#wind among the pines

[apoemaday]

Wind Among the Pines

by Shinkichi Takahashi

The wind blows hard among the pines Toward the beginning Of an endless past. Listen: you’ve heard everything.

[moonlightwritingf1]

The Snowstorm Argument | LN4

°❆⛄⋆.ೃ࿔🦌*:･❄️ summary ━━━━━━━ Y/N and Lando go to a cabin to reconnect, but his constant phone use for work frustrates her. After a tense argument, Y/N feels ignored. After a heartfelt conversation, Lando promises to make her a priority, and they start to heal their relationship.

°❆⛄⋆.ೃ࿔🦌*:･❄️ pairing ━━━━━━━ Lando Norris x she!reader

°❆⛄⋆.ೃ࿔🦌*:･❄️ word count ━━━━━━━ 1.4k

The hum of the car engine was steady, almost hypnotic, as the tires crunched over the snowy road. Outside, the world looked like a winter postcard: endless stretches of trees blanketed in white, their branches drooping under the weight of fresh snow. The narrow road twisted through the forest, the dim light of the overcast sky casting long shadows that danced across the windshield.

Inside the car, the atmosphere was anything but serene.

Y/N sat stiffly in the passenger seat, her arms crossed over her chest, her gaze fixed out the window. The seat heater hummed beneath her, but it did little to thaw the chill that had settled between her and Lando. She’d been looking forward to this trip for weeks, clinging to the hope that a weekend away in a remote cabin might offer the reconnection they desperately needed.

But the constant buzz of his phone had started the moment they left the city and hadn’t stopped since.

“Are you serious, Lando?” she finally muttered, her voice tight.

He glanced at her briefly, his phone in one hand and the steering wheel in the other. “What?” he asked, his tone more distracted than defensive.

“Your phone,” she said, gesturing toward the glowing screen. “You’ve been on it the entire drive.”

“It’s work,” he replied, as if that excused everything.

“It’s always work,” she snapped, unable to hide her frustration.

He sighed, his thumb still scrolling through an email. “You know how it is, Y/N. Things don’t just stop because I decide to take a weekend off. This is just... part of my life. You knew that when we got together.”

Her stomach twisted at his words. “I knew it would be demanding,” she said, her voice low but trembling. “But I didn’t think it would mean I’d have to compete with your phone every second of the day.”

“I’m not asking you to compete,” he said, his tone tinged with impatience.

“Then stop making me feel like I have to,” she shot back.

The sharpness in her voice caught him off guard, and for a moment, he glanced over at her, really looking at her. The tension in her posture, the way her jaw was set, the hurt flickering in her eyes. But instead of addressing it, he sighed again and turned his focus back to the road.

The cabin came into view as the snow began to fall harder, large flakes swirling in the wind and obscuring the outlines of the small, wooden structure nestled among the pines. Y/N felt a flicker of relief at the sight of it, hoping the warmth inside would somehow thaw the icy distance between them.

Lando parked the car and turned off the engine, finally setting his phone down in the cupholder. “We’re here,” he announced, his voice lighter, as if the tension from the drive could be erased with those two words.

Y/N didn’t reply. She grabbed her bag from the back seat and stepped out into the cold, the wind biting at her cheeks as she trudged toward the cabin door.

“Y/N?” Lando called after her, his confusion evident.

She ignored him, focusing instead on unlocking the door and stepping inside. The warmth of the cabin wrapped around her instantly, the faint smell of pine and woodsmoke filling the air. She dropped her bag near the door and turned to find him standing just inside, brushing snow off his jacket.

“What’s going on?” he asked, his brows furrowed.

“What’s going on?” she repeated, her voice rising slightly. “Are you seriously asking me that, Lando?”

“Yeah, I am,” he replied, his frustration beginning to show. “You’ve been in a mood the whole drive, and now you’re storming off. What did I do?”

Her laugh was sharp and humorless. “What did you do? You spent the entire drive glued to your phone, barely even acknowledging that I was sitting next to you.”

“I was working,” he said, as if that explained everything.

“This was supposed to be about us,” she said, her voice trembling. “About getting away from everything. Reconnecting. But you couldn’t even make it two hours without checking your phone.”

“I didn’t have a choice!” he argued, throwing his hands up. “You don’t get it, Y/N. If I don’t stay on top of things, everything falls apart. It’s not like I enjoy being glued to my phone, but this is my life. It’s my job.”

“And what about me, Lando?” she shot back, her eyes glistening with unshed tears. “What about our life? Our relationship? Where do I fit into all of this?”

“You fit,” he said, his voice softer now, almost pleading. “You do.”

“Then why does it feel like I’m always playing second to everything else?” she asked, her voice cracking. “To your career, your team, your fans... even your phone.”

He opened his mouth to reply, but no words came out. Her accusation struck a chord he wasn’t ready to confront, and for a moment, the only sound in the cabin was the howling wind outside.

“I thought you understood,” he said finally, his voice barely above a whisper.

“I thought I did too,” she replied, wiping away a tear. “But I’m starting to wonder if you do.”

The argument simmered into an uneasy silence. Y/N turned away, her chest tight as she busied herself unpacking groceries in the small kitchen. Each item she placed on the counter felt like a distraction, a futile attempt to hold herself together.

Lando stood by the fireplace, staring at the unlit logs as if they held the answers to everything. He ran a hand through his curls, his frustration and guilt warring inside him.

Outside, the snowstorm raged on, the wind battering against the windows and piling snow high against the cabin walls.

Hours later, Y/N sat on the couch, her knees tucked under a blanket as she stared into the fire. The flames danced and flickered, their warmth soothing her body but doing little to calm her mind. Lando sat in the armchair across from her, his phone abandoned on the kitchen counter.

“I don’t know how to fix this,” he said suddenly, his voice breaking the silence.

She looked at him, startled by the vulnerability in his tone. His elbows rested on his knees, his head bowed slightly as if he couldn’t bear to meet her eyes.

“I don’t want to keep hurting you,” he continued, his voice low. “But I don’t know how to be what you need. I feel like I’m failing you.”

Her chest ached at the raw honesty in his words. She shifted on the couch, her voice soft when she finally spoke. “I’m not asking you to have all the answers, Lando. I just need to feel like I matter. Like we matter.”

“You do,” he said, lifting his head to look at her. His blue-green eyes were earnest, filled with a desperation she hadn’t seen before. “You matter more than anything. I just... I don’t always know how to show it.”

She hesitated, searching his face for any sign of insincerity. But all she saw was a man who was trying, even if he didn’t always get it right.

“I’m not asking for perfection,” she said finally. “I’m asking for effort. For presence. For you to show me that I’m not just an afterthought in your life.”

He nodded, his jaw tightening as he processed her words. “You’re not an afterthought. You’re... you’re everything, Y/N. And I know I don’t always act like it, but I’m going to do better. I swear.”

She studied him for a long moment, her heart aching with a mix of love and frustration. “I want to believe you, Lando. I really do. But it’s hard when—”

“I’ll prove it to you,” he interrupted, his voice firm. “Not just this weekend. Not just with words. I’ll show you that you come first. That we come first.”

The intensity in his gaze made her throat tighten. She wanted to believe him—wanted to believe that things could change.

“Okay,” she said softly, the word trembling on her lips.

He moved to sit beside her on the couch, his hand reaching for hers. When their fingers intertwined, the warmth of his touch sent a shiver through her.

“I love you, Y/N,” he said, his voice breaking slightly. “More than anything. And I’ll do whatever it takes to make you believe that.”

Her heart swelled at his words, and for the first time all day, the tension in her chest began to ease.

“I love you too,” she whispered, leaning into him.

The fire crackled softly as he wrapped an arm around her, pulling her close. Outside, the snowstorm continued to rage, but inside the cabin, the warmth between them finally began to grow.

[morelikeravenbore]

Feigning Indifference

"— And on the edge of it all, standing alone by the stands, there's you: arms crossed, little pout on your cute face, feigning indifference."

 (I promised Quidditch!smut for the girlies a literal year ago, oop. 🐢🐢🐢 Anyhoo...)

Rated: Explicit. MDNI. NSFW. 🔞

Content warnings: f!reader, no mention of house or appearance, size difference kink, semi-public sex, voyeurism/exhibitionist fantasies, possessive!Sebastian, Beater!Sebastian, feral!Sebastian, excessive use of the word fuck, p in v, unprotected sex.

Word count: 1.8k

[MASTERLIST] [WATTPAD]

Sebastian descends onto the Quidditch pitch, wind-swept, sweat-soaked — victorious.

Like a stone in quicksand, he's swallowed up by the cheering throng of admirers before he's even fully off his broom; Slytherin's mostly, their faces painted emerald, scarves transfigured into woolly snakes around their necks — they crowd around him, beside themselves with the thrill of Sebastian's triumph, back-slapping, hand-shaking, cheek-kissing. Sebastian is glad to be wearing his protective gear against the most enthusiastic among them — not that he's weak without his shoulder pads and arm guards, but some thump him so hard with their congratulations that he wonders if they're Gryffindor’s in disguise trying to put him out of action before the next match.

Once he's past the worst of it, he shirks off his Beater's gear: pads, guards, helmet (even cup, which he unashamedly yanks right out of his pants) hit the ground in quick succession, discarded for the teams’ first-year assistant to collect in his wake (provided his rabid fan club doesn't get to them first.)

Thanks to his seventh-year growth spurt, Sebastian is hardly any smaller without his bulky gear on — a fact he uses to his full advantage to shoulder through the crowd. It takes him several minutes to wind his way through; supporters and haters in equal measure jostle for his attention, girls squeal and find excuses to touch him, Imelda criticises his technique as he passes (even though he just won her the bloody match), and somebody lets off a series of explosions overhead that shower the crowd with green and silver sparks. — And on the edge of it all, standing alone by the stands, there's you: arms crossed, little pout on your cute face, feigning indifference. 

He wants to kiss the frown right off your face. 

‘There you are.’ He grins down at you. You glare up at him.

‘Seven different girls touched your shoulders just now,’ you grumble, scanning your narrowed eyes over the crowd. ‘Two more touched your chest, and that last one tried to climb you.’

Sebastian's grin widens, delighting in your jealousy. ‘Did they?’ He affects a look of innocence. ‘I didn't notice.’

‘Liar.’ You shoot him a deeply contemptuous look. ‘Maybe I should take up Quidditch, see how you like seeing your girlfriend being groped after every match.’

His amusement drops faster than a fumbled Quaffle. Usually, he finds your little jealous streak endearing — after pining after you for two long years, convinced his feelings were one-sided, your possessiveness makes him embarrassingly gooey-eyed and lovesick. But today he's too jacked up on adrenaline to let that comment slide: nobody touches you but him. Not even in your imagination. 

With no more effort than he expends on waving his Beater's bat around (less, even), he lifts you with one arm, bringing your face level with his. 

‘I wouldn't let you play Quidditch,’ he says lowly, his voice deep with authority.

Authority which you completely ignore, like always.

Incensed, you scoff and wiggle and squirm for freedom (‘Ugh, put me down, you brute! — You can't tell me what to do! — If I want to play Quidditch, you can't stop me!’) but Sebastian only waits, watching your little tantrum with a mix of resigned patience and wry amusement. 

‘You're not the boss of me!’ you wail. You’re tiny in his grip, slender limbed and delicate, but you’re agile enough to break free if he doesn’t handle you right. His arm tightens around you, pinning you so firmly against his chest that you squeak. 

‘Yes,’ he growls in your face, ‘I am.’

Despite all the height and the strength he’s gained since you met in fifth year (or the physique if all the giggles and whispers about his shoulders are to be believed), Sebastian is, generally speaking, an unapologetic softie when it comes to you: the most precious thing he's ever beheld, there's not a girl alive more loved than you. But fresh off the field, bolstered by the dizzying rush of glory and adrenaline, all his usual gentleness eludes him. — Suddenly, he wants to do more than kiss the frown off your face. 

A hot lick of desire alights in his belly, as familiar as it is impossible to ignore. Without another word, he hoists you higher and carries you off beneath the stands; game forgotten, celebrations be damned, he only has eyes for you, little doll, little bunny caught in his hungry gaze, so small and soft and devourable. 

You yelp when your back meets the wall, but hidden now deep in shadows, Sebastian only grins, wolfish. Grateful he'd thought to discard his cup, he pins you there with his hips, making sure you feel every sudden aching inch of him between your legs. 

You're his now. You both know it. 

‘How can you be jealous when you're the only one who does this to me?’ He leans in close enough to spill hot words right into your pretty, parted mouth. ‘I should fuck you standing. Right here,’ — he punctuates with a sharp thrust that makes you gasp, — ‘right now.’

Your eyes go wide, but whether you're scandalised by his audacity or desperate for him to keep whispering filth, Sebastian doesn't particularly care.

He wants to fuck the shock right off your face. 

‘R-right here?’ The wobble in your voice makes him twitch. He grinds into you again, sloooowly this time, rolling the entire length of himself against you while he watches you shift from stubborn brat to good fucking girl; no matter how many times he's seen you like this, flushed pink and panting, he's still utterly obsessed with the moment you finally give in. 

Because you always give in. 

‘Why not?’ He begins the careful crumbling of your resolve with the top button of your blouse, then the second button, third, fourth… But by the fifth his patience snaps and he yanks — hard; no need for a vanishing charm, he rips your shirt clean open. Buttons pop off in all directions; he knows you'll scold him for that later, but right now you only have strength enough to whimper. 

‘What if they see?’ You palm his shoulders — but you're pulling, not pushing. 

‘Let them.’ His lips are on the hollow of your collarbone, sucking shivers out of you. ‘Let them watch me fucking ruin you.’

Yanking you away from the wall, he spins you around and envelopes you from behind, one arm curled so tightly around your waist you couldn't wiggle free even if you wanted to. Not that you do want to; that much is clear when his other hand slides beneath your undies. Fingers slick, he fucking moans his way down the side of your neck, his tongue laving a hot, wet stripe down to your shoulder. 

‘You think I want to touch any of them like this, huh?’ He bundles your little body against him like a blanket, his arms taut and muscles straining as he works your moans free with his hands and his tongue. You buck obediently against his palm, and when he slides two thick, long fingers inside you, your knees give out. He holds you up, pinned pretty to his chest, your tits heaving in the open air, nipples begging to be painted wet by his hungry mouth. 

Sweat drips from his hair and lands on your face. ‘You think I want to fuck any of them the way I fuck you?’

Through the gaps between the stands, the Quidditch pitch is empty, quickly abandoned for post-match festivities (or commiserations if you're a Gryffindor). He imagines marching you back out there right now fucking you in the middle of it, stripping you bare and pounding you silly while the teams debrief in the changerooms and the Slytherin's celebrate their win in the dungeons. — He'd never do it for real, of course, but the fantasy of claiming you so openly, having you exposed and babbling on his cock for anyone to see makes him dizzy. 

He wants everyone to know you're his. 

The thought makes him fucking — lose — it. 

Hot and thick in his hand, he strokes himself free from his trousers with frantic pumps and a long, drawn-out whimper. If he's teetering on the edge of control, then you don't stand a chance; he hoists your leg up and rubs himself desperately against your underwear, mouthing your neck from behind, palming your tits with his big, calloused hand. Never has he been more grateful for all the grueling training sessions that have granted him the strength to manhandle you onto his cock whenever the mood strikes.

Undies bunched to the side, you arch your back and reach an arm around his shoulder, begging, begging, begging even as he's pushing in, in, into you. The sound he makes when he's fully sheathed is nothing short of feral; he stumbles forward, that hot, tight squeeeeeze of you so good it makes him weak in the knees. 

It's fucking unbearable what you do to him, the way you make him dribble and buck and moan all sorts of dirty things in your little ear — the way you make him lose control. 

‘Look at you,’ he slurs, anchoring you to his body with the full, hot length of his cock. ‘S'fucking good, s’all fucking mine.’

Holding your leg up, he sets a slow, deep rhythm and imagines himself watching you: a last-minute straggler drawn to your hiding place by your sweet moans. He imagines how pretty you'd look all stretched out and stuffed full of himself, tits bouncing, mouth agape with pleasure, too fucked out of your mind to realise how loud you are. He'd touch himself to it — oh fuck yes he would, edging himself to time his climax with yours. And maybe you'd notice him, a pair of dark eyes burning with desire. Maybe you'd like it. Maybe it'd make you cum harder. 

Fuck. Lust roils thick and luscious in his stomach and he makes a mental note to fuck you in front of a mirror next time. 

He's gasping now, slamming into you so hard your foot almost leaves the ground with every thrust.

‘If only —’ he groans, ‘— they could — see you —’ He drops his head to your shoulder and bites. ‘You're the — ngh — only one — oh, fuck —’

Surely you know — surely you understand that it's always been you; that the way you surrender makes him feel strong; that being inside you makes him feel less broken. Surely you know that he uses his body to say the things he can't put into words. 

It's more than sex: he fucking loves you. 

Your peak hits you first: a long, slow, wet release that Sebastian rides out as best he can without falling over. He moans along with you, echoing ecstasy into your ear, holding you up while your body succumbs to the overwhelming love he gives and gives and gives over to you. And when you're done, spent and shivering in his arms, sweet and limp and loved to the extreme, he follows. 

[dearieshima]

winner

feat. what happens if no nut november comes around, and you're almost there at the finish line, and the girl you pined over since highschool, finally wants to fuck you?

God had granted him the ultimate temptation– the chance to fuck one of his perfect angels, and it felt like divine retribution for not seizing such a heavenly opportunity.

c.w. cowgirl, breast worship, unprotected sex, loser boy gojo, afab!reader

Gojo Satoru is the kind of guy people talk about. A natural winner in every way that matters.

He walks around campus like he owns the place, because he might as well have, since his net worth was three million by the time of his conception.

He’s the one everyone wants to be or be with—athletic, good-looking, blessed with charisma, and even intelligent. People gravitate toward him as if he’s the sun, and it seems like everything in his life just falls into place.

So it was only natural he would accumulate jealousy brewing among some students. They love to admire him, sure, but secretly, they waited for a crack to appear in his perfect image, eager for it to crumble.

So when November rolled around, Geto and a group of underclassmen saw an opportunity. They set up a bet, daring him to a challenge: for the entire month, Gojo was forbidden from his usual playful flirting and pursuits. A month of self-restraint for a guy who usually had the university’s most admired women hanging on his every word.

He shrugged it off. The only woman he truly wanted was you, from the start, anyway. The only true threat to his virtue was his hand itching to jerk him off to the thought of you. Other than that, he was fine.

…

Well, something happened.

Gojo couldn't remember what triggered it, why your lips were suddenly pressed against his. Perhaps it was the cheesy sex scene playing out on the screen, or the dumb joke he made about the actor's dick - it must have been a particularly good, dumb dick joke to elicit such a response from you.

The specifics leading up to this moment didn't matter. This was what he had fantasized about endlessly since high school, and now here you were, in his arms, your body flush against his.

But as your hand slid down his thigh, brushing against the throbbing bulge straining against his pants, a sudden realization hit him like a bucket of ice water. He had been strong for 24 days, resisting temptation and keeping his resolve. But now, with you so close, so eager, his resolve stood a chance of a house of cards against wind.

"Fuck," he groaned, pulling back slightly, his breath coming in ragged gasps. "Wait… goddamn it."

You blinked at him, confusion flashing across your face, then understanding cleared it all away. "... Did you…?"

“No, no– thank fuck no,” he rasped, wiping a shaky hand over his face.

Your brows furrowed.

He had come so far, resisting temptation for nearly a month. And now, with you in his arms, the only person he had pined for those years back, all he wanted to come so far in, was you.

"I can't,” he said, his voice low and strained, almost as if the words were painful to speak. “It's November.”

“November...?” you echoed, your voice trailing off, searching your mind for any important dates in November that might explain his reaction.

Gojo nodded, his hands resting on your hips, his eyes searching your face for understanding. "Yeah, November. It's… um. Remember that bet I made with Geto and some other guys?”

You shook your head. Gojo let out a sigh, realizing that he would have to explain the whole situation to you. He ran a hand through his white hair, messing it up further.

