drink, you found yourself moving towards the bar where the man sat.

the second you found your footing on the bar stool, the man was turning his head towards you, waiting for you to order your drink before jumping in. “well, hello there.”

his eyes gleamed with a wicked smirk, nothing but cruel intentions dancing behind his glimmering smile or pearly white teeth. that’s what you planned on doing; to let him believe you were an unsuspecting bystander so you could break down his walls and figure out if what you believed was true.

“hi,” you gave your most flirtatious smile, trying not to look like a dork after all the years you’d been out of practice. “what’s a man like you doing in a place like this?”

“i can ask you the same thing, doll.” the pet name curled disgust in your gut, dripping off of his tongue like a snakes venom trying to get into your system. it was sickening, but you kept your composure.

with a flick of your hair, you gazed up at the man through your lashes. “oh i’m probably just like everyone else in here. trying to take the edge off, looking for a bit of fun. mischief.” you could see the way his eyes sparkled mean when you said those last words, lips coming up to lick his top row of teeth like a predator finding his prey. it was then you saw the prominence of his canines, and your suspicions were made correct.

“well,” he drawled out, inching closer by the second. “i can think of a few things we could-“

“baby, are you ready to go?”

the rough voice behind you made a jump wrack through your body, and when you turned around, dean’s hard stare was just as menacing as his voice. it wasn’t even just the endearing name that sent a jolt through your veins, it was the way he sounded like he meant it, forcing the word out like it’d been trapped on the tip of his tongue.

it was directed towards the man beside you, eyes narrowed as you watched his hands tighten on the back of your chair. you could see the restraint in his eyes, watching as he stopped himself from letting go of your stool and strangling this man until he couldn’t breathe.

no other words left his mouth as he stood behind you. he didn’t need to say anything. you could see exactly what he was thinking from the emotions swirling in his green irises.

“didn’t know you had a boyfriend.” the man grumbled, taking his gaze of off dean’s and moving towards the front of the bar. you didn’t even have time to reply, feeling as dean’s arm wrapped around your waist, moving you slowly off of the seat before he tucked you into his side.

“must’ve slipped her mind.” he gritted out, turning around and pulling the both of you towards the hallway leading to the bathrooms.

your heart was beating in your ears, so many thoughts swivelling around your brain that you didn’t know what to think. dean had never acted like this before, and you don’t know why he’s started now.

in an instant, dean’s arm left your waist, spinning you until you backed against the wall of the secluded hallway with a dull thud. a gasp left your lips as he crowded into your space, placing his hands on the wall by your head as his face inched closer to yours.

“what the fuck was that?” dean had practically seethed out the words through gritted teeth, breath hitting your face as you stared at him wide eyed. “i look away for one second and you’re twirling your hair for another man. do you know how that makes me feel?” his words came out like knives, sending a feeling of confusion and shock through your body.

“what are you even talking about dean?” you shot back, crossing your arms over your chest. “you flirt with girls at every stop we make. you’ve never even inclined to me that you feel this way, so why now?”

you wouldn’t lie to yourself and say you didn’t wish for this to happen, because you did. bubbles of jealousy would rise in your stomach when dean got girls phone numbers, and annoyance when he’d leave a bar with another waitress would rear it’s ugly head until your knuckles turned white from gripping the table.

but through all of that, you still couldn’t understand why dean was saying this now. why he hadn’t just out and talked to you when he first had the chance.

a softer look danced across dean’s eyes, removing one of his hands from the wall so he could cup your cheek. it was all so confusing, but you couldn’t help staring back into his eyes as he penetrated your soul with his.

“i was afraid,” dean breathed out, looking down briefly before looking back at you. “the people i care about have a way of getting hurt, and i could never let that happen to you, sweet girl, never.” his words were followed by his fingers stroking your cheek, a small smile dancing across his lips. “you mean too much to me, more than i could ever imagine.”

this all seemed so sudden, but somehow, you knew in your heart that it all made sense. dean was just as scared as any normal person with his life would be, and that was okay. you just wanted him to feel like he could let you in without the fear of inevitable demise.

the palms of your hands went to rest behind his neck, stroking the tufts of hair that rested there. you brought your face closer to dean’s, soft breaths leaving your lips as they brushed against dean’s with each word. “just kiss me already.”

and he did, devouring you whole until the only thing you could comprehend was his lips on yours. he was soft, gentle, but also with an urgency and roughness that spoke his devotion to you with no words needed.