"Alright, listen. You know how I like to make bets? I had this bet with Geto and some underclassmen… and it's about No Nut November, and–”

You let out a deep groan, dragging your hand down your face in exasperation. Your fingers tugged at your eyelids as you drew out a long, "Nooo, ‘Toru... That's so stupid. You guys are so stupid. Do you guys seriously believe in that?”

Gojo gave a sheepish grin, his cheeks reddening just slightly at your reaction, which was, as expected, not the most enthusiastic.

"I know, I know, it's a dumb bet, but these guys were so convinced that I couldn't make it a month without… you know." He paused, looking away for a moment, his voice dropping slightly.

"And the bet was for a lot of money, y'know.”

You sighed, “'Toru, your family’s loaded. What could money possibly mean to you?”

Gojo flinched, reluctant to admit you had a point. It was true, his family’s wealth granted him a life of ease and luxury that most people could only imagine.

"It's not about the money," he insisted, his grip on your hips tightening slightly. "It's about the… the principle."

"The principal," you said flatly.

Gojo sighed, his shoulders sagging slightly. He knew your disbelief was warranted, but he was in too deep now to back out.

You nodded, pretending to get it, and rolled away from him.

“I don’t know. Six more days, and then…” His voice faded as he watched you settle on the other side of the couch. His body quivered without the heat of yours.

He sighed, propping himself on an elbow, eyes fixed on you as you refocused on the movie.

“Six days isn’t that long, right?”

“Sure, ‘Toru.”

The room was filled with a charged silence, broken only by the breathy moans emanating from the erotic scene playing out on the television screen, taunting him. His mouth opened and closed, searching for words, but none came. How could you be so casual, so dismissive, after just making out with him? He was the king of sass and comebacks, but he was struck speechless by your nonchalance.

"Wait," he said, his voice slightly rougher than before. "That's it?”

You looked at him as the TV screen flashed, illuminating your face where he could see you with a raised eyebrow, slouched on the couch.

Gojo stared at you, disbelief filling his gaze. Was this really happening? Was he really about to miss out on this opportunity because of a stupid bet? His mind raced, searching for any possible loophole.

"But… I mean," he stuttered, "you were all over me just a minute ago. Are you really just gonna turn away from me now?”

You shrugged. "What do you expect me to do?" you asked. "Since you're set on doing that… November thing.”

Gojo deflated back against the couch, a defeated sigh escaping him. You were giving him attitude, and it was both annoying him and turning him on at the same time.

He ran a hand through his messy hair, trying to think of a response that wouldn't make him sound like a whiny child.

"I don't know," he pouted. "I just… I was hoping you'd understand. Maybe be a little supportive?”

You deadpanned. "You can't be serious. Supportive of what?”

Gojo huffed, his eyes narrowing as he glanced at you, taking in your blank expression.

"Supportive of me trying to win the bet! I've been holding back for about 3 weeks, and you make it seem like it's nothing, like I'm being ridiculous for sticking to it.”

"Not just you, but Geto and everyone else you made the bet with," you said, grabbing your Coke. "It's okay, really, 'Toru. If you’re not up for it, let’s just watch the movie.”

Gojo huffed and slid back into the arm of the couch, sulking. His arms were crossed tightly over his chest as he stared blankly at the movie playing out before him, not really seeing or processing any of it. His mind was a tangled mess of frustration and disappointment, replaying the events of the night over and over.

This was not at all how he had imagined things would go. The movie, with its stupid unexpected sex scene, you, offering yourself to him so freely, so willingly, and most important of all, him, refusing you.

As the night wore on, Gojo found himself growing increasingly restless. He tried to focus on the movie, but his mind kept wandering back to the bet and the opportunity slipping through his fingers. By the time the credits rolled, he was practically vibrating with tension. He turned to you, his heart racing.

His hungry gaze devoured your form, lingering on the tantalizing curves of your breasts, barely contained by your rumpled shirt. The lacy edge of your bra peeked out, teasing him with glimpses of doughy flesh straining against the delicate fabric. Each second stretched into an eternity, his heart pounding wildly in his chest as he imagined burying his face between those soft mounds, worshiping every inch of your divine body. God had granted him the ultimate temptation– the chance to fuck one of his perfect angels, and it felt like divine retribution for not seizing such a heavenly opportunity.

His inner monologue was a rapid-fire debate. The urge to forget the stupid bet, to toss all caution to the wind and just give in to the desire that was coursing through his veins, was overwhelming.

But then the image of Geto's smug face popped into his mind, the memory of the bet gnawing at his thoughts. He couldn't just give in, not after all this time. Could he?

God, your face was so adorable, lips swollen and glistening from his kisses, your neck a leopard print of hickies. His hungry eyes trailed further down, to the tantalizing swell of your ass from your tiny shorts riding up, exposing the globes. The loose hem showcased a pair of skimpy white panties, and he could only imagine how drenched they were, just from him. He was a fool. He's been waiting since highschool for the chance to fuck his dream girl, and when offered the chance, he was just going to give it up? To give it to the next guy? Fuck no. You might not give him another chance by then.

In an instant, he was on his knees, closing the distance between you with a swiftness that was almost alarming. His voice was a low, guttural growl as he leaned over you.

"Screw it.”

Your wide-eyed look of surprise didn't deter Gojo, not one bit. His eyes were burning, his gaze practically burning holes through your clothes.

He planted his hands on the arm of the couch, effectively trapping you, his body looming over you like a predator over its prey.

"Fuck the bet," he growled, his hands roaming hungrily over your curves. "Fuck the bet. Fuck Geto, fuck Shoko, fuck Ino– fuck everything else. I just want to fuck you. They don't have a sexy girl waiting for them at home like I do. They can't understand the struggle."

His mouth crashed against your neck, his tongue and teeth working the sensitive flesh as he pulled you down onto his lap, your bodies melding together on the couch. His hardness pressed insistently against your core as he ground up into you.

Gojo tore at his belt, his fingers flying as he unbuttoned his pants. He pushed them down, along with his underwear, freeing himself. His cock sprung proudly, his tip flushed and glistening with pre. Subtle blue veins snaked up the creamy length, pulsing with need.

Hooking his fingers under your shorts and panties, he tugged them down, exposing your dripping wet pussy to his hungry gaze. You lifted your hips obligingly, allowing him to remove the flimsy garments completely. Gojo groaned at the sight of your slick folds, already swollen with arousal.

Positioning himself beneath you, his rigid shaft bobbed against his stomach. The musky scent of his desire filled the air as his fingers curled around himself, guiding himself to your entrance. He thrust up, sheathing himself inside you in one stroke.

You tossed your head back, your pussy clenching around him. Gojo's eyes rolled back as he bottomed out inside you, his cock buried to the hilt in your tight pussy. He let out a guttural moan, his hands on your hips as he started to pound into you at a brutal pace, his balls slapping against your ass with each thrust.

Gojo's voice was a guttural growl against your neck as he fucked you relentlessly. "I can't... Stop... Fuck, I've wanted this for so long... Fuck, fuck, fuck!" His hips hammered against yours, the sound of skin slapping against skin echoing through the room.

"'Toru...!”

"Shh...shh, baby, not so loud..." Gojo panted, trying to muffle his own moans. Despite resigning to fucking you, he remained paranoid that the others may hear you both. Maybe he could salvage himself.

His hips jackhammered upwards, his hard length spearing into you over and over, the couch creaking under the force of his thrusts.

"Oh… Oh god..." You whimpered, grinding against him. "You feel so good…”

Gojo's hands gripped your hips hard enough to bruise as he slammed into you, his thick cock stretching you deliciously. He could feel your velvety walls fluttering around him, gripping him like a vice. "You're so fucking tight…”

His gaze was glued to your bouncing tits as he fucked you, his cock twitching inside you with every bounce. He reached up to grab one, squeezing the soft flesh in his hands as he continued to pound into your soaked pussy. "Fuck, your tits are perfect...so fucking perfect..." He groaned, "you're gonna make me cum so hard…”

“‘Toru…! you feel, feel so... mngh," you whimpered out, your hands curling over his as it kneaded your breasts.

"I'm not going to last long after holding back for so long…” Gojo cried, his voice strained with lust and exertion. “Say my name again, baby. Please…”

“‘Toru…!”

Gojo threw his head back with a loud groan as he heard his name on your lips, the sound spurring him on. His thrusts became erratic, losing rhythm as his climax approached. "Oh, shit… oh shit–! I'm... I'm gonna... fuck!”

Gojo buried himself inside you as far as he could go, his cock pulsing. "Ah fuck, ah fuck, ah–fuck!”

With a loud grunt, Gojo pulled you down to bury his face in the valley of your breasts, his cock throbbing violently inside you as he unleashed a torrent of cum deep within your pussy. His entire body shudders as he emptied himself inside you, filling you to the brim with his thick, hot seed. "Nnngh!"

You continued to grind down onto him, prolonging your shared climax. He groaned, his cock twitching with aftershocks as your pussy clenched and fluttered around him, milking him for every last drop. "Fuck...yes… ride it out, baby… ride... ugh…”

As your movements stilled, Gojo moved to nuzzled into your neck, his chest heaving as he tried to catch his breath. He peppered soft kisses onto your heated skin, his hands still squeezing your breasts gently. "Mmm... you feel so good... why'd we wait so long..."

Gathering your thoughts, you sighed, "'cuz you're always doing dumb things. You lost by the way.”

Gojo chuckled weakly, his arms wrapping around you to pull you closer. "Yeah, yeah, I know. I'm just glad it's finally over… and now I get to do this every day…”

He pressed his lips to your neck, a shuddering sigh escaping you, just as his phone buzzed on the coffee table. It was a message from Geto, who lived in the flat above.

New text from MOMMY GETO!

sent 9:48p.m.:

loser.

[n0vazsq]

Beginning of forever | LN4 x Reader

pairing . . . lando norris x gf!reader

summary . . . When Lando took you to celebrate christmas in a ski resort, you never expected what would have happened next

request . . . no!!

word count . . . 1.5k+

warnings . . . none!

faceclaim . . . N/A

alexavia yaps . . . KILL ME RN I WANT THIS also ignore how i wrote this on new years eve

. . . The evening was as perfect as it could get. The ski resort in the mountains, nestled among snow covered pines, was glowing with holiday cheer.

The thick, gusts of snowflakes falling from the sky gave the entire landscape an almost ethereal quality, as if you had stepped into a snow globe.

Christmas lights twinkled in vibrant reds, greens, and golds, casting a warm glow across the darkening sky. The cozy, rustic charm of the wooden lodge and its stone fireplaces made the night feel even more magical.

It was everything you had ever dreamed of for a holiday getaway, and yet, tonight, something was different; something special was in the air.

Lando had made sure of that.

You had arrived at the resort just a few days ago, enjoying the slopes, fireside chats, and all the winter activities you loved.

Skiing together had been a blast; Lando’s teasing as he zoomed past you on the slopes, showing off his skills, and your good natured challenge of trying to keep up with him had left you both laughing breathlessly.

It had been nothing short of perfect, but the real surprise was still waiting for you.

You stepped onto the balcony of your cabin, the frosty air biting at your cheeks as you gazed out over the mountains.

The landscape looked like a painting, the distant peaks casting a serene shadow as the snow softly blanketed everything beneath them.

The lodge was just down the hill, its golden glow inviting and warm against the biting cold.

Lando’s voice broke through the calm, low and husky from behind you. "Pretty, isn’t it?"

You turned to find him standing in the doorway, his dark curls mussed by the wind and his face lit up by the soft glow of the holiday lights behind him. His eyes were fixed on you, as they always seemed to be, with that familiar warmth that made your heart race.

"It’s magical," you whispered, wrapping your arms around yourself for warmth. "Almost like something out of a dream."

Lando walked toward you, a troublesome smile tugging at his lips. He reached out, his hand grazing your back, pulling you into the warmth of his embrace.

You melted into him, the heat of his body a welcome contrast to the chilly night air. His arms enveloped you, the familiar scent of his cologne comforting and grounding you in this moment.

You leaned back slightly to meet his eyes, feeling a nervous flutter in your chest. "What’s on your mind, love? You look like you’re plotting something."

Lando’s smile grew a little softer, his hands gently lifting your chin so that you were looking directly into his eyes. The twinkle in them made your pulse quicken. "Just… appreciating you. And this moment."

You felt your heart skip. His gaze was tender, but there was an intensity in his expression that took you by surprise. His fingers caressed the side of your face, and you closed your eyes for a moment, leaning into his touch.

"You’re everything to me, you know that?" His voice was barely above a whisper, but it resonated deep within your chest. "I don’t know what I’d do without you, angel."

A shiver ran down your spine as his words sank in. You loved him more than anything, but this felt different. The air around you seemed to shift, the weight of the moment heavier than it had been in the days before.

Something was about to happen, something that would change everything, and you couldn’t quite place what it was. But in that moment, you didn’t need to. All you wanted was to be here with him.

"I know, love," you murmured, pressing your forehead to his. "I feel the same way."

Lando pulled back, keeping a gentle hold on your face as he looked at you with such adoration, you thought you might collapse right there. Then, without another word, he slowly reached into his pocket, his gaze never leaving yours.

Your heart stopped.

In his hand, he held a small velvet box, its contents hidden from view but so clearly life-altering. Your breath caught in your throat. You hadn’t expected this; not here, not like this.

You had joked with him in the past about your 'dream proposal', but never had you imagined it would be so perfect.

He smiled softly at your stunned silence, the playful glint in his eyes shifting to something deeper, more vulnerable.

"I know we’ve only been together for a few years, angel, but from the moment I met you, I knew you were the one I was supposed to be with. You’ve made my world brighter in a way I never thought was possible. I don’t want to wait any longer to make it official. I want you by my side forever."

You were trembling, trying to breathe, trying to process his words. Tears started welling up in your eyes, but they weren’t from sadness; they were from the pure, overwhelming joy that filled your heart.

"Will you marry me, angel?" Lando asked, his voice shaking ever so slightly, as if he was nervous, though you knew better. "Will you be mine forever?"

The world seemed to pause as you stared at him, at the man who had shown you love in the most unexpected and beautiful ways.

You didn’t need to think about it, didn’t need to second guess anything. He was the one. He always had been. You had built a life together, filled with love, laughter, and a deep, unspoken understanding of each other.

Tears fell down your cheeks now, freely, but they were tears of happiness. Pure, unrestrained joy. You nodded, your voice barely escaping as you whispered, "Yes, Lando. Yes, a thousand times yes."

Lando’s face broke into a grin so wide, it almost seemed to light up the night. He opened the velvet box, revealing a stunning ring; a delicate band with a sparkling diamond that glinted in the light from the cabin behind you.

With trembling hands, he slid the ring onto your finger. The cool metal against your skin only heightened the warmth that spread through your chest.

He cupped your face in his hands once more, pulling you into a kiss that was nothing short of loving. His lips were soft against yours, but the kiss was full of everything; passion, excitement, love, and the promise of forever.

It was everything you had ever dreamed of and more. Every kiss you had shared before felt like practice for this one, and you kissed him back with all the emotion you had kept inside for so long.

Lando pulled away after a moment, his breath shallow, eyes wide with happiness. "I love you, angel," he said, his voice thick with emotion. "I love you so much."

A sob escaped your lips as the gravity of it all finally hit you. You let out a soft laugh, tears streaming down your face. "I love you too, Lando. I’ve loved you for so long, and I will for the rest of my life."

Lando gently wiped away your tears with his thumb, his gaze filled with affection. "You’re everything to me," he murmured again, pressing his forehead to yours. "I don’t want to imagine a single day without you."

You laughed softly, still wrapped in his arms, the world around you fading away as your hearts beat in sync. "You won’t have to, love. We’re in this together."

For a moment, the only sound was the quiet snowfall around you, the occasional crunch of snow beneath your feet. Lando held you tight, and you let yourself relax in his arms, savoring the feeling of his warmth and the love you shared.

But as you stood there, wrapped in his embrace, you realized this was just the beginning.

The future stretched out ahead of you both, full of promise, full of love, and full of endless possibilities. No matter what came, you knew you’d face it together. Forever and always.

You pulled back slightly, just enough to look into his eyes. "I’m so happy, Lando," you whispered. "I don’t think I could be happier."

"Then let’s make it even better," he said with that mischievous grin you adored so much. "Let’s have a lifetime of happy moments, starting right now."

You leaned in to kiss him again, your lips finding his as the snow continued to fall, soft and steady, covering the world in a blanket of white.

This Christmas, this moment, was everything you had ever wanted. And with Lando by your side, you knew the best was yet to come.

"I love you," you said softly against his lips, feeling the words travel deep into your soul.

"I love you more," Lando replied, his voice full of certainty.

And in that moment, as you stood together on the balcony of the snow covered cabin, with the world around you filled with holiday magic and love, you knew that this was the beginning of your forever.

taglist . . . @barcapix ,, @f1lover55 ,, @ilovebarcaaa ,, @httpsdana ,, @paucubarsisimp ,, @justaf1girl (lmk if you want to join the taglist!)

[keikikait]

unfortunately should’ve been me is the last part of that series but i could do a jj fic with this as the plot if you want!!!

Yessss please if you can 🥹

ɪɴ ᴍʏ ʀᴏᴏᴍ (ᴊᴊ ᴍᴀʏʙᴀɴᴋ x ꜰ!ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ)

read my other jj fic here!

pairing: jj maybank x pouge!f!reader, (not au, both are early to mid 20s)

word count: 6.2k

summary: jj is more than happy to cheer you up after an argument with rafe

warnings: SMUT 18+: grinding, blowjob, throat fucking, no p in the v, dom!jj & sub!reader, friends to lovers, reader is…pining u guys… jj too, light angst (some self-esteem issues, nothing too detailed)

a note: am i a jj girl now?

please reblog and like, it means a lot! let me know what you think!

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ*:･ﾟ✧

You knew that JJ hated Rafe, yet you dated him anyway.

Well, date being a very loose term. You weren't Rafe's girlfriend, just one of the girls on his long, long roster. Rafe did care, somewhat, but he wouldn't actually commit to you, especially not after he started seeing Sofia.

You didn't want to be second best, or even third best. You wanted to be his first choice, so you marched yourself over to his new place in Figure 8 and stood your ground, claiming that if he didn't want you completely, you would find someone else. Rafe, as usual, didn't take your threats seriously, sending you off with a curt 'Sofia's coming over. We can talk later.'

You held back tears as you made your way out of Figure 8, arms wrapped around your stomach, fingers digging into your side. How could you be so stupid? As if Rafe Cameron would commit to anything that isn't a beer bottle and a bump off of someone's keys.  

The sun was setting, the wind blowing off the ocean thick and hot, a storm's warning on the horizon. You make your way down the street, heading into The Cut. All you wanted to do was go home, lay down, and wallow in your self-pity. You hear music in the distance, one hand coming up to cover your face from the sun as you squint. The Boneyard is packed, especially for this time of day, a bonfire already roaring, smoke billowing into the sky. 

There, among the Pogues, Kooks, and Tourons, is JJ. 

You stop dead in your tracks, watching him. Your breath catches in your throat, hands clenching into fists as you watch him laugh, throwing his head back before bringing the beer bottle to his lips. He takes a long sip before continuing, talking about something with Pope, gesturing with his hands. His hair shines in the sun, the orange and pink hues streaking the sky illuminating his sun kissed skin in a way that makes your thighs clench--

No. He's your best friend. It would be weird.

It doesn't stop you from turning off of the sidewalk, walking onto the sand and right over to him. Your stomach flips, and you’re suddenly nervous, and you consider turning right back around and walking away. But you don’t, in fact you don't say anything as you grab his shoulder, spinning him around and wrapping your arms around his waist, burying your face in his chest.

“Woah, hey,” JJ says, putting his free hand on your back. “What’s wrong?” You shake your head, not wanting to talk. Your eyes well with hot, shameful tears, and you grip him tighter, fingers clenching on the fabric of his t-shirt.

JJ frowns, slowly pulling back and getting a better look at your face. “Hey, hey,” he whispers, putting a hand on your cheek. “What's the matter?” He pulls his lower lip in between his teeth, looking you up and down. He knew you had gone to see Rafe today, and knowing the asshole, he had a feeling that it had something to do with that.

You just shake your head again. “Can’t… can’t talk about it,” you sniffle, trying to stop the tears as they start to fall, running down your face. “Don’t wanna talk about it.”

JJ’s face softens, reaching down to push his beer bottle into the sand, wrapping his now free arm around you, rubbing circles on your back. “Okay, we don't have to talk about it. Shhh…” he says, leaning down to press his lips against your temple. His left hand comes up to cradle the back of your head, pulling you in even closer so that your bodies are pressed together. You can feel his heartbeat in his chest, a steady rhythm against your cheek as he holds you.

You cling to him, arms wrapped tight around his waist as you cry, face buried in his chest. He holds you for a moment, his heartbeat still steady against your ear. As you keep crying, his pulse quickens, his grip on you tightening. “Do I need to beat his ass?” JJ's voice is low, quiet, making sure that only you hear him. You shake your head, resting your cheek on his chest. He just holds you, feeling you tremble as you cry, feeling you cling to him tighter when the sobs get worse. He doesn't say anything, just keeps his arms wrapped around you, swaying back and forth slowly. The other Pogues see you and JJ, glancing over in concern. John B frowns, watching you for a moment before giving JJ a concerned look. 'Everything okay?' He mouths.

JJ nods, reaching his hand up to intertwine his fingers into your hair. “You’re okay. He’s not worth crying over, sweet girl.”

“I just feel so stupid,” you mutter, reaching up to wipe away some tears. “He makes me feel so naïve. I can’t believe I ever thought that he would like me.”

JJ frowns, taking your wrist and gently pulling your hand away from your face, putting your hand on his chest. “You’re not stupid. You’re not naïve. He’s just an ass, and he’s not worth your tears.” he puts his hand on your jaw, tilting your head up so that you’re looking at him. With his thumb, he wipes away your tears, his gaze soft as he looks at you. “It’s not your fault. You can’t blame yourself for the way that he is.”

You sniffle, burying your face back into his chest. You take a deep breath, your chest aching. JJ smells so good and you squeeze him tighter. “I know I shouldn’t, but I still do.”

JJ holds you, his cheek pressed against the top of your head. There’s a beat of silence, JJ’s hand slowly rubbing your back before he speaks again. “Come on. Do somethin’ to take your mind off it,” he says, pulling back to look at you. “How about a swim? Or how about you and I go drinkin’ until you can’t remember what that dude looks like?”

You let out an involuntary whine as JJ pulls away, his hands moving to your hips. You yank him back into a hug, hands sneaking under the hem of his shirt to feel his back. “No. Don’t go, please.”

JJ’s breath hitches as your hands go under his shirt, feeling the muscles in his back. His pulse quickens, his hands sliding up to your hips, fingers curling against your skin, pushing your tank top up a little. “Fuck,” he whispers, his breath fanning across your face. He’s silent for a moment, his eyes roaming over your face, looking from your eyes to your lips. The feeling of your hands on his bare back makes something shift in the pit of his stomach, sending a shiver down his spine. He bites his tongue, trying to fight the desire to grab your face and kiss you until all you can think of is him. “I’m not goin’ anywhere.” he says, pulling you closer, moving one hand off of your hip to tangle his fingers back into your hair. “We could head back to my place. Nobody will be there.”

You nod, pressing your fingers against his spine. “I just wanna be with you.”

The feeling of your fingers trailing down his back cause him to tense up, his muscles flexing under your touch. He pulls his lip between his teeth, looking down at you. JJ’s gaze moves down from your eyes, slowly trailing across your face, down to your neck, and all the way down to the curve of your hips. He wants you. He’s wanted you for months. But he was too scared to say anything, never even allowing himself to think about it. And now you’re looking at him with those pretty eyes, begging him to take you home.

When he doesn’t say anything, you speak up, “Please?”

His eyes snap back to yours, his breath catching in his throat. He swallows hard, the feeling of your hands still under his shirt and the desperation in your voice making him weak in the knees. He’s never been able to tell you no, no matter what, and now is no exception. “Yeah,” he says, his voice coming out in barely more than a whisper. “Yeah, baby.”

Your eyes widen slightly as you suck in a soft breath. Your hands start to tremble, your stomach filling with butterflies. “Baby?”

His eyes widen, his face turning slightly red. He hadn’t meant to call you that, but it came out before he could stop himself. “Sorry,” he mumbles, averting his gaze down to your neck, feeling embarrassed. “Didn’t mean to say that. Force of habit.” Even though he didn’t really use that ‘force of habit’ very often. Ever, actually. JJ didn’t even call the girls he slept with “baby”, so he didn’t understand why it came out so naturally with you.

Oh. You look away for a second before meeting his eyes, your stomach churning. “It’s okay. I didn’t mind it.”

The corners of his mouth twitch, a smile barely starting to form on his lips before disappearing. “Yeah?” he says, his voice still coming out at a low register. He lets his hand trail from your hip up to the skin under your tank top, his fingers brushing against the curve of your rib cage. “You didn’t mind it?”

You shake your head. “No. I’m your baby.”

JJ feels his heart skip a beat, his face turning redder. He swallows heavily, hearing those words come out of your mouth making him dizzy. 

His baby. Holy shit. 

JJ’s breath catches in his throat, his thumb tracing the curve of your waist through your shirt. The possessiveness in you, saying that you’re his, and not Rafe’s. He didn’t realise how much he wanted to hear that until now. He’s known that he wanted you to belong to him, but he never expected you to just say it, let alone so easily. JJ swallows, his eyes flicking down to your lips, then back up to yours. “You are. You’re my baby.”

You smile softly, standing on your toes and wrapping your arms around his neck. “Can we go to your place?”

JJ swallows hard, feeling your hands on his neck, feeling you against him. He leans down, a hand on your thigh to keep you steady as you stand on your toes. “Yeah, baby. Let’s go.” He breathes, barely able to keep his hands off of you. He wants to grab you, pull you closer, hold you tighter, touch you.

He grabs your hand before tugging you out of the Boneyard.

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ*:･ﾟ✧

Thankfully, Luke isn’t home. 

You sit down on JJ’s bed cross-legged, watching him as he shuts and locks his bedroom door, just in case. “Thanks, Jay.”

JJ leans against the door, closing his eyes and taking in a deep breath. He feels like he’s going crazy. Being alone in his room with you, so close, is making it hard for him to keep his hands off of you. He knows that right now isn’t the time, that you’re upset, but he can’t stop thinking about kissing you. His eyes flick over to you, watching you sit cross-legged on his bed. His bed. “It’s nothin’.” He murmurs, leaning back against the door.

You pat the spot next to you. “Don’t leave me hanging.”

A smile tugs at the corners of his mouth, his lip getting caught between his teeth for a moment. He pushes himself up from the door, slowly walking over to his bed. He sits down next to you, sitting cross-legged just like you, leaving only a few inches of space between you. He can smell the coconut conditioner in your hair again, the familiar, comforting, intoxicating smell making his heart pound. JJ glances over at you from the corner of his eye, his leg bouncing up and down on the floor. “So, what, uh… what was the issue with Rafe?”

“I told him that I wasn’t comfortable being an option,” you say, sitting up straight. “And that I didn’t want to continue things with him if he wasn’t going to make a commitment.”

JJ nods, listening intently. “And he didn’t commit?” he guesses, knowing Rafe enough to know that the dude would never make a commitment, especially to someone who was willing to put out without it.

You sigh. “He told me we could talk later. I left after that.”

JJ purses his lips, his gaze turning from you to the wall. “Guy’s a piece of work. Why would you want to be with someone like that anyway?” he asks, his voice taking on a somewhat annoyed tone. “He doesn’t treat anyone like they matter, let alone the women he sleeps with. You really wanna be with a guy like that?”

You shift on his bed, starting to fidget with your hands. “I thought he liked me, and I thought I liked him.”

JJ swallows hard, his chest feeling tight as he watches you. He didn’t want to hear this. He didn’t want to hear you talk about how you felt about another guy. He didn’t want to hear about the time you had spent with Rafe, or your feelings for him. It wasn’t fair. He was the one who wanted you, yet you wanted Rafe. He wanted to tell you that, more than anything. But he didn’t. “Thought you liked him?”

“I don’t know if I do,” you say, shrugging. “I don’t know if I liked him or if I liked the attention he gave me, you know?”

JJ swallows hard, his heart pounding. His eyes move back over to you, his gaze running over your body for a moment before coming back to your face. Hearing you talk about liking the attention that some dude gave you feels like a punch in his gut. He clears his throat, his leg still bouncing up and down. “Were you just with him ‘cause you liked all the attention?” he asks, keeping his gaze fixed on the wall opposite him.

“Probably,” you say. “He isn’t exactly a fun guy to be around when he’s not in like…friends with benefits mode or whatever.” JJ clenches his jaw as you talk about the situationship you had with Rafe. He doesn’t know why he never thought about you and Rafe doing those things, especially when everyone in the Cut knew about Rafe’s reputation. But now that he’s thinking about it, all he sees is Rafe’s hands all over you. Rafe’s hands on you, Rafe’s lips on you, Rafe’s cock in your tight little cu-- 

“You wanted his attention that badly, huh?” He asks in a hushed voice.

“I think I just wanted attention, JJ,” you say, leaning back on your palms. “I just…wanted someone to want me, you know?”

JJ’s breath catches in his chest, his heart aching. He didn’t realise how badly you craved attention until now. He doesn’t understand why you think that someone wouldn’t want you, because everyone wanted you. He wanted you. Why wouldn’t someone want you? He swallows thickly, the image of you with another man making the pit of his stomach ache. He wanted you to be his. He hated seeing another man touch you, kiss you, be inside you. He wanted to be the one with his face buried between your legs, feeling you grind on his face before cumming for him like a good girl.

He glances over at you, seeing you lean back on your palms. His eyes trail down to your body, your shirt sitting a little lower than it was before, showing some of your cleavage. He shifts his legs as another wave of heat washes over him. “Everyone wants attention, baby.”

You sigh, laying down on your back, legs propped up. “I know. I just wish he wasn’t such an asshole.”

JJ glances back over at you, taking in the sight of you laying down, before looking back at the wall. He leans against the headboard, propping his arm up on his knee so he can lean his head on his hand. The way you’re lying there is starting to drive him crazy. He takes a deep breath, trying to ignore the thoughts racing through his head. “I’m still tryna figure out why you would want to be with him in the first place.” he murmurs, his eyes glued to the wall.

“Because I want someone to want me!” You say, throwing your arms over your head. “I want to feel wanted. I want someone to crave me, JJ.” Your tank top rides up, exposing more of your stomach, and JJ can’t keep his eyes off of it.

JJ swallows, his jaw clenching. That’s how he felt about you. He knew that he shouldn’t, but he craved you. It was like an addiction, wanting to be around you, wanting your attention, wanting you to touch him. He bites his tongue, trying to keep himself from saying what he’s thinking. “Well, you don’t need to be with assholes like Rafe in order to feel wanted, baby. Plenty of people want you.”

“Like who?” You ask, looking over at him. He’s not even looking at you, eyes on the wall, and your chest aches and burns. “You’re not even looking at me, JJ.” Your mind spins and swirls as you look away from him. Did he want you? Did anyone want you? JJ was being so nice and sweet earlier, calling you baby and holding you while you cried, and now he won’t even look at you.

JJ’s heart jumps into his throat as you say that, his breath catching in his chest. He wants to look at you, he does. But he knows that if he looks at your face, his eyes will trail down to your chest. Your legs. Your thighs. And he can’t. Because he’ll do something that he’ll regret. He takes a shaky breath, his eyes fixed on the wall. “Trust me, baby. There’s plenty of guys that want you.” 

“Like who?” You ask, rolling your eyes.

“Jesus Christ,” JJ mumbles, his jaw clenching. It’s like you can’t even fathom the fact that other guys would want you. He knows he shouldn’t say it. He knows he shouldn’t, but he can’t stop the words that come out of his mouth, his voice growing louder. “I want you, sweetheart. I’ve always wanted you. I always will.”

You suck in a breath, goosebumps running over your skin, the hair on your arms standing up. “What?”

It’s like the dam just broke open, his voice coming out in a rush, too quick, the words barely coming together. “I want you. I’ve wanted you for months, and I know that I shouldn’t. I know you ain’t into guys like me, but I can’t stand the idea of someone else havin’ you. I want to be the one touching you. Kissing you. Being with you. Bein’ the guy that calls you baby, because you are my baby.” JJ looks away, his eyes red rimmed with tears.

“JJ…” You sit up, moving to your knees. JJ swallows back his tears, his fingers clenching at the fabric of his shorts. His leg is still bouncing nervously, faster than before, his heart pounding in his chest. He can’t remember the last time he was this nervous, feeling so vulnerable. He looks over at you as you move, his breath leaving his chest when he sees you on your knees in front of him.

Silence. 

“Do you really mean that?” You ask quietly.

He doesn’t answer, instead, he just looks at you. His eyes run from your face down to your waist, stopping for a moment at your legs before coming back to your eyes. His lip trembles, his chest aching as he sees the sincerity in your eyes. When he speaks, his voice is barely a whisper. “Yeah, baby. I mean it. I want you so bad, it’s killin’ me.”

“Really?” You ask.

“Yeah,” He murmurs, swallowing as he holds your gaze. “Every time I see you with Rafe, every time I see him touch you, it kills me. Because I know that you ain’t mine, no matter how much I want you, I can’t stop thinking about what it’d be like to be with you. I can’t stop thinking about what it would feel like to kiss you, or touch you, or call you mine. It’s like I’m goin’ crazy.”

Fuck, he can’t get enough of the look you’re giving him. Your eyes are so wide, sparkling in the dim light of his bedroom. Your lips are glossy and puffy, and all he wants to do is pin you down and kiss you senseless. He lets out a shaky breath, his eyes flicking over your body again, his heart racing as he watches you kneel in front of him. He knows he shouldn’t be doing this, knows that it’s probably going to go badly. But he doesn’t care. He’s wanted you in so many ways, and hearing you doubt that someone wants you makes him want to take you right here and now. “Baby,” he breathes, his hands shaking at his sides. “Come here.”

You move over to him without hesitation, continuing to kneel on the bed.

God, you’re so obedient. JJ sits up straight when you get closer, his eyes running over you as he looks you up and down, biting his lip when he sees you move in front of him. He reaches out and takes your hand, pulling you to kneel between his legs, his back against the headboard. His eyes are dark when he looks back up at you, his breathing heavy as his chest rises and falls. “Look at you,” he murmurs, shaking his head in awe. “Kneeling in front of me like a goddamn angel.”

Your thighs clench and you reach out to grab him, your hands landing on his biceps. “JJ…”

He grunts as your hands land on his bicep, his muscles flexing under your touch. His hands come up to your wrists, his fingers wrapping around them, feeling your pulse beating fast under his fingertips as he pulls you to sit on his lap. “God,” he groans, biting his tongue, his body tense. He looks up at you with a pleading gaze, his eyes flicking from your eyes to your lips. “Kiss me,” he half whispers, half begs, his grip on your wrists tightening. “Please.”

You lean forward and kiss him, leaning your chest against his. You go to cup his face, to run your hands through his hair, but JJ keeps your wrists tight in his hands. JJ’s breath catches in his chest when your chest presses against his own, his eyes closing as he feels your lips on his. He has you right where he wants you, on his lap, your chest pressed against his, your hands in his, keeping you from running. 

But he wants more. He doesn’t want you to get away. 

He releases one of your wrists, catching it with his other hand, moving his free hand to the back of your head, grabbing a fistful of your hair and using it to pull you closer. “No,” he grunts against your lips. “Hands to yourself.”

You whimper and whine, grinding up against him, his hardening cock right over your clit. “JJ…”

He moans, his head tilting back as he feels you grinding up against him. Your whining and whimpering makes it so hard to keep his composure, his jeans feeling tighter with every movement you make against him, his cock throbbing in his boxers. He swallows hard, gritting his teeth as he looks up at you, his breath coming in short, harsh pants. “What,” he huffs, pulling lightly on your hair so you’re looking at him. “You think you’re in charge here?”

“No,” You murmur. “I know you’re in charge.”

He groans again, the sound sending a jolt straight through his groin. Hearing you say that he’s in charge, hearing you say that you know he’s in charge, drives him crazy. He pulls on your hair just a little harder, his eyes fixed on yours. “Then be good,” he says, his voice low and rough. “Listen to what I tell you, baby. No touching.”

You nod, leaning in to kiss him again, squirming in his lap. He lets you kiss him, his fingers still tangled in your hair, his chest rising and falling as he fights to keep his composure. He groans again when he feels your hips moving against him, pulling you in for a rough, hungry kiss, his teeth nipping at your lower lip. 

His hand moves from your hair to cup your jaw, his grip tight and possessive as he keeps your face where he wants it, pulling back from your lips after a moment and looking at you with lust-filled eyes, his voice coming out as a rough whisper. “Stop moving, sweetheart.”

You hold back a squirm. “I’m sorry.”

He sighs, tugging lightly on your hair again when he hears the pleading tone of your voice. “What did I just say, baby?” he asks, his chest rising and falling as he pants. “I told you to be good, and I told you to stop moving. You gonna listen to me, or are you gonna keep trying to act like you’re in control?”

“I’ll be good, I’ll be good!” You say desperately, trying not to squirm again.

“Good,” JJ tugs you closer. “You wanna make it up to me?” He nods along with you, a smirk appearing on his face. “Good, good girl. You wanna do something for me, baby?”

“Yeah, yeah.” You say softly, nodding.

“Alright,” He says, tugging on your hair again. “Get off the bed. Get on your knees,” You don’t hesitate, scrambling down onto the ground as he shifts his position, moving to hang his legs off of the side of the bed. JJ hands you a pillow and you slide it under your knees before pawing at his shorts, rubbing the button with your thumb. 

“Atta girl,” he grunts, his eyes roaming over you, his cock throbbing at the sight of you kneeling in front of him. He slowly unbuttons his shorts, taking his time to unzip them and pull them down, revelling in the desperate look in your eyes. He watches you squirm and whine as he pushes his shorts down, taking them off completely. He reaches down and grabs his cock through his boxers, rubbing the ever-growing spot of pre-cum. “Come on, baby. Show me how good you are.” You’ve been sitting and waiting for his permission, kneeling all cute and pretty like a good girl. You immediately reach out, hooking your fingers in the waistband of his boxers before pulling them down. 

His cock springs out, throbbing and dripping with pre-cum.

He’s huge. A lot bigger than you thought he would be, thick and long and slightly curved to the right, with huge balls to match. Your mouth waters. “Go on, then,” JJ says, giving his cock a few slow strokes. The tip glistens with pre-cum, drawing your gaze. He smirks, enjoying the way you're staring hungrily at his cock. “Wrap your pretty lips around it.”

He lets go of his shaft, allowing it to bob free and twitch in the air between you. His heavy balls sway with the movement, full and ripe. The musky scent of his arousal fills the room, making your head spin with desire. JJ's breathing grows ragged as he waits for you to obey. He knows exactly what he's doing to you, and he's loving every second of it. “Don't make me tell you twice, sweetheart,” he warns, his voice low and gravelly with need.

You lean forward, your tongue darting out to lick a bead of pre-cum from the tip of his cock, your eyes never leaving his face as you revel the look on his face, his eyes rolling back as his eyebrows furrow. With a soft moan, you open your mouth wide and take the rest of him, your lips stretching to accommodate his girth.

You start to bob your head, working his length with slow, deliberate movements. Your hand wraps around the base of his cock, stroking in time with the rise and fall of your mouth. You can feel his pulse throbbing against your tongue, and it only spurs you on, wondering what it would feel like when he cums in your mouth. As you suck him deeper, you use your teeth to gently scrape along the underside of his shaft, eliciting a low groan from JJ.

“Fuck yes,” JJ hisses through clenched teeth, his hips jerking involuntarily as you work his cock with that sweet mouth of yours. “Good girl.” He can feel every inch of your hot, wet tongue tracing the veins on his shaft, teasing the sensitive skin beneath. Your gentle scrape of teeth sends jolts of pleasure straight to his balls, making them draw up tight.