he was so wrapped up in your lips, that when you tried to pull away he dragged you in closer, the hand resting on your cheek going to rest on the back of your head where his fingers nestled in the locks of your hair.

though when you did pull away, a vibrant smile broke out on your lips that had his knees buckling beneath him. “by the way lover boy, i’m pretty sure i found our werewolf.”

tags: @haunteres @cosmicanakin @a1ecmcdowell @ariasong11 @titsout4jackles @jasvtsc @ostaramoon

[andy-15-07]

hi! I love your feyd rautha fics 🥰 can you write one where the reader is pregnant with his child, a female, and he’s upset and cold with the reader because she’s not a male heir? but then, when she’s born, he’s so transfixed by her beauty and just the fact that she’s his, and that he just melts and swears to kill anyone for her?

My precious one

masterlist ! pairing: Feyd Rautha x reader

Dune Masterlist

The halls of the fortress echoed with an air of tension as Y/n, heavily pregnant with Feyd Rautha's child, moved cautiously through the dimly lit corridors. Feyd, the formidable heir to House Harkonnen, had been distant and cold ever since learning the gender of their unborn child. Tradition demanded a male heir, and Y/n's heart ached with the weight of disappointment as she faced the impending birth of a daughter.

"Y/n," Feyd's voice, usually smooth and commanding, was laced with discontent as he entered their chambers. "What use is a daughter to the House of Harkonnen? You were to bear me a son, a worthy successor."

Y/n's eyes welled with tears, but she fought to maintain her composure. "Feyd, she is still our child, a part of both of us. She will carry the blood of House Harkonnen."

He scowled, turning away. "A daughter will bring us nothing but weakness. I need an heir who can command respect, instill fear in our enemies. This changes everything."

As the days passed, Feyd distanced himself further, leaving Y/n feeling isolated and burdened. The weight of disappointment settled upon her like a heavy cloak, but she clung to the hope that when their daughter arrived, Feyd's heart would soften.

The day of reckoning came, the air thick with anticipation as Y/n went into labor. Feyd, though present, maintained a stoic silence, his eyes betraying the turmoil within. The labor was arduous, but when the cries of their newborn daughter filled the room, Y/n felt an overwhelming sense of joy and relief.

"She's here, Feyd," Y/n whispered, her voice trembling with emotion. "Our daughter."

Feyd's eyes met the tiny, squirming bundle in Y/n's arms, and for a moment, the hardness in his gaze softened. The baby girl had a delicate beauty that seemed to captivate him, a sight that defied his earlier expectations.

"What shall we name her?" Y/n asked, her heart swelling with love for their precious child.

"Feydra," he said, the name rolling off his tongue with a tenderness that surprised them both.

Feydra's arrival sparked a transformation in Feyd. The once cold and distant heir was now consumed by an overwhelming protectiveness and love for his daughter. As he held her for the first time, his fingers traced the contours of her tiny face, and he couldn't help but marvel at her innocence.

"She's ours, Y/n," he whispered, his voice filled with awe. "I will do anything to protect her. No harm shall come to our Feydra."

From that moment on, Feyd became an attentive and devoted father. He would spend hours cradling Feydra in his arms, his stern countenance replaced by a softness that only she could evoke. The fortress, once a place of cold authority, became a haven for the blossoming love between father and daughter.

As Feydra grew, Feyd's determination to shield her from the harsh realities of their world intensified. He vowed to eliminate any threat that dared to cast a shadow over her, swearing to protect her with a fierceness that only a father's love could inspire.

One day, as father and daughter strolled through the fortress gardens, Feyd's eyes gleamed with an unspoken promise. "Feydra, my precious one, you are the future of House Harkonnen. No harm will befall you as long as I draw breath. I would destroy worlds to keep you safe."

Feydra, oblivious to the dangers that lurked beyond the fortress walls, gazed up at her father with adoration. In those moments, Feyd's heart swelled with a love that transcended bloodlines and tradition. The bond between father and daughter had forged a legacy that defied the expectations of House Harkonnen, proving that love could be a force more powerful than any political alliance or familial obligation.

[flowerish-cherry-blue]

book recommendation list #1

• the lynburn legacy by sarah rees brennan [ya]

• the coldest girl in coldtown by holly black [ya]

• the illuminae files by amie kaufman, jay kristoff [sci-fi]

• sputnik sweetheart by haruki murakami [fiction novel]

• the raven and other poems by edgar allan poe [poetry&horror]