JJ threads his fingers through your hair, gripping it firmly as he starts to thrust shallowly into your mouth. “That's it, baby... Take it all…” Each word is punctuated by a slight push of his hips, forcing more of his thick cock past your stretched lips. He can see the effort it takes you to accommodate him, and it only turns him on more. As you stroke his length with your hand, his grip on your hair tightens, guiding your head faster over his cock. “God, I just wanna fuck your throat.”

God, fuck, you’ve never wanted anything more. Your thighs clench as you scoot closer. You nod eagerly, relaxing your throat.

“Fuck…” He murmurs, feeling your throat relax around him. He gives one last hard thrust, burying himself to the hilt in your warm, welcoming mouth. “Fuck yeah... that's it, baby…” He holds you there for a moment, letting your throat adjust to his size. He holds your head still, using your mouth for leverage as he throat fucks you, his balls slap against your chin with each brutal thrust. He can feel his orgasm building, coiling tighter and tighter in his core. “Gonna cum soon, baby... Gonna fill this pretty mouth up…” JJ's words are punctuated by guttural grunts as he loses himself in the sensation of your warm, willing throat swallowing his cock.

He throws his head back, hands gripping your hair at the root as he fucks your throat, balls tightening at the feeling of your gags and your nails digging into his thighs. Tears sting your eyes, but you take it, trying to relax your throat, trying to be a good girl. JJ grips your hair tight, panting. “Fuck, baby, baby, fuck, I’m gonna cu-”

Someone pounds on the door.

He groans loudly, letting go of your hair. His cock twitches from his delayed release, his balls clenching uncomfortably. “Fucking Christ, of course.” 

You pull off, wiping some of the spit off of your mouth. “Do you want me to get it?”

“No, it’s probably my dad,” JJ grumbles, standing up from his bed. He grabs a pair of sweatpants, stepping into them and tying the string, tucking his cock up into the waistband. “Fucking asshole.” You stand up, fixing your hair and wiping your mouth on the back of your hand. You follow JJ out of his room, tailing behind him as he heads into the living room. You lean against the wall, arms crossed across your chest, as JJ opens the door. 

You’re expecting Luke. Maybe even John B or Pope.

But definitely not Rafe.

Rafe stands in the doorway, his eyes narrowed as he looks at you, then at JJ, a smirk appearing on his face. “There you are, sweetheart. I’ve been looking for you.”

“What are you doing here?” You ask, stepping away from the wall and approaching the door. You grab JJ’s hand, squeezing it. JJ tenses up beside you as Rafe’s eyes flick over to the two of you, taking in the sight of you holding JJ’s hand. His gaze seems to linger for a split second, his smirk growing a bit wider as he eyes you up. 

“I just wanted to see if you were ready to talk, sweetheart,” He says, his eyes locked on you. “I told you earlier that we would talk after Sofia left.”

“I’m sticking with my decision, Rafe,” You say immediately. “I don’t want to be with you anymore. Not if you’re going to treat me as second best.”

The smirk fades from Rafe’s face as you talk, a muscle in his jaw twitching as he looks at you. He’s clearly annoyed, clearly angry, but he’s doing a good job of keeping his cool, at least for now. “Come on, you don’t mean that--” he starts to say, taking a step forward.

JJ pushes him back out the door. “You heard her. Leave.”

Rafe’s eyebrows shoot up at that, a scoff escaping his lips. “Who the hell are you to tell me to leave?” He asks, his voice taking on a tone of barely contained anger. “I’m here to talk to my girl.”

“Oh, your girl?” JJ laughs, looking back at you briefly. “That’s funny, because last time I checked, your girl was in my room, on her knees with my big fat dick in her mouth.”

Rafe’s eyes go wide as JJ says that, his fists twitching at his sides, trying to restrain himself from just swinging at him here and now. He grits his teeth, his jaw clenching, his face going red as his eye twitches. “Watch your mouth, Maybank.” he grits out through clenched teeth.

“Face it, man, she picked me,” JJ says. “She came to me, came into my arms, and let me bring her home.”

“Bullshit,” Rafe scoffs, taking a step forward, only to be pushed back again. He scoffs out a bitter laugh, his eyes darting between you and JJ. “You expect me to believe that?”

“Rafe,” You say, stepping forward. “Go home.”

Rafe looks back at you, still looking frustrated, but some of the anger in his eyes leaving upon seeing your face. “Sweetheart,” he says, his voice soft. “I think we need to talk, just the two of us.”

“I told you, I made my decision,” You say. “Go home.”

His eyes scan your face as you speak, looking at you with pleading eyes. “Baby, just let me talk to you for a minute, okay?” He says. “Please, just give me one chance to explain myself, and talk it out.”

“No, don’t--” You suck in a breath, trying to not get upset. “Don’t call me that. I’m not your baby.”

Rafe’s lips twitch slightly as you say that, his fingers twitching again, his shoulders tense. “Please,” he says again, his voice sounding desperate now. “Just come outside and talk with me for a minute, come on.”

“Go home, Rafe.” You say again.

Rafe opens his mouth to speak again, but JJ cuts him off, pushing him back further, getting himself between you and the door. “You’re not welcome here, man,” he says, jaw clenched, shoving Rafe until his back is against the porch railing. “You heard her, she doesn’t want to talk to you. Now get the hell out of here before I make you.”

Rafe hesitates, seemingly embarrassed. His eyes flick from JJ to you, his fists clenching. “I’ll be back, sweetheart. I’ll have you, one way or another.” He looks between the two of you, a look of disgust sweeping across his face before he leaves, heading down the porch stairs and over to his dirt bike. He climbs on, not even bothering to wear a helmet, before pushing the kickstand up and revving the engine. The tires spin, spraying dirt and sand onto the porch before he drives off, heading out of JJ’s driveway.

JJ grunts as he watches Rafe leave, shoving his hands into his pockets. He looks over at you once the dirt bike is no longer visible, his brow furrowed. “You alright?” He asks, his voice quiet.

You nod. “Yeah, I'm fine.” You squeeze his hand.

JJ nods, squeezing your hand back before looking back outside, making sure that Rafe is gone. He sighs, the tension in his body leaving his chest as he relaxes. “God, I hate that guy,” he mutters.

“Me too,” You sigh. “Come on, let’s go back inside.”

He nods, a small smirk appearing on his face. “You just want me all to yourself, huh?” he says, taking your hand and leading you back into the house.

“Well, yeah,” You say, grinning as you both head back into his bedroom. “I have a job to finish, don’t I?”

JJ’s breath catches in his chest, his eyes growing dark as you speak, his hand tightening on yours. “God,” he groans. “Keep talkin’ like that and you’ll have me on my knees, baby.”

You push him onto the bed, kneeling on the pillow again. “I’m the one who’s supposed to be on my knees, JJ.”

He grunts as you push him, his eyes going dark as he looks down at you. “Yeah?” he says in a low, breathy voice. “You wanna get back down there, baby?”

You nod, palming his half hard cock over his sweatpants. “Yeah,” You smile softly. “I’m your baby.”

JJ nods, pushing some hair behind your ears. “Yeah, you’re my baby,” he grins and leans back on his palms, his cock growing harder under your hand. “Now come on, be a good girl and swallow my cock again.”

You bite your lip before starting to untie his sweatpants.

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ*:･ﾟ✧

let me know what you think!

★taglist: @ietss, @momoewn, @blairsblg, @teenwolfbitches28, @dasia21 (italics means i couldn’t tag you!)

[azullumi]

WHERE WE LIE ON THE EDGE OF SUMMER !!

premise— you didn’t think that being neighbors and childhood friends with scaramouche would come with many things. for one, you have a sassy loser pathetically in love with you. content tags & warning — pairing: scaramouche (w/ gender-neutral reader) | modern!au, childhood friends, puppy love, scaramouche can’t skip stones, secret pining (for scaramouche), scaramouche words of reassurance and act of service advocate, fluff, word vomit, unspoken confessions | wc: 4.8k ; one-shot

notes from a jellyfish — (repost) first fic for the eat your heart out event!! nearly lost my mind writing this, but enjoy!!

SCARAMOUCHE is a liar. 

No truths spill from his mouth, that much is certain. 

He could never understand how poets write the beauty of a single sway of grass in the wind nor see how artists condense a single moment into a small stroke of a brush and find it breathtaking when it will all be bound to rot, but he tells others that he does anyway because he is a liar.

His words would bloom withered in his mouth, a shameful garden of ache, and the petals would never feel the lingering warmth in his lips.

But he never liked the heat, the suffocating warmth, always preferring the winter cold. But it was summer when he first met you and he remembers your laughter as you threw pebbles across the water, your smile gently shaped by the warm sun.

i. standing in between here and there

“Are you okay?”

There was only a grimace of annoyance on his face when you turned to briefly look at him. 

It was summer once more and Scaramouche dreaded summer more than anyone could, much more so now that he’s spending this hot day with a stranger—a child of his aunt’s friend, who is also their neighbor. The combination of sitting under all this heat and being forced to get along with someone he doesn't know is deadly. He can't even remember what their name was. Perhaps they had uttered it once only for it to be lost among the pebbled path or to be drowned in the river.

He raises his eyebrow at you, “Is it not obvious enough?”

“What’s with this sassy lost child? Jeez.” You mumble more words underneath your breath, something along the lines of him being grumpy. The summer breeze brushes across your skin as you stare at the river, contemplating. Perhaps you were debating if this stone will reach farther than the frog who jumped across just now, or maybe you’re just thinking of the boy—who your mother had asked you to get along with—sitting silently on the grass behind you since earlier.

You throw one stone over the water. It bounces once and twice, the surface responding with small ripples, sliding across before eventually sinking. You do this many times and he watches you every single time, eyes seemingly unable to look away. But curiosity is a hungry monster that consumed him, so he speaks to rid of the itch that claws at his throat:

“What are you doing?”

“Stone skipping,” you paused, witnessing the stone jump only once before reuniting with its old friends at the bottom of the river, “wanna try?” You blink at him, waiting for his answer. There was silence then came a grumble. He stood up from his seat with an expression that makes it seem like you forced him to do so.

You handed the boy a pebble, but he had to stare at it for a few seconds before he took it from your hand. You waited with an expectant gaze, your mind somehow anticipating that he’ll do better than you—Scaramouche looks like he’s good at everything that he does.

Oh, but how your expectations came crumbling down the way your breakfast cookie fell into your glass of milk.

“Go on, throw it.” You had told him and you didn’t know that he was that much of an obedient child because he really did throw it. Just not aimed at the water. He threw it like how one would pass a ball to a friend; his stone didn’t even graze nor come near the surface of the water.

But Scaramouche had the same perseverance of a rock against the wind. He picked up a pebble and threw it once more; this time, it is now aimed at the water but it only went straight ahead, sinking slowly to the bottom.

You don’t think you’re in the right time to say anything, so you just stood still and watched the struggle of a young boy who had a small stone in his hand, with the occasional rustling of leaves as the breeze passes and with the sound of a splash prodding at the silence that envelops you like a familiar companion. You wanted to go and teach him how he’s supposed to do it, that there is a certain angle that he has to reach and he’s not supposed to throw it just as it is, but your mind seems to tell you not to so you didn’t. It’s all quite a spectacular watch, after all, it was as if you were watching your favorite show at 7 PM after waiting hours for it to go on air.

No matter how many times Scaramouche tries to throw and make the pebble bounce across the river, it always just sinks the first time it comes into contact with the surface. He’s silent, but the frustration is evident in the scrunch of his eyebrows and the increasing aggression in his movements.

“Oh, wow, you’re terrible at this.” You were the first to break the silence—your words seem to have stabbed his unyielding spirit as he groaned and just went back to where he was sitting. An act of surrender after struggling for so long.

”You don’t want to try again?”

“Why should I?” The pebble will only sink anyway. What’s the point of doing something when you know you’ll fail in the end?

“Come on, just try it once more.” But you were a stubborn one and Scaramouche doesn’t have much of a choice, not when you’re already right in front of him, taking his hands into yours and pulling for him to stand up. You drag him back to where he was earlier, still holding one of his hands even as you pick up a pebble right at your feet.

“Here, do it like this.” Your hand is warm against his, gentle, in contrast to the crumpled look on his face. You guide him, saying words that he can’t process that much as he’s way too focused trying to fan the flames that danced across his cheeks.

He throws, in the same angle and form that you have guided him into before you had stepped back to watch, holding hope that he’ll succeed this time in the same hand you held him. The stone doesn’t immediately celebrate with his other failed attempts at the bottom as it bounces against the surface. 

You cheered, the sound of laughter slipping out of your lips as it seemed to tickle the insides of your mouth the more you held it in. There’s a certain feeling of warmth that washed over him when the melody rings inside his head. The roughness of the feeling, sharp in its unfamiliar edges, is akin to a huge wave that crashed into his form, but the comfort of it as it submerges him reminds him of the afternoon light shining on the floors of his home.

“It only bounced once.” He says, trying to downplay it all to get rid of the feeling that consumes him.

“But it did. That’s what matters, doesn’t it?” The feeling only seemed to grow stronger as if it’s feeding on your every word, being fuelled by your gaze, by your smile, by the sound of your voice. He tries to drown it all by thinking of other thoughts, diving into a different topic instead, and all the while, copying you as you resume your stone-skipping activities.

“Do you not get bored doing this?”

You hum, contemplating for a few seconds before you answer: “I think everything is a little more fun when you do it during summer,” you beam at him, then return your gaze back to the river before you throw, “Like this, especially when you’re doing it with someone.”

To be honest, he doesn’t even understand what you’re saying. This childlike mindset—although, for one, you and him are just a pair of children, playing beside the river, feeling the heat prickling against your skin. The bugs only grow louder in each second that passes as the afternoon slowly comes to the pass, replaced with the onset of the evening. The sky is painted with various colors mixed together but all in harmony, oranges and reds mixed with something golden, tainted with purples.

And yet, he would always ask himself, what is even nice about summer?

“I don’t know why but maybe I’m just saying that because I like summer,” you say as if you had read his mind, as if you had noticed the lingering question on his face that asks you why. “Do you like summer?”

It takes him a moment to answer, letting the orchestra of the wind against leaves, of the stone splashing against water, of the cicada’s song last longer than his silence. He could have said no, he could have disagreed with you and argued with your answer. He could have said that he despised summer for its heat and bugs. But he didn’t and that was the problem.

“I… like summer.” There are razors in his tongue as he speaks, the utterance of the sentence making him bleed internally as he bites on his words. Perhaps the hesitation in his tone betrays his words or perhaps it was the twitch of his lips paired with the contort of his forehead that made it appear as untruthful as it actually was.

Even so, you were convinced. You gleam at him, eyes bright with excitement: “Really? You don’t seem to be one to like summer.”

“I do, why would you say that?”

You shrug, “You just seem like a winter person to me.”

That wasn’t exactly a lie. In fact, that was the whole truth and the actual lie was him saying that he likes summer. He still doesn’t understand himself for saying such words—maybe it’s the heat getting into his head or maybe it's the sound of your laughter that plays over and over inside his mind.

It feels like having a crush—He slaps himself mentally at the notion.

“We should always spend summer together then.” You’ll say, watching a pebble bounce across until it reaches the other side. A feat you have only achieved twice—the second time being this moment. You silently rejoiced for your success, clenching your hand into a fist.

He responds, “So we could just watch stones bounce on water the whole time?” and this made you chuckle before you refute: “Unless you want to, but there are tons of other things to do during summer.”

This went on and on: you, just listing out whatever activities you could do and saying whatever, and him, who listens to every word you say and would give you short responses. It is not until dusk had ended and the evening came, and now, you’re standing by the doorway, saying your goodbyes to the boy who’s terrible at stone-skipping.

“You don’t even know my name, do you?”

“I do.”

You laugh, “Liar.”

ii. take a step closer, won’t you?

Summer came to visit like an old friend you had known for years.

It’s a fleeting companion, a familiar stranger bound to disappear, gone as the wind carries your scent. The sun kisses your skin very delicately, the grass will hold your being as if you were its own child, and you will miss its embrace the moment it slips out of your hands quietly. But there’s a strange comfort welling up in your heart knowing that you will feel it once more in time and you won’t have to spend a lifetime missing it—or him.

“What are you being so slow for?” The dark-haired man stops from his track and turns to look at you, his eyebrows furrowed and his lips formed into a frown. “The sun will set before we even reach the river.” It’s the mayor of complaintown, throwing his usual complaints at you. You could only roll your eyes before you run to him, catching up to his pace before the two of you resume walking.

Scaramouche, somehow, kept his promise. Although it’s not exactly a promise because the two of you didn’t make any, he did keep his word of spending every summer with you. And right now, you’re in the middle of walking through the forest near your home—an adventure, you may say, despite the fact that you have taken this path multiple times already and you’re just returning to the place where the two of you usually spend your moments under the summer sun.

The gentle murmurs of the rushing water reach your ears, eventually getting louder as the two of you draw close to your destination. Not sooner than later, a familiar scene comes into view: the small river—a stream, to be exact—in all its glory displayed before you, a path of water stretching from here to there across your line of vision, carrying memories of when the two of you played around it.

There’s a small smile embedded on your lips. It’s the thought that it's only the two of you that knows of this place that makes you warm—it’s like a secret place for you and him.

You come close to the body of water, crouching down, staring at your rather unclear image by the water, and making out the contours and edges of your face. You try to reach out to your reflection, disturbing the surface with the tip of your fingertips, and you watch as it ripples underneath your hand. Although you’re way too focused on whatever you are doing that you forgot the existence of the boy who came here with you.

“Are you just planning on staring at the water all day long?” Scaramouche says as he crouches down beside you. He speaks as if he didn’t spend his time staring at you, admiring the way the sun holds you in its embrace, while thinking that he could just look at you for hours without getting bored.

You hum, “I really don’t know what else to do now,” you draw something on the water, the surface coming in creases.

“I thought you said there are a lot of things to do in the summer.”

“Yeah, but we already did nearly all of them.” You grumble, turning to look at him with a troubled expression. Indigo orbs meet yours in a gentle gaze; Scaramouche’s gaze, tender and soft, doesn’t often match the harsh bite of his words. It leaves you wondering, confused, if this is just his way of showing that he cares or if there’s something more. But you don’t like thinking about it—fools base their thoughts on foolish assumptions, and you are no fool.

If only you know what festers underneath his skin. Looking at you like this, honey light against your skin, he thinks you’re beautiful—the word isn’t even enough to capture the essence of your being. The world seemingly held its breath for this moment as everything came to a still except for the wind that brushes against your face. He is foolishly and utterly starstruck by the existence of you, as if you were meant to be in this place, to experience this small, fleeting moments with him, to be bathed under sunlight, to breath in the air of your surrounding, the feel the coldness of water against your feet—to live.

There's you and his mere image being reflected by your eyes, and he tries to see into the waters of your gaze for something that is akin to the just adoration he holds for you, hoping that you hold him under the same light too. He may speak of words that hold no meaning, no truth, but his feelings for you are intense and unwavering that it consumes him. Won’t you pull him a little closer?

You break the stillness, your surroundings seemingly coming back to life with the sound of your voice: “What are you thinking now?”

“Just how stupid you look.” The boy answers. Liar.

You acted as if you were offended by his statement, letting out a gasp and even placing your hand over your chest to show that you were quote on quote, hurt. He only rolls his eyes at your performance.

You jest, “Why are you so grumpy? Do you just hate being with me?”

“Stop assuming things, I didn’t say anything like that.” His attention is now to the river, watching as the stream flows and as the rocks remain unmoving.

You grab this moment to take advantage of his vulnerability and inattention. Snickering, you scoop a handful of water before splashing it to him, drenching him in the process. At the sight, laughter bubbles from your throat—he reminded you of a wet chick.

“So we're playing this game?”

“You started it.” You grin, splashing him once more but this time, he was able to shield himself from your attack.

“Oh, yeah?”

“Cold!” You exclaim as he repays you the favor.

It became a battle between you two. You’ll splash him with a handful and he’ll only retaliate after like two or three of your attacks, and even so, he’ll only fight back with only so little. Nevertheless, water drips from your head, down to your face and he, too, is left there on the side of the river with you, completely drenched and with his clothes sticking to his skin. His gaze is on you and yours are on him, and the two of you break into laughter—you think you’ll remember the sound of yours and his tangled together forever.

For a moment, it felt like the two of you were children once more.

“Ah, now we’re both wet.”

Scaramouche flicks your forehead, earning a groan from you. “And whose fault is that?”

“Yours, duh.” You sneeze as soon as you finish your sentence. Scaramouche doesn’t fail to notice you tremble, hugging your knees close to your chest as if to quell the growing chill. 

He abruptly stands up, and you watch him as heads over to where his bag is. He’s been carrying that since earlier and you’ve been curious as to what it contains—you didn’t get the chance to ask him earlier but now, your question is going to be answered. 

You follow after, standing and peering behind him to see the contents. Your eyes are able to make out a water bottle and some snacks—were those your favorite?—among the pile of things. Albeit you didn’t get to see anymore of it as he turned around and placed something on top of your head, obscuring your vision.

You realized it was a towel when he started to gently rub your hair and the side of your face with it, drying you with the soft fabric.

“I didn’t know you had that much prepared.” You comment, letting him seemingly take care of you. Sometimes, it feels like you’re indebted to him with how much he looks after and cares for you. It feels unfair; you take so much from him and he never takes anything from you. He never lets himself indulge, settling on here and there, but never by you. You wish he would come close, he wishes you’ll hold him closer.

“I think we’re going to get sick after this.” You ask with worry lacing your tone; the water was cold and none of you brought any spare clothes, save for the towel he had prepared. And while he’s the one who got drenched the most, he’s here, focusing on you instead. 

(You’ll always find yourself being bathed underneath all of his attention, whether you notice his gaze or not.)

“You’re the only one getting sick between the both of us.” He answers, draping the towel all over your shoulders before he goes and takes out a smaller towel to dry himself. There’s a small pout on your face when you hear his words—you can’t say anything in retort.

“Are we going home now?”

“If you want to, that is.”

The sun is already setting and darkness is slowly creeping into the day as time passes. Your surroundings are dyed with a warm golden, fading into blue. The animals that dwell in the night are revealing themselves as the ones who thrive during the day are returning to rest. Eventually, you also have to go home too. Exhaustion has seeped into you, settling into your weary bones.

“Can you carry me?”

“What? Can’t you walk on your own?”

“Oh, please, almighty Scaramouche. My legs are hurting and I’m tired.” Your hands are clasped together as you speak, batting your eyelashes at him.

Scaramouche could have complained a little more, dismissed your request, and walked back on his own, but he didn’t. And it’s not like he did not want to, but he just could not. How could he ever deny you? You were all that he could ask for, you were only asking him for one thing. Rejecting you at this moment was just like turning away from you—even though he knows that you’re most likely bluffing and are capable of your own. 

(But, oh, he’s simply nothing without you. After all, you make up half of his soul even if he’s not even a fragment of yours.)

“You’re so troublesome.” You’re his favorite problem anyway.

Dusk is settling in the corners of the forest, and in the midst of the trees and along with the harmony of cicadas, is you and Scaramouche. The dark-haired man carries you on his back while you keep him occupied with your chatter of whatever that comes to your mind.

And just as he notices every small thing about you, you can’t ignore the dark hue his skin is painted in:

“Your ears are red.”

He takes a few seconds, mumbling, “It’s too hot.”

(Maybe it’s summer that is warm, or maybe it’s you.)

The next day, however, Scaramouche got sick and you had to nurse him back to his health—out of worry and guilt. Although you held that fact over your head, treating it as some sort of trophy.

iii. aren’t we already close enough?

Something knocks at Scaramouche’s window.

That’s how most horror movies start, but this is no horror movie, and it doesn’t take much for him to know that it was just his neighbor trying to grab his attention.

Another knock came. He heads towards the noise, pushing the curtains aside, and immediately seeing you across in your own room, standing by your open window. Upon seeing the man, you enthusiastically wave at him.

You mouthed, even doing some hand gestures to throw your message across to him: “Do you wanna watch the stars with me?”

It seems like he didn’t understand what you were trying to say as he only stares at you with a confused expression. You sighed and gestured for him to wait, disappearing from his line of sight for a moment before returning with a pen and paper in your hand; you scribble something on it and he watches you with a curious gaze.

With your words written by ink, a few of it crossed out, it reads: Let’s go stargazing.

He mouths, “Right now?” In which you responded with a nod and a smile. Then you return to your pad in hand, turning to new page before writing:

There’s going to be a meteor shower tonight. Let’s watch it together.

Scaramouche puts down his reply on his paper that he has gotten as you were writing.

Where? 

The forest has a small clearing, it’s perfect for stargazing.

Right, and why are we talking like this?

It’s more fun this way and I don’t want to wake people up.

So, do you wanna go???

Okay. Yeah.

YAY !!! I’ll meet you outside.

But just as you were about to leave, he threw his pen at your window, an attempt to grab your attention although he did end up startling you.

It’s cold.

Wear something warm.

You beam at his display of his concern and give him an ‘Okay’ sign.

A few minutes flies by and you come out, jacket in hand. A certain man, with hair as dark as midnight, greets you. He’s clad in sweatpants and an oversized shirt, layered with a jacket on top—he was dressed comfily, as if he were planning on sleeping prior to this.

“Were you planning on going to sleep?”

“I was, until you called.”

“You could have just turned me down. I don’t mind watching the meteor shower alone.” You feel guilt rising in your chest, looking down at the ground you were rooted on. Thoughts whirl like a hurricane, creating a vortex of doubt that wreaks havoc inside your head. You don’t know what’s wrong with you, feeling all of these all at once over a simple and small thing. You were the one to insist, always the first one to come barging into his door.

But somewhere between your thoughts and his own, between loving you and adoring you, he knows you in ways that no one could. You’re the only one he ever knows.

“You’re not bothering me,” Scaramouche ruffles your head, messing up your hair. He speaks in the same note of his touch, soft and gentle, and it feels foreign and familiar at the same time; you want this, you could get used to this—the small thought that remains inside your mind echoes as he dispels all of your worries with just a few of his words. “Besides, I also wanted to watch the meteor shower.” With you.

“Really?”

“Where’s the stubborn and strong person who’ll drag me out of my room every summer that I know?” He flicks your forehead, making you wince and rub the spot to ease the pain. He adds, a small smile etching into the curves of his lips, “You were the one to say that everything is better when you do it with someone.”

“Well—”

“There’s no need to worry over such useless things,” He heaves out a sigh, “If I hated you, you would have known.”

He doesn’t know what took over him to have his hand seek out your face, caressing your face so tenderly like a lover would. The dance of his fingers left a trail of warmth across your skin, blooming and spreading like fire, and maybe it was your fault or maybe it was his that your face leans closer to his touch as if desiring for more of his softness. He doesn’t fail to notice the look on your face, the fire that festers within you spreading to him.

Scaramouche is mesmerized by the miracle that is you. 

He clears his throat, looking away, afraid that he’s going to be consumed by your light the more he keeps his gaze on you:

“Let’s go before we end up missing it.” His tone falters into something sweet, and his hand, too, falls into something kind—his fingers slipping into your own. You could only nod your head in response, afraid that your words would break in your tongue before you could even speak.

It doesn’t take long to reach the spot you were talking about. But it did feel like time moved slowly with the silence as neither of you let go of each other’s hand; you battled with your reasoning, thinking that it will help you walk better in the dark and not trip over anything even when you’re already familiar with the path. Or maybe it was just too cold, you don’t know; it’s not like you want to let go either.

(And in the same cadence of your thoughts, his soul whispers to you: “I don’t think I want to stop holding your hand.”)

Tonight, the stars are a witness to the wake of something foolishly beautiful. As the streaks of light fill the sky like a stroke of a painter’s brush on an empty canvas, lush grass forms into nothing as it sinks beneath your being, intertwined with his as he clutches your hand tight—the sky holds the stars as the earth bears your weight all the same. When the warm breeze leaves and when life all becomes nothing in the absence of indigo merging into golden, can you stand with him a little closer underneath the fading warm?

“Kuni.” What does his name taste like in your mouth?

“Hm?”

Scaramouche isn’t stupid, but you make him feel stupid, and he loves you stupid, like a loser stumbling over the stars in your eyes. He understands why poets write the mundane and how artists portray a fleeting moment bound to rot by time. It doesn’t take much but he spent a long time seeking comfort in the warmth to know the answer—he knew what it was when he wished you were with him to enjoy the sun.

You reside in the deeper parts of his soul, tangled in the loose threads of his being. Scaramouche prays—even when he doesn’t necessarily believe, but what is a god’s gaze for your love?—to whoever is listening that you’ll stay there forever. Can a human ever stop their heart from wanting? 

“Don’t you want to go home now?” You had asked him; the meteor shower has finished and the clouds are already hiding the vast blanket of stars above you. There’s not much left in this night, just silence and a pair of people who had nothing and everything at the same time, lying on the grass as if they’re the only ones who matter in the world. He has always existed right there beside you and he has belonged to you in ways that you may never know.

“I’m still not sleepy yet.” But his mouth gapes into a yawn and you laugh.

“Liar.”

Call him whatever you want, he just wants to stay with you a little longer.

Scaramouche may be a liar.

But he likes you, that much is certain.

taglist: @felibrary, @yunicide, @bittersweetmiko

© AZULLUMI 2024. plagiarism of any form and type, stealing, copying, translating, reposting my works on other platforms is NOT permitted.

[f1fnatic]

DON'T LEAVE ME BEHIND! ⤿ m. verstappen 1

→ ( in which. . . ) you're at a dreaded sponsor event for redbull and find someone that resents them just as much as you do, if not more.

→ ( fanfic genre. . . ) written

→ ( pairing. . . ) max verstappen x fem!reader

→ ( content warnings/disclaimers. . . ) mutual pining, fluff, cursing, mentions of alcohol consumption, chr*stian ho*ner

→ ( authors note. . . ) woohoo! another fic done :p this is just one of the 17 (😀) drafts i have... anyways... hope you enjoy! see end for more

→ ( masterlist )

you wanted to leave. but you couldn't. you had always hated these types of stuck-up sponsor events. luckily, you noticed some body who hated them just as much as you.

you caught a glimpse of him before he was whisked away by one of the redbull higher-ups. his dirty blonde hair was easy to spot among the brunettes surrounding him.

you, unfortunately, were in the same boat. someone who you forgot the name of was talking your ear off, slurring something along the lines of it being beneficial for their brand if you were to join with them.

being a redbull athlete meant high expectations and a multitude of events. sometimes you were given a heads-up, but tonight you weren't. no, instead, this sponsorship party was sprung upon you by your manager 3 hours before it started. they blamed it on the fact that you were 'unbelievably busy' and 'it slipped their mind.' that put you in a sour mood. you were home, meaning that you had made plans with your family and friends that you had to regrettably cancel.

this man was getting on your last nerve. you could not handle another second of his borderline incoherent mumbling. so, you kindly excused yourself for a drink. you turned on your skinny heel and began to walk away. the corset of your dress digging into your ribs with every step. breathing was becoming a task with the tightening ties. instead of stopping at the bar, you continue walking towards the balcony.

rays of moonlight flood through the dauntingly tall glass doors. you step through the threshold and onto the unusually small balcony. the crisp air feels like a shot of espresso as you breathe in. it rejuvenates you. a light breeze sends shivers down your spine, goosebumps appearing in its wake. there isn't much decor on the platform. string lights are threaded through the railing, potted plants are set in each corner of the rectangular area, and a gas fireplace is placed to the left surrounded by cushioned chairs.

a figure is standing in front of you, body slumped over the rail. you walk over. once you get closer, you are met with the familiar face of max verstappen.

max knew who it was before you reached him. the clicking of your expensive heels on the concrete of the balcony gave you away. as did the cherry-vanilla perfume you adored so much as it wafted in the wind. he was infatuated by you. he very rarely got to see you in person, but when he did, he drank you in like a man starved. the pure beauty you held made him shrink within himself.

"i thought i saw you earlier." you comment. that was a partial lie. you didn't see him directly, but you felt him. you knew that he was there when his burning gaze was digging into the back of your head.

he only smiles. he knew you would be here, much to your dismay. he was almost considering telling christian that he fell ill and wouldn't be able to make it, but he couldn't risk not seeing you. max looked to you and you looked back, a sickeningly sweet smile on your pink tinted lips.

a comfortable silence blanketed the both of you. you had one arm laying atop the balcony rail while the right was propped on your cheek. the golden bracelets fell down your wrist and twinkled in the soft light. your gaze fastened on the breathtaking sight in front of you.

max stood beside you in a trance. everything about you had him head over heels in love (but he wouldn't admit that.) the way your hair softly blew in the breeze, the way your rich blue dress complimented every curve of your built body, and the way your eyes twinkled in the moonlight made butterflies flutter everywhere in his body. they started in his stomach then migrated to his toes and fingertips. he knew he was blushing and was bright red. but the small buzz he had going could be to blame.

you weren't sure when, but at some point your bodies grew closer. maybe it was just max, or maybe the both of you. but the added body heat began to slowly warm you up.

just like before, you could feel his intense, icy gaze burning into the side of your skull. "you're staring."

"i know. just enjoying the view." he replies simply. you turn to look at him, a shocked expression on your face. a light blush began to dust your cheeks.

"is that so?" you ask. he nods simply, closing his eyes and smiling. you playfully scoff before somberly adding, "you know you may grow tired."

"with you in front of me? never." he expresses. "truthfully y/n, if i could paint, you would be my muse. no doubt about it. i would never grow tired of looking at you. your beauty is simply awe inducing."

you were speechless. words escaped you and you were positive your blush got even darker. you shyly went to turn back to face the view but max's hand quickly found yours and tugged your body back to face him. he kept hold of your hand and interlaced your fingers with his.

"don't look away." he states. a heat began to bundle in your core. he had never talked to you this way, nor acted this way. you wish he would. there was something unreadable in his eyes, the bright blue darkening.

you silently stared at each other. neither of you daring to break eye contact. that is, until, the sound of someone clearing their throat made the two of you, unfortunately, separate. the lack of heat made the bitter cold even colder.

you turn your attention to the sound and are met with none other than christian horner. "i hope i'm not interrupting anything." he says smugly.

"nope, nothing at all." max responds, sheepishly sliding his hands into his pants pockets. christian stood in the door way, arms crossed like a doting father.

he acknowledges you with a simple "y/n." you respond with a nod. he then turns his attention back to max. "there's a sponsor wanting to talk to you. something about sunglasses. i told him i'd come and get you."

you look up to max and see him deflate a little. you gave him a sympathetic pout and patted him on the shoulder. "so then, let's go." christian pushes, annoyance laced into his tone. he turns to leave, returning inside just out of view of the glass doors.

max goes to follow, but now it was your turn to grab his hand and make him turn around. he does so enthusiastically. "don't leave me behind, yeah maxie?" you say moving your hands to his shoulders, locking your fingers behind his neck.

"i won't, i promise schatje." his hands went to rest on your hips. warmth radiated from his palms enveloping you in heat. the both of you started at one another, eyes locked and cheeks flushed, red like a sunburn.

max slowly moves in and you follow. the two of you always seemed to gravitate towards one another; like two galaxies yearning to twirl with each other.

you knew what he wanted, and he knew you wanted the same. blue eyes locked on your pink lips. instead of you connecting with his, you swerve and plant a kiss on his cheek; just at the intersection of skin and lip. your lipstick left a visible imprint almost like a stamp. his blue eyes twinkle and you smile. "you should go before horner grounds you."

max laughs before dropping his hands from your waist and you do the same. that same bitter cold returns but you knew it wouldn't last long, he would be back in no time.

"you'll still be out here, yeah?" he questions.

"i should, unless stephen hunts me down to talk to a sponsor."

"i'll find you before that." he winks. he bowed in front of you playfully. a laugh fell from your lips. god, he loved your laugh. he smiled at himself. turning on his heel he began retreating back inside. he turned to look over your shoulder, bidding you adieu.

there you stood, on the balcony, cheeks red, butterflies flying around restlessly throughout your body, yearning for the man that owned your heart.

first max fic! really happy with how this one turned out. AND OFF TOPIC BUT CHARLES FIRST GRAND PRIX WIN OF THE SEASON?? AND IT WAS MONACO?? OMG?? also, if you would like to be on the taglist, comment!!! requests and feedback are welcome! make sure to leave a comment and kudos as well (only if you want :P)

[marysfics]

Through the Dust

Alexia Putellas x DownhillRacer!Reader

It wasn't supposed to happen. The sport, the risks, the focus - none of it was meant for distractions.

But somewhere between the thrill of the race and the quiet moments shared on the mountainside, you couldn't help but wonder..

Did you really fall for her?

This is a multichapter fic, and trust me, you’re in for one wild ride. No warnings so far.

Word count: 973

Chapter 1: ''A Glance Through the Dust''

The air was thick with the scent of pine and damp earth, the morning mist rolling down the mountainsides, lingering over the tracks. The trails were slick from last night’s rain, and the rocks glistened with a wet sheen. You adjusted your helmet, fingers quick and practiced, securing each strap as you readied yourself at the starting line. Your breath fogged up as you exhaled, and you could already feel the familiar burn of adrenaline beginning to spread through your veins.

Today’s training session was critical—a final tune-up before the upcoming World Cup race. The last one of the season, and if everything went right, it could be the one that would define your career. Around you, other riders were focused on their routines, checking tires, adjusting brakes, psyching themselves up with little rituals and half-spoken mantras.

Somewhere in the crowd, you noticed a group of women in navy blue tracksuits watching from the sidelines. A few had phones out, recording snippets of the racers as they tore down the course. It was unusual to see spectators this close to the training grounds, but you quickly shrugged it off, too focused on your run to pay much attention.

What you didn’t know was that they were FC Barcelona Femení, the world-renowned women’s football team, here for some preseason team-building. It wasn’t every day that they found themselves in a remote mountain resort, surrounded by some of the best downhill racers in the world. And among them, Alexia Putellas stood with her arms crossed, watching the racers with a skeptical look in her eyes.

“What’s the appeal?” she murmured to her teammate, Mapi León, who had already developed a keen interest in the sport.

“Come on, Ale,” Mapi nudged her. “It’s not that different from what we do. Well, aside from the whole gravity and wheels thing. But the risk, the intensity—it’s the same thrill, no?”

Alexia shook her head, her brows furrowed. “I get the thrill of sport. I don’t get the thrill of actively throwing yourself down a mountain.”

Mapi laughed, her eyes following the riders who zoomed by, leaving trails of dust and sprays of mud in their wake. “Maybe it’s just not for you, then.”

Alexia smirked, rolling her eyes. “Trust me, it’s not. I’m happy enough with grass and a ball at my feet, thank you.”

But Mapi knew Alexia well enough to catch the slight glint of intrigue in her eye, even if she’d never admit it. The rider in the distance, the one with the sleek bike and determined eyes, had already caught her attention—even if she didn’t quite realize it yet.

As you mounted your bike, the nerves finally settled. It was just you and the mountain now. You’d mapped out every corner, memorized every rock, every patch of gravel. You knew this course like the back of your hand, and even though you were aware of the crowd at the sidelines, their presence was just a faint blur at the edge of your vision.

The horn sounded, and you pushed off, speeding down the first stretch, your bike absorbing the shocks from the rough trail. Every twist and turn of the course felt like second nature, the rush of speed exhilarating, the wind slicing past your face. You could barely hear the cheers, but you felt their pulse in the air around you.

As you approached a tight turn leading into a jump, you caught a glimpse of a familiar face—the tall, blonde woman from earlier, her gaze following your every move. You weren’t sure why you noticed her specifically, but something about the way she watched you felt different from the rest of the crowd.

The jump was fast approaching, and with a quick, practiced movement, you leaned back, bracing as your tires lifted off the ground, sailing smoothly over the jump. You landed cleanly on the other side but hadn’t accounted for a slick patch of mud waiting just past it. The tires lost their grip, and suddenly, everything went sideways.

Your shoulder slammed into the ground, pain radiating through you as you skidded to a stop. You felt the dirt and gravel scrape against your skin, the impact sharp and unforgiving.

As you tried to gather yourself, the first thing you saw through the haze of dust was her. Alexia was right at the front of the crowd, her expression shifting from shock to worry. It was a strange comfort, somehow, to see her there, a face both familiar and unfamiliar all at once.

You pushed yourself up slowly, wincing, but your gaze stayed locked with hers. For a moment, it felt like the two of you were in your own world, a bubble outside of the noise of the crowd and the ache of the fall.

She took a hesitant step forward, as if she was debating whether to come over. But she didn’t. Instead, she lingered there, staring at you with an unreadable expression, her brow slightly furrowed, her mouth parted as if she wanted to say something.

You gave her a small nod—an attempt to reassure her, even though you didn’t owe her anything. She returned it with a tight smile, and her shoulders relaxed a little, though her eyes remained fixed on you, curiosity and caution mingling.

“Are you alright?” a nearby medic asked, breaking your connection with Alexia as they checked you over. You assured them you were fine, and though your shoulder throbbed, the pain was something you could ignore.

When you glanced back, Alexia was still there, her gaze intense, watching you with an expression that was almost… impressed? You weren’t sure. But as you picked yourself up and prepared for the next run, you couldn’t shake the feeling that this wouldn’t be the last time your paths would cross.

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

End of Chapter 1.

More Chapters: click here

[dduane]

Invictus

In the dimness he woke and knew it was too late. Morning never came so late unless the world was ending.

Fortunately, he knew what to do about that.

He blinked and ruffled his feathers, looking around. This was his place. Surrounding a patch of grass were two holly trees, a pine, a cypress whose branches all went the wrong way, and much shrubbery, mostly beech and thorn. The shelter was good here, even on nights like last night. And in the holly, food appeared hung up: good food that tasted of fat and meat. It was all his. Later, when it was time for sex, there would be someone else who’d get some of it. But right now, he owned it.

This cold white stuff on the ground did complicate matters. It came and went without warning, and here it was again. Now, others who might have spent the morning scratching around the ground instead of stuffing themselves full up here would be turning up in his territory, eating his food. His feathers ruffled up again, this time with rage at the thought. Bastards. Bastards. Kill them all.

He hopped up onto the branch that had the best view across the patch of grass and into the bushes, and sang. Bastards! Who wants a piece of me? Come and get it! Because this was when it had to be said, no matter how much you might have preferred to sit quiet with your feathers fluffed up, conserving your heat. The dim sky was already paling toward that too-cold blue. It would be a bad day, cold, everybody and his family would turn up here trying to get at the tree food, which was what you needed this time of year if you meant to stay alive until dusk –

And suddenly he heard the harsh dark cawing coming from across the hardened path, across the wall, in the wood full of tall starved pines. He shivered. Not so early, he thought, what are you doing up at this hour? But he knew. That one wanted the tree-food too. It had come for it before. Now, in the silence before the morning wind, he heard the flapping of the wings.

Hastily he turned to the food cage, ate a few mouthfuls, felt the fat melt down his throat like blood, like life. Almost before he finished, the darkness had landed with a noisy thrash of leaves and branches up in the holly. A huge expressionless black eye gazed down at him.

He sang. It was almost all he could do. It’s mine! Stay away, or I’ll kill you! I’ll kill you! But the outcome was hardly so simple. The black-headed, white-backed shape with the axe-like beak bounced down another branch, and another, its eye on that tree food, that meat. It liked meat too. He’d once seen it zoom down onto the pond and simply pick up a baby duck and fly off with it. I’ll kill you if you get any closer! Don’t push me! I will!

It came closer. It was winter, it was death, the shape now only one branch of holly away. He sang as if life depended on it: because it did. If he had enough to eat, the sun came up. If the sun came up, the world was safe. It was as simple as that. Go away! I have to eat the food or the world will end! I’ll kill you to keep that from happening! Monster, go away, don’t make me rip you up — ! He fluttered at the monstrous gaping head, enraged, desperate.

A clacketing, rattling noise from behind. The black eye went wide, the death-pale bulk roused its wings and flapped clumsily out of the holly tree. Desperate with relief, he flung himself at the food-cage again, and ate with frantic speed as the sky paled brighter, toward day-blue: and between mouthfuls, he sang at the top of his lungs, shuddering with relief and triumph. Bastard! I warned you not to mess with me! Victory! Victory!

The sun peered up over the far hill. The shadows fled. He gorged himself as the black bird flew off, and stopped, and shouted again, Victory!

…She stood there with her mug in one hand, looking out across the back yard snow at the dot of red breast deep in among the holly branches, pecking furiously at the suet in its little cage. “Boy,” she said to the husband, back in the kitchen, “listen to that guy. You’d think he’d just won World War Three.”

“Yeah. Where’s the milk?”

The door closed. On the snow, the sun of the shortest day shone.

Victory!

[revelboo]

Me at your post:

Question. Have you ever thought about writing for the Constructicons? (Not with Prowl though). I think it would be hilarious.

Rewatched their G1 episodes today. Title is the song ‘Drive’ by The Matches. An attempt was made

Drive

Constructicons x Reader

• “I’m just saying. A little appreciation.” Exchanging a look with Long Haul, Scavenger tries to ignore Hook’s grumbling as they work. Pushing against a tree until the wood splinters and breaks so he can shove it over and drag it out of the way. Pausing to tip his head up at the night sky and wonder where home is. “We’re out here busting our afts and do we get any thanks?” Hook demands. No. What they’d gotten was their energon rations cut because in the Decepticon hierarchy, they’re not much higher than Insecticons. He doesn’t like it, but understands. Being forged here on this miserable mudball not Cybertron means being looked down upon. And he has no idea where Cybertron is among those glittering stars. Can it be home when he’s never set ped there?

• “We do our job. A fragging good job,” Scrapper says, trying to keep the peace as Bonecrusher utters a harsh laugh and Mixmaster just shakes his head at him. Like he doesn’t see the scorn. Knows the others think he’s oblivious, but he’s knows they’re looked down on until they’re needed. Devastator demands their respect, but on their own? They’re second class citizens. If even that. Some of the other Decepticons are all too happy to sneer at them, to assume that since they didn’t come from Cybertron they’re less.

• Bending to gouge up a handful of soil and to intake through his vents, separating out the individual components in his head, Mixmaster growls. Scenting those trace amounts of energon that are the whole reason they’re out here in the middle of nowhere. “No one wants to hear that, though,” Mixmaster mutters. “They want us to work and keep quiet. It’s here.” Glancing at his brother when Bonecrusher bumps him. “They’re scared of us,” Bonecrusher growls, beginning to aggressively clear the land of trees, movements sloppy and giving away that he’s been into the high grade. But they all know it’s Devastator that’s feared, not them. They’re tools. Nothing more. Disrespected and mocked by the rest of the Decepticons. Something they all feel and that gets compounded when they’re combined. That dissatisfaction growing every time they combine, spreading and feeding on itself when they separate again. Reaching a boiling point with no outlet to let off some steam. Except to destroy something. And there’s nothing here but trees.

• Exhausted and not even tempted by the hot, greasy smell of fast food in the bag in the passenger seat, you go over the list in your head again. Trying to remember if you’ve gotten at least a little something for everyone. That you’re ready for the upcoming holiday. You’d volunteered to work the day before for the extra cash, but you keep wondering if you’re forgetting something. Distracted you almost miss the huge, dark shape that comes sailing out of the woods. Slamming a foot on the brake as your car slides with a scream of tires, a tree slams into the road ahead of you and goes end over end in a shower of pine needles and broken branches. What? Toggling your emergency lights on, you put the car into park and get out, wincing at the biting cold. And your breath catches as it sinks in that a tree chucked like a javelin even though there’s no wind, no plausible explanation, nearly took you out. Squinting into the dark woods, your skin prickles as a red glow flares in the shadows. Then five more.

• Hears Bonecrusher laugh and Long Haul turns to follow his stare. Sees the tiny shape through the trees silhouetted by the headlights of the car behind them. There’s no way the little human can see anything more than the glow of their optics. But there’s a whisper of excitement twisting through him as Scrapper says, “Bottle of engex to whoever squishes it before it ruins everything.”

• Heart in your throat as those red glows shift and a branch cracks, there’s a roar from the trees that crackles through you and you forget the car. Forget everything beyond the animal need to get away. Running as trees crack and get uprooted with thunderous noise behind you to send you racing across the road and into the woods on the other side in a blind panic. Don’t even know what’s chasing you, only that you don’t want to find out. Is this what a rabbit feels like with hungry foxes snapping at its heels?

• Heavy peds tearing up dirt and leaves as he tries to overtake Hook, Scavenger hears Mixmaster calling out to the organic. Laughingly saying they only want to play. You’re surprisingly fast for being so small, but even noisier than Bonecrusher somehow. Energon pumping through his lines as you break from the trees, just a little shadow silvered by the moon, almost unreal looking as you pelt through the tall grass. Catches a glimpse of terrified eyes when you glance back and then you go down, disappearing completely.

• “Where’d it go?” Hook growls, reaching to push Scavenger out of his way as the rest of his brothers catch up and he realizes there’s a sheet drop, the ground giving way so suddenly you hadn’t seen it in time to react. Leaning down to look at the still form lying in the shallow stream at the bottom, there’s a momentary flicker of disappointment. Because chasing you had made him feel more alive than he’d felt in a long time. The hunt a high almost as sweet as combining.

• Lingering at the edge of the ravine, spark pulsing still with the excitement of your fear, Scrapper’s aware of Mixmaster and Bonecrusher shoving at each other. Of Long Haul and Scavenger both still staring down at their quarry. Turning away to order them back to work, he hesitates as Scavenger bumps his arm with a fist. “It’s still alive.” And he hears the low, pained sound from the little human. “Pretty fun to chase,” Long Haul adds, shooting him a look. Primus, are they wanting to keep you? Like a pet? All five of his brothers are staring at him now. Waiting for his decision. And groaning in defeat, he gestures at the drop. “Fine, but I’m not cleaning up after it.” Because you’re a distraction, something to keep them from dwelling on how unhappy they all are.

Next

[lilirari]

🧋 everyone thinks pedri should stop pining for you because you 'don't give a f*ck' about him but they don't know what your actual relationship with the footballer is.

💌 pedri gonzález x fem! joao felix's bff! reader (social media au)

🌟 cw : pedri being a total simp, cheesy pick-up lines, translated spanish & portuguese sentences, timelines don't matter

💭 author's note : this is for my beloved pookie @leclercloml ! ilysm <3 idk if the ending parts make sense but please just bear with it 😞

instagram 🎥

yourinstagram

📍 new york city, usa

liked by pedri, joaofelix79, jennaortega and 13,193,299 others

yourinstagram the wind was a paid actor

view all 17,929 comments

pedri 😍😍😍

pedri eres la chica más hermosa que he visto en mi vida.

pedri i ought to complain to spotify for you not being named this week's hottest single

-> spotify complaint received 😉

-> user59 oh spotify's definitely on the pedri x y/n agenda

pedri do you happen to have a band-aid ? i just scrapped my knees falling for you

-> yourinstagram deserved fall down again

-> user80 HELPDHSHDHSHDH WHY IS SHE LIKE THIS

-> user44 poor pedri but this is kind of funny 😭

jennaortega my favourite girl (⁠ ⁠˘⁠ ⁠³⁠˘⁠)

mikkykiemeney 🫶🫶🫶

saraguendogan gorgeous !!!

user45 the way two of the most popular barça wags are in her comments.. joão really must've introduced her to everyone in barça by now 😭

joaofelix79 minha linda melhor amiga 🥰

-> yourinstagram te amo joao 🫶

user33 babe wake up pedrizz gonzález is in the comments of y/n's post again

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yourinstagram

📍 ibiza

liked by pedri, joaofelix79, ferrantorres and 15,364,748 others

yourinstagram i love pink <3

view all 20,273 comments

pedri and i love you 🥰😘

-> yourinstagram ew

pedri ¿dónde has estado toda mi vida? 😍

pedri if beauty was a crime, you would've been sentenced for life in prison

-> user11 omg this is actually so good y/n please accept his love 😞

emmamyers 🩷🩷🩷

ferrantorres ❤️

liked by yourinstagram

joaofelix79 my prettiest girl 🫶

-> yourinstagram joao best boy !!!

user34 pedri should just stop trying to win y/n's heart man she clearly has no interest in him he's just wasting his time..

user50 i want a friendship like y/n and joão's 🥹

user96 is something going on between y/n and ferran ?? 🤔

user23 wait i'm a new barça fan and i came from x after seeing a post about pedri commenting on this girl's post.. who is she exactly ?

-> user22 she's y/n l/n, an upcoming model and also the bff of joão félix ! ^^

-> user23 ooh she's so pretty i get why pedri wants her lol

user82 huh ?? wasn't y/n in new york like literally yesterday ? how is she already in ibiza 😭

-> user25 queen's working so hard fr 😞

user75 pedrito i know you'll get the girl of your dreams someday i'm rooting for you !!!

liked by pedri

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yourinstagram

📍 lisbon, portugal

liked by pedri, joaofelix79, frenkiedejong and 20,182,838 others

tagged mikkykiemeney, saraguendogan, annalewandowska, taia_belloli, joaofelix79

yourinstagram on a trip with my girls (there's an imposter among us)

view all 25,999 comments

pedri quisiera ser joyero para poder apreciar un diamante como tú todos los días 🤍

-> yourinstagram bro please stop before i block you 🧍‍♀️

-> user77 pedri i think you should listen to her y/n can be absolutely ruthless 😭

pedri ok but why did joão get invited and i didn't ?

-> yourinstagram bc you're not one of the girls ???

-> pedri and joão is ??

-> yourinstagram yeah !!! ☺️

-> joaofelix79 i was forced to tag along against my own will, hermano 😞

mikkykiemeney had so much fun with you, love ! 🫶

annalewandowska thanks for inviting me, angel ❤️

joaofelix79 who's the best tour guide & chauffeur ??

-> yourinstagram you are !! 🥰🥰 thanks for making this trip fun and memorable, amor 🫶

-> joaofelix79 yeah yeah i accept thanks only in cash and credit

saraguendogan 💋💋

taia_belloli mi novia 🥰

user23 AHHH Y/N WITH THE BARÇA WAGS

user81 OMG THOSE POOL PICTURES OF Y/N AND SARA ARE SO PRETTY

user43 wait does this mean y/n is a barça wag ?

-> user19 i don't think so but i also won't be surprised if she's dating one of the guys

-> user01 nah, i think she just got really close with the wags because of félix

user99 MOTHER IS MOTHERING !!!

user45 MY WIVES 💅

user55 can pedri please just give up on pursuing y/n.. she's CLEARLY not interested in you bro

-> pedri 🙉

-> user39 shut up man he clearly doesn't give a fuck about what people like you are saying

user26 no bc are we sure joão and y/n are not dating ?

-> user34 yep pretty sure

-> user84 they sure are sus for two best friends who call each other 'amor' and say 'ily' to e/o all the time

-> user07 i'm sure it's just in a platonic way, man

-> user02 what ? can't two people of the opposite gender say ily and still be only friends ? this is just a healthy friendship bro

user43 y/n please notice pedri and treat him properly challenge 😞🙏

user46 AHHH i hope joão showed them all the best places in lisbon ❤️🇵🇹

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yourinstagram

📍 paris, france

🎼 my love mine all mine : mitski

liked by joaofelix79, oliviarodrigo, gigihadid and 33,127,289 others

yourinstagram bts for the photoshoot of a new magazine cover for vogue ! oh, and i got some flowers today ;) 💐

view all 42,569 comments

joaofelix79 nice flowers

joaofelix79 who's that man though 👀

-> yourinstagram idk you tell me 🫣

jennaortega already omw to pre-order 1000 copies of the magazine

-> yourinstagram please i love you 😭🫶

gigihadid perfection 🫶

-> yourinstagram love u gigi

heidiklum 🤍🖤

konichan7 🥰

adrianalima xoxo 💋

_ferminlopez 🤭

-> user77 ariana what are you doing here

user34 some of the biggest names in the modelling industry are here in the comments... y/n really has come so far i'm so proud of you girl 🥹

user27 here for y/n's famous era !!!

user97 our prettiest princess !!! we love you y/n 💌

user36 SIS IS THAT A MAN I SEE BEHIND YOU 😧

user05 don't be shy y/n show us a picture of the man in the second slide

user72 the song... the picture... the flowers... HAVE WE LOST Y/N TO A MAN ???

user55 um guys where's pedri ?

-> user78 EXACTLY WHAT I WAS THINKING

-> user40 WHERE'S OUR GOLDEN BOY AND HIS SHITTY PICK-UP LINES

user95 pedri's @ is not there in the likes...

user33 no cringey pick-up line comments from pedri and he's not in the likes either.. what's happening..

user67 i'm guessing that man must be her bf ??

user15 well ig at least we all know that the man with her is not pedri since he's nowhere to be found 🤷‍♀️

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yourinstagram

📍 barcelona, spain

liked by pedri, joaofelix79, louispartridge_ and 40,932,389 others

yourinstagram hi barcelona

view all 45,693 comments

joaofelix79 what are you doing here

-> yourinstagram came to visit you bestie 🥰🥰🥰 i missed you sooooo much

-> joaofelix79 what a liar 🙄

oliviarodrigo love u girlie

alejandrobalde 🤍

liked by yourinstagram

taia_belloli you are glowing, sis !!!

jennierubyjane pretty in white ♡

alexiaputellas 💓💘

user13 my sunshine !!! 💛☀️

user04 what's balde doing here 😧

user82 BALDE ??? HELLO ????

user75 pedri in the likes but still no comment...

user16 what is happening with y/n and the barça boys

user30 damn i kinda miss pedri's comments 😭

user27 has pedri finally stopped trying to rizz y/n up ??

-> user08 i hope so.. he doesn't deserve her she seems so annoying

-> user89 how exactly is she annoying ??

-> user08 she's always dismissing/ignoring his comments and being mean to him what a bitch

-> user89 i don't think she's actually being mean though.. and if he isn't bothered by the way she acts then why are you ?

-> user75 please stop calling y/n names and trying to make her a villain she's an absolute angel

liked by pedri, joaofelix79, jennaortega and others

user66 the way we see different barça players comment on her post everyday 🧍‍♀️ guess today's man of the day is balde

user05 THAT DRESS IS GORG SIS

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yourinstagram 10 minutes ago | pedri 2 minutes ago

seen by joaofelix79, pablogavi, frenkiedejong and 17,929,199 others

y/n's dms 🏷️

☆ joaofelix79 replied to your story !

husband ??? 😰😱

yourinstagram

yuh

☆ user56 replied to your story !

HUSBAND ???? QUEEN WHO ???

☆ user69 replied to your story !

please tell me that's just a beyonce reference and you don't actually have a husband.. 🥹

twitter 🫖

imessage 💬

mi esposa 💌

i think it's time

mi esposo ❤️‍🩹

wait really ? are you sure about this ?

mi esposa 💌

yeah 100% sure i'm ready

mi esposo ❤️‍🩹

alright then

mi esposa 💌

it's been a good run, hasn't it ?

mi esposo ❤️‍🩹

it sure has...

3 years ain't that bad

mi esposa 💌

frfr !!

we're a bit too good at this 🤭

mi esposo ❤️‍🩹

i second that

mi esposa 💌

i'll drop a head's up now

see you on the other side 🫡

mi esposo ❤️‍🩹

let's go give the world a shock, mi amor 🫶

twitter 🫖

instagram 🎥

yourinstagram

📍 tenerife, canary islands

liked by pedri, joaofelix79, jennaortega and 50,199,143 others

tagged pedri

yourinstagram i'm guessing this wasn't the type of news y'all were expecting, huh ? jokes on all of you bc pedrito and i have actually been together for three years now. we were just a bit too good at hiding our relationship 🤭 anyways happy three years together, mi amor, and also happy 6 months of our marriage ! te amare por siempre, my golden boy 🤍

view all 60,000 comments

pedri my gorgeous girl

pedri te amo, mi vida 🫶

liked by yourinstagram

pedri te voy a denunciar a la policía por robarme el corazón

-> yourinstagram oh no ! i can't be behind bars now — i've got my whole life ahead of me ! 😰

joaofelix79 ahh finally !!! keeping your relationship a secret was probably the hardest thing i ever had to do in my entire life

-> yourinstagram you're the absolute best joão thank you 🫶

-> joaofelix79 as i've said before, i accept thanks in only cash and credit

-> yourinstagram sending you some money rn

-> joaofelix79 😁😁😁

jennaortega my favourite couple !!!

-> yourinstagram my maid of honour 🥹🫶

pablogavi ❤️

gigihadid still in awe over this look of yours you really are the prettiest bride

mikkykiemeney 😍😍😍

annalewandowska my babies 🥹🥹

fcbarcelona the best couple 🫶

ferrantorres ❤‍🔥

user81 .... girl what

user90 WHAT IN THE ACTUAL FUVK

user12 three years... THREE YEARS ?????

user04 not only have you been together for three years but URE FRICKING MARRIED ????

user24 HOW TF DID NO ONE KNOW ABOUT THEIR RELATIONSHIP

user46 HUHHHHHHHHHHH 😧😧😧😧😧😧

user57 we are all fvcking clowns

user68 another day of blaugrana being an entire circus

user38 THREE YEARS ???? but félix joined barça only this year.. huh how did you guys meet i'm confused

-> yourinstagram pedri and i have actually known each other for a long time now 😭 most of you may just know me as joão's bff but only some people know that i'm friends with pedri's brother hehe so we got to know each other through fernando :)

user72 HOW DID YOU GUYS HID YOUR RELATIONSHIP FROM US FOR THREE HECKING YEARS ? HOW IS THIS POSSIBLE ?????

user01 HOW DID THE MEDIA AND PAPARAZZI NOT CATCH YOU WHAT

user07 goodness idek how to react to this

user29 wait so you were just pretending to hate pedri in your previous posts... but why ?

-> yourinstagram oh it was just a bet we made when joão joined barça this year. most of you knew me only when joão joined barça and pedri and i had already been working on our marriage plans by then. we've hid the facts about our relationship for three years now but marriage is a huge thing and there was no way we could hide our wedding for years so we just wanted to see how long it would take for the paparazzi to catch up on the news lol. to help hide our marriage a little longer, we just pulled an unrequited love act on my instagram posts and i pretended to ignore him irl too for fun 🤭

-> user57 this is absolutely insane... you guys are geniuses

-> user80 OKAY BUT WHO WON THE BET THOUGH ???

-> yourinstagram technically no one since we both thought the news wouldn't get out until next year but we're spending our honeymoon in barcelona rn and we just got a bit too bold in public and sadly got caught 😞

yourinstagram ok correction you guys we never really hid our rs tbh i guess you guys just never knew me or like paid much attention to things so it just got really easy to date him without having to deal with the media 🤷‍♀️

-> user03 now that i think about it... i feel like you've appeared in a few of the gonzález family photos, y/n 🤔

-> yourinstagram yes i have ! but if i remember correctly, most people just thought i was fernando's gf or sumn 😭

-> user99 omg we were so fucking blind 🧍‍♀️

-> user67 well we just never expected pedri to have enough rizz to pull a beauty queen like you ig

-> pedri HEY

-> yourinstagram LMAO FOULLLLLL

user44 i love how y/n just spilled the whole tea to us 🥹 she's so iconic

user12 GOD I LOVE Y/N SO MUCH FOR THIS LITTLE STORYTIME UNDER THE COMMENTS

user06 THEY'RE SO FUCKING ADORABLE I LOVE YNPEDRI

user55 SUCH A BEAUTIFUL WEDDING DRESS 🤍

user21 what is with joão and money though LMAO

-> joaofelix79 if barça doesn't have enough money to buy me, then i'll provide them the money instead

-> user02 I'M IN TEARS THIS IS SO ICONIC OF YOU JOÃO

-> user74 LMFAO WHAT A LEGEND

user23 PEDRI IN THAT FOURTH SLIDE DAYUMMMM

user16 i hate you both so much for lying to us for so long but also congratulations on getting married !!! 🥹

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pedri

liked by yourinstagram, pablogavi, _rl9 and 69,239,839 others

tagged yourinstagram

pedri feliz aniversario, mi vida 🤍

comments on this post have been limited

twitter 🫖

♡ translations of pedri's pick-up lines !

“eres la chica más hermosa que he visto en mi vida.”

: you are the most beautiful girl i have ever seen in my life.

“¿dónde has estado toda mi vida?”

: where have you been all my life ?

“quisiera ser joyero para poder apreciar un diamante como tú todos los días.”

: i would like to be a jeweler so i can appreciate a diamond like you every day.

“te voy a denunciar a la policía por robarme el corazón.”

: i will report you to the police for stealing my heart.

© LILIRARI, 2023 ★

[fanwarriorfictions]

Not Again - Epilogue

Summary: What classifies home? For them, it was each other.

Warnings: small bit of angst, mostly fluff

Series Masterlist

-Epilogue-

There was a shift in the air, so subtle that it could’ve been passed off as a breeze through a cracked window. It was just enough to wake Y/n from a deep sleep, Azriel’s shadows caressing her skin as she rose despite the male being dead asleep beside her.

The sky was still dark as Y/n pried herself from Azriel’s grip, untwining their legs, pushing away the hands that try and keep her pinned to his chest. The male didn’t wake up as she finally slipped from their bed, searching the floor for his shirt and her own underwear to cover her bare skin. He didn’t wake, not even as she slipped from their room, a shadow or two following her out.

Their little town house was quiet, nothing out of place, no sign of that shift in the air. Maybe it was just an open window, maybe she hadn’t latched the one in the kitchen where she’d cooled the pie she baked for dinner. Elain had been teaching her new recipes, Y/n was testing them out on Azriel, who finally admitted he also had a sweet tooth, after years of denial.

The house had been a gift from their family, the first few months after the gate had closed had been hard for Y/n. She was happy, so unbelievably happy with her mate, but she’d find herself back in that room, staring at that empty arch, waiting for anything to happen, waiting for her family to step through.

More than once, Nesta had found her sitting there, the busybody of a house guiding its owner to her to check on her. Nesta had sat with her, had listened to Y/n talk through her conflicting feelings, she’d been the one to suggest to Feyre that they needed a new place, somewhere not haunted with memories and what ifs.

After several years living here, she didn’t need any lights to find her way down the steps and into the kitchen. The window was indeed open, the small crack letting in the winter air beyond. She breathed it in, a small smile on her lips at the familiar feeling. Terrasen would be covered by several feet of snow this time of year, similar to the mountains of Illryia, where her mate had grown up and trained.

He’d brought her to Windhaven and other villages throughout the territory several times, usually against his will when Rhys asked them to check on the Illryians, to watch over the female’s training. Y/n knew that Azriel despised the place, she understood why, he’d rarely experienced kindness while he was growing up, not until his brothers had found him. Yet Azriel had bared it, for the females they were fighting for, and for her. The mountains reminded her of home, the snow, the trees, all of it. He’d made them a cabin there among the pine trees, a place she could go when she was especially homesick.

Y/n latches the window, overlooking the small garden behind her home, the towering red cliffs far beyond it. She could see the house of wind high in the starry sky, a few windows lit up by flickering lights from fireplaces inside keeping the home warm.

There, Nesta and Cassian would wake in a few hours, just before dawn broke to eat breakfast and prepare for the day. Y/n and Azriel would fly up to the training grounds atop the cliffs for their daily sessions with the them and the rest of the Valkyries. Then she and Gwyn would go into the library to study and work, Azriel would kiss her goodbye and several hours later he would wait for by the door to take her home.

Silent as ever, she doesn’t notice him until his strong arms were wrapping around her waist, tucking her into his chest. Azriel is practically a furnace at her back, a welcoming feeling in the winter kissed room.

She sighs, letting her head fall back against his bare chest, looking up at her mate. He’s perfectly disheveled, hair messy from sleep and from her hands running through the waves, his neck a constellation of bruises, surrounding the crescent shaped scar of her teeth, a mating gift. His eyes are still heavy, like he’d barely woken up, just knew that she had left, blindly following her.

“Where’d you go, my love.”

He presses a gentle kiss to the top of her head, lingering for a few moments.

She smiles softly at him, “Just forgot to close the window.”

He glances through the glass, where she’d been staring off, he found nothing, “Come back to bed, Princess.”

Y/n couldn’t help but look back out at the garden, at the city, at the cliffs, as if there was something out there begging her to check one more time. Azriel doesn’t persist, he lets her take her time, but he does rest his head on her shoulder, a gentle reminder that the shadowsinger was still half asleep. He would never rush her, but he nuzzles her neck, kissing one of his own claiming marks, the dark purple bruise directly above her pulse.

She sighs, tilting her head to give him better access, “Fine.”

It’s all he needs to pull away, just to sweep her up into his arms, strong and steady despite his sleepy state.

Y/n laughs quietly, “So needy.”

He doesn’t pause his steps towards their bedroom to lean down and capture her lips in a chaste kiss, “You’ve spoiled me to long, Princess, I can’t sleep with out you.”

“Big Illryian baby,” she coos, giving him one more kiss before resting her head on his shoulder.

They walk up the stairs, and into their room. Azriel gently lays her down on her side of the bed before laying down beside her. He tucks the blankets around both of them, pulling her to his side as he settled into the pillows behind him.

In the safety of his arms, Y/n finds it easy to fall back to sleep, dreaming of a night sky, full of constellations, a beautiful stag smiling down on her.

Far above them, the house of wind stirs. A room, long since dark and empty, lights. If anyone had been watching they would have seen a green light in the window.

Nesta had stirred at the familiar feeling, running to that room that hadn’t moved in the last ten years. She was hopeful, but cautious, Ataraxia in her hand.

The green light flowed through the door way as she rounded the corner. The gate was shining with that bright green light, familiar yet different. And there, standing in the middle of the room was a beautiful female she didn’t recognize.

She examines the room with mute curiosity, and Nesta notices a simple blade strapped to her back, a scrap of red fabric tied to the hilt.

“Who are you.” Nesta levels her own blade at the female, “What are you doing here.”

Her golden gaze halts its lazy search of the room, slowly dragging towards Nesta as if she just noticed her. There was something unsettling about the female, like something lurked below her skin, the beauty a disguise for the monster beneath.

Her head tilts in a way that has Nesta’s instincts reaching for her power, “I’m here to collect my niece, witchling.”

The white hair, golden eyes, Nesta raises a single brow, “Manon?”

The witch queen smiles, and those iron teeth slide into place, “I hope she only told you the good stories.”

“Depends on your classification of good.”

Azriel woke to a gentle tap on his mental shields. He was hesitant to open them, he knew what his brother had to say would make him get up and leave the warmth of his mate’s arms. The gentle taps turned persistent, like Rhys knew he was ignoring him.

What? Azriel sighs, Is the world ending before the sun has a chance to rise?

Not quite, Rhys laughs, But it would seem you and Y/n are needed at the house of wind.

Azriel sits up, For?

You’ll see.

Rhys doesn’t give him a chance to respond. Azriel looks at his mate, sleeping peacefully by his side. Her hair is a mess, and her lips are parted, letting out the softest snores. He hates to wake her, half because she looks adorable like this, the other half, because she got grouchy when woken up. He’d learned that the hard way.

So he did it the one way he knew would work. Azriel pressed a gentle kiss to her forehead, then her temple, her cheeks, her nose. Each kiss had her whining in her sleep until she was slowly stirring.

“Good morning, Princess,” he whispers, lightly pressing his lips to hers. “You’ve got to wake up.”

She hums against him, “No I don’t.”

Azriel smiles, pushing a wild piece of hair behind her ear, “Yes, you do.”

Y/n nuzzles into his palm, “I don’t want to.”

“I know, my love.” His lips travel across her jaw, down her throat, “We’ve been summoned.”

She sighs, tilting her head back as his lips explored her neck, “Tell Rhys to suck it up, he can summon me when the sun wakes up.”

Azriel laughs, nipping at the sensitive skin around her pulse, relishing in the small noise she makes, “I’m sure he wouldn’t ask me to risk my life waking you if it wasn’t important.”

Finally her eyes open, glaring up at him as he pulls away, “I’m not a feral animal you need to poke with a stick.”

Azriel smirks, “No, I wouldn’t say a feral animal, maybe a domesticated one, like a fussy cat.”

She hisses, baring those lethal canines, and Azriel leans down to kiss her, not scared of those sharp teeth, even when she lightly bites him. He just smiles against her lips.

You two are taking your time, Rhys butts into his mind, Tell Y/n the sun is coming up, no excuses anymore.

He doesn’t even open his mouth to relay the words, before Y/n is already snarling, “Tell him he’s a prick.”

His high lord simply laughs in his mind, before disappearing completely.

The dawn broke as they flew to the house of wind, the sun peaking out over the horizon, desperately trying to warm the snow covered city below. It did little to keep them from freezing, so they flew fast.

The house welcomes them with a warm embrace when they enter, and it’s far from quiet. Voices tumble out of the main living space, and one stops her dead in her tracks.

“No you cannot ride Abraxos.”

Cassian groans, “But-“

“No.”

“Who is that?” Azriel takes her hand in his, noting the way her whole body starts to shake.

She doesn’t respond, only pulls him towards the room, she sees Cassian first, wings flared like he was ready to fight. And there, standing like she couldn’t care less about the giant Illryian before her, was Manon.

Those golden eyes slide to her, and a smile lights the witch queen’s face, “Hello, witchling.”

Faces turned to her Rhys, Cassian, and Nesta, she searched for more, searched for any sign of her parents.

“They’re not here,” Manon says, “I didn’t waste time sending for them, I came as soon as the mirror opened.”

“Mirror?” Y/n asks breathlessly.

Manon pulls a small object from her pocket, a witch mirror. They were few and far between, she’d only seen two growing up, the sister-glasses her and Dorian used to talk when they were apart. This one was similar to those, but engraved into the edges were Wyrd marks.

She read a few of them, most where protective marks, shields. But there, right on top, was the mark she’d made to open the gates, the simple archway.

Azriel examines the mirror over her shoulder, in its reflection she can see his furrowed brows low over his deep hazel eyes.

“As soon as they told me that you’d been taken through a gate I had every witch in my kingdom looking for a way to bring you back,” Manon explains, “And when Dorian had returned, told me that you had stayed in this world, I kept looking. While he was squandered away in his libraries studying those dusty old books, I flew through the world looking for a witch who could make me a mirror no one had ever made before.

“It took many years, many trials, and many broken mirrors,” Manon says, “But we finally made this one, it’s sister-glass is back home, holding my gate open, hiding it from prying eyes.”

Beside her, Azriel speaks softly, “How does it work?”

Manon eyes him, and Y/n has a brief moment of panic as to what the witch might do. The others seemingly have a similar reaction, Cassian none to subtly resting a hand on a dagger at his side. Manon notes the movement and glares at the male.

“It only requires a drop of blood to open the gate,” she says, voice tense like she was holding back her iron teeth, “Simply think of the place you wish to go and the gate will open. It will stay as long as you wish it.”

Y/n felt like laughing and crying all at once. She could go home, could live her life with her mate by her side, could come to her home in Velaris whenever she liked.

She didn’t think, just surged forward and flung her arms around Manon. The witch didn’t snap her iron teeth, didn’t scratch her with those metal claws, she simply wrapped her arms around Y/n and held tight.

“I’ve missed you too, witchling.”

Her whole body is shaking, joyful tears welling in her eyes. When they part, Azriel is there to keep her on her feet, he always was there for her, always would be.

She knew it was something that ate away at Azriel these years, that she stayed for him, that he hadn’t gone for her. It was a conversation they’d had many times, he had no reason to feel guilty, she’d made her choice, and she didn’t regret it at all. Azriel was needed here, there were many things he hadn’t told her those months when she’d first arrived, human queens threatening war, fae from the continent stirring, ancient beings in lakes. They’d dealt with those things together, spying and fighting and killing.

Y/n loved her home, missed it terribly, but she had found her mate, found her own story to tell, found her purpose beyond being a spoiled princess. Her parents reign was far from over, her own was in the far distant future. She believed that she would one day find her way back to Terrasen, and now it was happening.

“Can I see the mirror?”

Manon holds it out to her, “It is yours, use it wisely.”

Y/n held the glass, looking at that small archway carved into the mirror. Behind her, Azriel is smiling, stepping back to give her space. He stands between his brothers, nodding once, whispering down that bridge of shadow, Go home, Princess.

She grins, bringing her thumb to her sharp canine, biting down just enough to draw a little blood. Y/n pictures Orynth, the castle, her parents, and she presses her thumb right on that Wyrd mark.

Green light flairs, shining through the mirror to the floor at her feet, and before her, like a window between worlds, opens a gate. And there, sitting right where she knew they would take their breakfast, her parents, both standing at the ready, to fight, to defend. Yet they don’t find any threat, their eyes wide as they met her own.

“Oh gods,” her mother sobs.

And Y/n is running, wind pushing at her heels, she feels the exact moment she passes through the gate, like the magic in her blood sighs in relief. Her mother meets her halfway, colliding hard enough to steal the breath from her lungs. Before they have the chance to fall, her father is there, wrapping both of them in his arms, holding them steady.

Y/n can barely breathe, they hold her so tight, and she holds just as tightly.

“How?” Aelin asks through her tears.

“I got sick of waiting for you all,” Manon says behind them.

She walks through the gate, leaving Prythian behind, the three Illryian males and Nesta as well.

Rowan looks to the witch, his voice thick with emotion, “thank you.”

Manon nods simply, “It was time my niece came home.”

Aelin pulls away, her hands resting on Y/n’s cheeks, “I’ve missed you, my Fireheart, every single day.”

“I missed you too,” Y/n sobs, looking up to her father, “both of you, so much.”

Rowan doesn’t speak, only places a gentle kiss to her head, holding her tightly, like she’d disappear at any moment. Y/n holds just as tightly to them both. For several minutes, that’s all they can do, none of them willing to let go. Only when Manon clears her throat does Rowan pull back, Aelin is more hesitant to release her hold.

Her father’s eyes move behind her, Y/n looks back to find his gaze on the portal, on Azriel stepping through tentatively. Her heart gallops in her chest as her father walks to her mate, that calm mask over both of their faces.

Rowan stops before him, offering his hand like he had the last time they’d seen each other. Azriel carefully takes the hand, shaking it once, and then her father pulls him into an embrace.

“Thank you,” Rowan says, “For taking care of her.”

Azriel, to her surprise, hugs him back, and her heart almost burst in her chest, “Always.”

Aelin pulls back, wiping the tears from her eyes as she looks through the gate at the three fae still standing there, “Would you care for a tour?”

Rhys grins, “Can I grab my mate before we begin? She’d love to see it.”

“Of course,” Aelin smiles, looking back at Y/n with her eyes shining, “Bring everyone, you’re all family now.”

His family had jumped at the opportunity to tour the vast castle, and the beautiful city surrounding it. He’d stayed by Y/n’s side, watching her tell stories of her childhood home. They’d encountered many of her family on the way, Cassian had almost jumped Lorcan on sight, only stopped by Nesta at his side. Each reunion left Azriel feeling raw.

She’d given all of this up for him, no matter how many times she’d reassured him that it was her choice, and she chose him gladly, he still felt that guilt, he tried to hide it, but she always knew, even without the bond to tell her.

“Come with me,” she whispers in his ear, taking his hand in hers, “I want to show you something.”

He put on that mask, hoping she wouldn’t see through it, see the thoughts eating away at him.

Azriel smiles down at her, “Lead the way, Princess.”

They leave their families in the training grounds, where Cassian was getting closer and closer to wearing Lorcan down for that fight he was itching to have. No one noticed them, and if they did, they didn’t stop them.

She brought him back into the castle, pulling him up the huge grand staircase.

“Where are we going?” Azriel asks.

She sends him one of those sweet little smiles, “Just wait and you’ll see.”

Y/n takes him through several hallways, each of them grand and decorated with gorgeous paintings. Feyre would love to take her time looking at every single one. He didn’t have that time to admire them, his mate’s pace rushing them past each one.

They finally stopped at a set of doors, tall, white doors with golden handles. She takes her hand from his to open each of them, revealing a huge room.

He instantly knew it was her own, her scent still clings to the space, despite her decade long absence.

The sitting room is decorated with well loved chairs, pillows and blankets draped over them, surrounding a large fireplace, the mantle decorated with flowers and trinkets.

There’s a piano in the corner, it looked near identical to the one she bought for their house, she’d been teaching him to play for the past few years, he could finally carry a tune.

Y/n moves through the space, running her fingers over her desk full of papers, “It’s exactly how I left it.”

Azriel follows her, closing the doors behind him, she walks through the space, towards the door that leads to her bedroom. And beyond that, a balcony.

She opens the doors, stepping out onto the ice and snow covered stone, he follows her and he looks out over the city below. Beautiful, it was absolutely breathtaking. The city was alive with music and laughter, much like Velaris. Azriel looked out over the horizon, he could see all the way to the Oakwald forest, the ancient magic singing to him even from here.

“I didn’t give anything up,” she says quietly, entwining their hands between them, “I made my choice, and I gained everything.”

Azriel couldn’t speak, so he squeezed her hand, begging her to continue. She turns, placing her other hand on his chest, directly over his heart.

“I didn’t lose my crown, my life, it’s all still here,” she says, looking out over Orynth, “and I found my home. Not through a gate, but with you, Az.”

He could only look at her, could only admire his beautiful mate. This female, who’d fallen into his life, who’d stood toe to toe with him and won, stealing the heart from his chest. Y/n had chosen him, and he would chose her for the rest of his life.

“Where’d you go, shadowsinger?”

Azriel brought his free hand to her face, holding his world in the palm of his hand. When he kisses her, everything feels right, feels perfect. And for the first time in his life, he felt like he truly belonged somewhere, and that somewhere was with her, wherever she was.

“Home, Princess.”

Tag list

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[blekitnyzamek]

Illustrations from "Blue Castle"

In Poland we have 5 translations of "Blue Castle" (and in the 1st one Valancy is not named Valancy but Joanna (Joanne); and I think it's funny enough to dedicate separate post about that in the future) and one of them has such a magical illustrations, that I need to share them <3

All of them are from this edition of "The Blue Castle"/"Błękitny zamek" (which was translated by Jolanta Bartosik) and were drawn by Katarzyna Karina Chmiel. Cover too, just look at it! I love this artstyle.

I will add quotes adjacent to the illustrations above them. That one is on title-page, gorgeous<3

Valancy went home by the short-cut of Lover’s Lane. She did not often go through Lover’s Lane—but it was getting near supper-time and it would never do to be late. Lover’s Lane wound back of the village, under great elms and maples, and deserved its name. It was hard to go there at any time and not find some canoodling couple—or young girls in pairs, arms intertwined, earnestly talking over their little secrets. Valancy didn’t know which made her feel more self-conscious and uncomfortable.

She [Valancy] had flatly refused to take either Purple Pills or Redfern’s Bitters. She had announced coolly that she did not intend to answer to the name of “Doss” any longer. She had told Cousin Stickles that she wished she would give up wearing that brooch with Cousin Artemas Stickles’ hair in it. She had moved her bed in her room to the opposite corner. She had read Magic of Wings Sunday afternoon. When Cousin Stickles had rebuked her Valancy had said indifferently, “Oh, I forgot it was Sunday”—and had gone on reading it.

Cousin Stickles had seen a terrible thing—she had caught Valancy sliding down the bannister. Cousin Stickles did not tell Mrs. Frederick this—poor Amelia was worried enough as it was.

Valancy had walked out to Roaring Abel’s house on the Mistawis road under a sky of purple and amber, with a queer exhilaration and expectancy in her heart. Back there, behind her, her mother and Cousin Stickles were crying—over themselves, not over her. But here the wind was in her face, soft, dew-wet, cool, blowing along the grassy roads. Oh, she loved the wind! The robins were whistling sleepily in the firs along the way and the moist air was fragrant with the tang of balsam. Big cars went purring past in the violet dusk—the stream of summer tourists to Muskoka had already begun—but Valancy did not envy any of their occupants. Muskoka cottages might be charming, but beyond, in the sunset skies, among the spires of the firs, her Blue Castle towered. She brushed the old years and habits and inhibitions away from her like dead leaves. She would not be littered with them.

“We’ll just sit here,” said Barney, “and if we think of anything worth while saying we’ll say it. Otherwise, not. Don’t imagine you’re bound to talk to me.”

“John Foster says,” quoted Valancy, “‘If you can sit in silence with a person for half an hour and yet be entirely comfortable, you and that person can be friends. If you cannot, friends you’ll never be and you need not waste time in trying.’”

“Evidently John Foster says a sensible thing once in a while,” conceded Barney.

“There’s our island,” he said gloatingly.

Valancy looked—and looked—and looked again. There was a diaphanous, lilac mist on the lake, shrouding the island. Through it the two enormous pine-trees that clasped hands over Barney’s shack loomed out like dark turrets. Behind them was a sky still rose-hued in the afterlight, and a pale young moon.

Valancy shivered like a tree the wind stirs suddenly. Something seemed to sweep over her soul.

“My Blue Castle!” she said. “Oh, my Blue Castle!”

Valancy and Barney turned under the mainland pines in the cool dusk of the September night for a farewell look at the Blue Castle. Mistawis was drowned in sunset lilac light, incredibly delicate and elusive. Nip and Tuck were cawing lazily in the old pines. Good Luck and Banjo were mewed and mewing in separate baskets in Barney’s new, dark-green car en route to Cousin Georgiana’s.

[comesatimecomesashadow]

white flag *ೃ༄

pairing *ೃ༄ uchiha madara x wife reader

cw *ೃ༄ reader is married to him + they have children together, angst (a bit), pining, mentions of blood.

fic type *ೃ༄ one-shot, part ii to 'le ciel'.

summary *ೃ༄ a continuation of the story of how your relationship with him came to be.

note *ೃ༄ my writing skills are rust (its been a while) but this is a christmas special since some of you requested a part two.

masterlist *ೃ༄

   “My dream.. Is for you to be at peace.”  

   The sun began to set, it bathed the two of you in its soft golden rays as it hid behind the mountains. The fluff of the clouds graced the skies as the wind swept around Madara and you, as if to wrap you up together. Madara always looked calmer when he was with you. 

   Then again, he supposed it was because he had always been comfortable with you, ever since the two of you were barely fledgelings in the forest. 

   “For me to be at peace?” Madara looked away from you and to the thriving village being built before him.. And you. His eyes searched for something but you weren’t quite sure what. 

   “You’re always fighting, even now that the village is being built — You’re still fighting.” you noted. He glanced at you, who were at his side. He remembered his last altercation with your brother, how you sat at his side ready to heal him once your brother called for it. You were always so considerate of him, it was a quality he used to deem a weakness back when he viewed your clan as his enemy. Now that the two of your clans stood on the same side.. He quite liked that about you. 

   “Is that so? What makes you say that?” Madara inquired, leaning back on his palms while he sat beside you on the cliff. Of course, he knew he had been dealing with a lot due to the Uchiha growing more distant from him despite him being their clan’s leader. He and his clan had different views and he wasn’t quite sure how to take it. 

   And as if to shed a light on the problems he kept to himself, you spoke again. “I’ve heard things among the Uchiha..”  

   He turned to you, his expression placid. Madara sighed, “So you know they do not trust me.” 

   “I know that you’re doing what you think is best for the clan..” Your voice was one of understanding. There was a softness to it that Madara wasn’t used to. He wasn’t a man of many words and he hated when people hesitated to say what they wanted. He was more accustomed to the yelling and the fighting — maybe that’s why he felt he was incompatible with the peace that had settled between the Uchiha and the Senju. “But the times are changing- Our people are changing. It's hard to adjust after centuries of fighting, but I know that you have the strength to adapt.” 

   He gazed up at you as you stood from your sitting position, you looked determined from the way your sights were set on the village below. Then, you looked down to him, who was still sitting down. “I won’t let your efforts go to waste. So.. you can’t let them either.” 

   “Are you asking me or is that an order?” He stood up and smirked, he spoke with a playful edge to his question. 

   You smiled up at him, “In my life, I have never asked for anything. Not once. So, I trust that you’ll take into consideration what I am asking of you.” His black eyes met yours and for the first time in years, you saw a glimmer of warmth in them. He scoffed and walked past you. Your eyes lingered on him as you watched him walk away, only to stop for a moment. 

   “..I’ll consider it.” 

—

   After that conversation on the cliffside with Madara, your brothers started the talk on politics. Hashirama wanted Madara to be named Hokage over the village, but with his image and his past, Tobirama was opposed to it.Things were busier than ever following the end of the war and it stressed you out, sure, but you weren’t going to let Tobirama run the Uchiha name through the mud, not when the both of your clans had made the decision to come together and be at peace. 

   “It’s not a wise decision to outright make him Hokage just because you want to, brother.” Tobirama sat on the table and looked over some documents. “The village people don’t trust him. I don’t trust him.” 

   Your arms were crossed. You weren’t pleased with the way Tobirama was talking about them — or him. You never were. ‘There’s always room for improvement. We can’t just assume he’s a danger based on the fact that you don’t trust him, brother.” You weren’t for nor against Madara becoming Konhagakure’s leader. If he had the leadership skills and was able to handle the job, you didn’t mind it one way or the other. 

   Tobirama sighed, “I’m just trying to say that it would be a better idea to let the people choose.” 

   Standing up, you decided that that was the best course of action. “It would, That way it’s fair to everyone. If that’s all, I’ll be taking my leave.” Hashirama nodded and bid you goodnight while Tobirama stayed behind with your older brother. Before you left, you turned to smile at them. “-and don’t stay here too late. If we’re trying to establish a government, we need to be well-rested.” 

   Hashirama chuckled, “We will. There’s no need to worry.” So with one last glance, you walked out of the office and headed out. 

   You looked around the streets and saw the dim light of shops being built still and a few campsites around the area. It was a work in progress, sure. But it was yours. It was Hashirama’s. It was Madara’s. For the future of the Uchiha, the Senju, the clans that had joined you and the other clans to come. As you walked around, you picked up the scent of freshly cut wood, water and.. Noodles? As you turned the corner, the smell of noodles and broth led you to a small restaurant where some of the other business began to open up. 

   The kana on the curtains read : ‘Ichiraku’ and you discerned that the aroma was coming from there. So without a moment's hesitation, you parted the curtains and looked around the quaint eatery. The cushioning on the stool was comfortable and the counters were clean — The businessman was clearly doing well for himself from the looks of it. 

   “Ah! Welcome, welcome! You’re ______ Senju- Hashirama’s sister, right? It’s an honor to see you!” said the young cook. You smiled at the warm welcome, it had dawned on you that people would probably regard you highly, especially since you had helped end the century-long war. 

   “Please, don’t mind me..!” You straightened up a bit, “The food here smells amazing, are you still open? I understand it’s quite late.” 

   The young cook waved you off, “Ah, Don’t mind that! Just for you, I have room for one more order, or two.” He chuckled a little and got to work on the noodles. “What would you like to order?” You looked up to the menu and saw various dishes that seemed way too good to eat. You couldn't decide for the life of you, so you told the young cook to give you the first dish he had ever made. 

   As you waited for your noodles to be served, you heard the ruffling of fabric. When you glanced back, you were surprised to see Madara standing there. He blinked. You blinked. 

   “What are-”

   “What are you-” ..

   “You first,” You chuckled. 

   He smiled a little while taking a seat next to you. “I heard your voice and well, It’s late so I was wondering what you were doing here.” 

   You nodded in understanding. You opened your mouth to respond but before you could, the young cook placed an appetizing bowl of noodles in front of you. “Here you go! Enjoy them and tell me what you think.” 

   “Will do.” You offered a smile before bringing the bowl closer and taking some chopsticks from the cup. “Anyway, I was just looking around the shops n’ found this place. The noodles smell good so I thought: ‘why not?’” 

   Madara rested his chin on his palm while he looked at you. You seemed so eager to have a bite and wondered for a moment what your expression would look like once you tasted the noodles. You raised your chopsticks and wasted no time in taking the first bite. Just as he expected, a bewildered expression graced your features not long after you took a bite. 

   You noted his gaze on you from the corner of your eye mid-bite. Thinking it weird for him to have his sights so ..set on you, you offered a bite to him. “Do you.. Want some?” 

   “Huh-? Oh, no it’s fine, i’m fine.” He stammered. 

   You smiled awkwardly, finding it humorous for a man like him to be stuttering. “You sure? You keep looking at my food…” 

   “I was looking at you.” he deadpanned. 

   “Oh?-” 

   “-cause you looked dumb.” He said, “Like a kid, getting happy over a mere bowl of noodles.. Stupid..” he muttered that last part under his breath. 

   You, knowing him like the back of your hand, saw his weak defense. There was clearly something more to the way he was looking at you, but you left it alone. You didn’t want to push him. 

   About an hour later, you were caught up talking the night away with Madara. You’d finished your bowl of noodles about thirty minutes ago, but just speaking and catching up with him after years of not knowing anything about him left you curious. The two of you laughed over the differences between clans, the awkwardness of residing next to one another and finally, the present and near future. 

   “And how are they reacting? Better I hope..?” 

   He reluctantly nodded, “Something like that. I think if I continue this overtime, I’ll gain their trust back.” 

   A warm smile found its way onto your lips upon hearing the news. “I think you will, all we need is time.” You looked up at the moon. It was smack dab in the middle of the sky, evidence that it was way past the time you usually slept at. But for some odd reason, you didn’t feel tired. Walking with him through the dirt roads was therapeutic for you in a way. “I wish my brother understood that..” you sighed. 

   “Hashirama?” 

   You shook your head, “The other one.” 

   Madara sighed heavily, “Ah, Tobirama.. I believe he hates me, he thinks I'm a threat, correct?” 

   You nodded, “Yeah.. To put it bluntly, I think he’s still caught up in the old ways.. Though I can’t blame him. But still.. I think you’d be a great Hokage, given the chance.” 

   “Hokage? Me?” Madara chuckled. “Is that what the three of you are trying to decide?” 

   “We need to establish our leader but I don’t want it to be the three of us deciding that. Tobirama thinks the people should choose — and frankly I agree with him.” You continued walking the dirt roads with him. Amidst these hectic days, the times when you got to see Madara or just speak with him were the times you cherished more. 

   Around him, you didn’t have to be a political leader or uphold public appearance. WIth him, you could just be. 

   As the two of you wandered around, white particles around the two of you began to fall. The beginnings of winter, it seemed. “Do you like the snow?” Madara asked you. His demeanor notably softened after your time spent at the restaurant. 

   “I do, actually. I never got to enjoy it much, though.” You reached out a hand to the snowing sky. It was the end of the month, soon it’d be the start of a new year. 

   “Why not?” 

   “Bloodstains.” you said simply. “There was always bloodstains.” 

   Madara didn’t respond. He just watched as you collected particles of snow on your hands, watching them melt due to the warmth you emitted. You always had a habit of leaving him speechless. “Not this year,” he said. He spoke with such certainty that you grew curious of his thoughts. Did he have faith in this village? Did he think it would work in the long-run? 

   “You sound so sure of yourself.” You spoke, with a slight smile as you watched the snow turn into tiny water droplets on your palm.  

   He turned to face you, you were compelled to gaze at him in the same way. 

   “If there’s one thing you’ve taught me, it’s to have.. Hope.” The word felt foreign on his tongue, but he couldn’t think of a better one. It was true, after all. Since the two of you were kids, you’d always had an inextinguishable hope. One that nobody, not even him in his most regrettable moments, could put out. 

   “I..” You didn’t know what to say to that. You were proud, of course, but .. It was odd to hear him so optimistic. “Really?” 

   He nodded, a smile gracing his lips as he looked down at you. “I used to think it was trivial, that it was just some flimsy thought to make yourself better.. I saw how the village only kept thriving, how more and more clans kept joining us and..” The warmth in his eyes was unlike you’d ever seen before. “I realized you and Hashirama were right. We were still able to achieve the peace between clans that we’d always dreamed of, thanks to the two of you.” 

   “And you.” you nudged him playfully. “You were the one who accepted Hashirama’s offer, so it’s thanks to you too.” 

   Madara never thought a smile could look as pretty as yours, it was something that remained unchanging. 

   Even after choosing to marry him years after the establishment of Konoha and even after giving him three children of his own — your smile remained the light in his life. Madara would never forget how happy you looked when you first got to enjoy the snow in the forest, or the countless dates at Ichiraku that you dragged him to simply because it was the first meal the two of you had eaten together. 

   Now, the two of you were older.. And parents at that. But that only made his love for you increase evermore. He never would have imagined himself to be your husband or the father that you made him, but he wouldn’t exchange it for anything else. You had made his dreams possible and he only hoped that he had made yours possible as well. 

   As he gazed down at your sleeping form on the day after his birthday, Christmas day, he could only smile and place a chaste kiss on your forehead. To his surprise, you smiled at his gesture, which only served to give you away. “Awake are we?” 

   You nodded and adjusted your position to lay your head in his lap. “I have been, for a while now actually. I was wondering when you were gonna notice.” Your voice had a playful lilt to it. He had grown accustomed to it by now. 

   He chuckled at your words. “Oh I noticed alright. I’ve been up longer than you have.” 

   You smiled playfully and sat up to look at him better. “Liar.” 

   “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” 

   You poked his cheek before getting up to head to the closet. Unbeknownst to your husband, you had made a little present for him and hid it in the closet so he wouldn’t find it. He lifted a brow when he watched you come back and offered a small box to him, wrapped in red gift-wrap and tied with a black ribbon. “What’s the occasion?” 

   Now it was your turn to laugh. “It’s Christmas, did you forget?” 

   “Oh.” He accepted your gift and looked at the carefully wrapped box. “No, I didn’t.” 

   “Alright well, open it!” You sat in front of him, eager to see his reaction. “It may not be the best, but I tried to make it myself instead of just buying it.” 

   “..?” He carefully lifted the top part of the box and was surprised to see a hair accessory- A handmade hair tie to be exact. “Did you make this yourself?” He lifted it up to inspect it. The tie was made up of red threads, it felt soft in his hand so he guessed silk. It had accents of black along the ends of it as well. 

   You nodded, “I did. I wanted it to be a little more special.” 

   Your thoughtfulness brought a smile to his face. “Do you want to tie it on for me?” With a nod, you made your way to his side and began braiding a bit of his spikey black hair. “A braid?”

   “Mhm, I like how they look on you.” 

   A familiar warmth set in his heart as you watched you carefully braid through his hair. Sometimes, he thought you loved his hair more than him but you always denied it saying that you loved his hair because of him (and that he’d better not cut it off ever because he’d be six feet under before he ever thought of doing such a thing.) 

   A comfortable silence had settled in between the two of you before Madara broke it. 

   “Has your dream come true?” 

   You weaved the strands of hair meticulously. “My dream? About the village?” 

   He shook his head a little, careful not to disturb your work. “The other one.” 

   It took you some time to find what dream he was talking about, until the memory flashed in your mind. “The one I told you about back on the cliff?” 

   Madara nodded, “Has it come true?” As you tied the braid together using the handmade hair tie you’d made for him, you reached out to cup his cheek.

    “Yeah. More than true, I’d wager.”

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@valerayne @emneedshelp

[themorningowl]

My steps on the wet ground echo among the rocks. The pine next to me vibrates slightly from the woodpecker's determined beak; it has its forge there. Over the rocks the path winds, worn by steps taken here for centuries. A flock of goldcrests flutters around in a lichen-covered spruce, small as this moment is in the web of time. The old forest is quiet.