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f1letters · 1 year

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lavender haze | mv1

"I been under scrutiny, you handle it beautifully"

summary: after winning his second championship in another controversial way, max needed her by his side more than ever as the media tried to tear him apart

warning: a little bit of angst for Max, but overall fluff for the couple, swearing, suggestive language, mentions of the championship-deciding races of Abu Dhabi GP 2021 and Japan GP 2022 from Max's point of view, mentions of scrutiny from the media, Jos Verstappen lol

pairing: max verstappen x reader

word count: 2.8k

note: everything in bold are song references and in italic are thoughts, which includes memories from the past. also, I would like to point out that I didn't write this as a personal opinion/critique of Ted or anyone involved in the whole Sky Sports scandal (which is why I didn't use his name or his exact words in the story and why I only used the controversy as a reference/inspiration very loosely), but rather wrote about what I imagine were the thoughts/feelings of people on Max's side (himself, the Red Bull team, Jos, etc), regarding this matter.

dutch words used: schatje = baby; liefje = honey

and we are back! once again, thank you all for being so understanding about me skipping last weekend 💜 I hope you enjoy this little story, as always!

masterlist

Meet me at midnight

Ever since he was just a little boy, all Max dreamed of was being a Formula 1 champion.

To have his name written in the history books. To have his legacy immortalized in the records for eternity.

From then, Max spent all of his hours, days, weeks, months and years preparing for it. He gave all of his blood, sweat and tears for it.

For that exact moment: when he stood right there in Japan, tall and proud, with his trophy in hand, after being announced World Champion for the 2nd time.

Lying in bed that night, staring at the ceiling next to his girlfriend, the driver could still feel the euphoria coursing through his veins.

He couldn't believe how lucky he was to be in that position.

He had everything he could ever want: his biggest dream came true twice, he had a successful career that so many envied, and most of all, he had the best person in the world by his side.

At the end of the day, it didn't matter all the money, the victories, the parties, the luxury if he couldn't have her there in his arms.

Y/N was everything to him, and he knew that the championship victory was as much hers as his.

Max let his hand run through the shiny strands of his partner's hair, the warm skin of their bodies pressed together, while Y/N drew random figures with her soft fingers across the man's toned chest.

The couple remained in each other's arms, not saying too much, both still over the moon and completely in awe from the unforgettable day they just had.

"I'm so proud of you, my love." Y/N broke the silence installed in the hotel room, whispering her words. "You can't imagine how happy I am for you."

Staring at the ceiling with you

Oh, you don't ever say too much

And you don't really read into

My melancholia

Max half smirked with his eyes half closed as sleep began to creep in.

With his eyes locked on the girl before him, the boy tucked the hair that covered her face behind her ear and stayed like that for a few minutes. Just living in the moment, letting her words sink in, appreciating what life had given him.

"Thanks, schatje. For everything." He placed a soft kiss on her forehead, caressing her cheek with the back of his hand. "I'm completely crazy about you, you know that?"

Y/N laughed shyly, moving her body even closer to her boyfriend's, laying down on his chest. "Stop, Max! You know I get all embarrassed when you start saying stuff like that."

"You stop! I'm just telling the truth!" Their laughter filled the room in pure harmony. Max stopped, returning to his moment of gratitude. "I just love you. So much, Y/N. This is all thanks to you."

"This is all thanks to your talent, baby." The young woman rested her cheek against the driver's bare shoulder. "Don't let anyone tell you otherwise."

Y/N knew that Max would immediately understand what she was trying to say.

The girl couldn't help but fear that the Dutchman would let all the scrutiny behind yet another championship win bring him down.

Max had a whole facade around him. Max appeared to be confident, poised, collected, unfazed by all adversity, and sometimes even self-centred and arrogant because of his posture on the track.

But deep down, Max was nothing but a fragile little boy, still trying to seek his father's approval.

Max was obsessed with perfection. Everything he had to do had to be absolutely spot on: every corner had to be perfectly executed, his car had to be at its best at all times, any position other than the first one was simply not good enough.

Knowing him better than anyone, Y/N knew how to handle him beautifully and knew that in the back of Max's mind, the fact that this was yet another victory tainted by controversy was tormenting him, even if he tried to hide it.

I've been under scrutiny

You handle it beautifully

All this shit is new to me

Both of them could only imagine all the headlines, the comments, the criticism. All because of a loophole that was never under the driver's control.

"Don't worry about me." Max answered the unspoken question the girl posed. "I don't give a damn what people say."

The harsh words that came out of his mouth seemed to be an attempt to convince himself more than her. They both knew that.

It had been almost a year since the boy had been named champion for the first time and yet to that day he still suffered attacks due to something that (once again) was not in his power to change.

Y/N didn't push, knowing the argument was going nowhere, and instead chose to joke with her boyfriend to lighten the mood. "Well, I don't know if you know this... but you look so much hotter as a two-time world champion."

Happiness filled Max's chest as he chuckled, turning their position so that his body was on top of hers. His lips roamed over her neck, leaving soft kisses and nibbles along the way, until he strayed away to deposit an intense and passionate kiss on her mouth.

His head lifted slightly, creating enough distance between them for him to speak, though their lips were still touching. "What if I showed again how it feels like to fuck a two-time world champion, hmm?"

I feel a lavender haze creeping up on me

So real, I'm damned if I do give a damn what people say

No deal, the 1950s shit they want for me

I just wanna stay in that lavender haze

Two weeks passed until the next race, the couple trapped in their lavender haze.

The Texas sun cut through the clouds in the sky and reflected warmly on the girl's skin as she entered the circuit, side by side with Carola.

Both friends over the last few years since they met in the Red Bull garage through their partners, the young women understood each other perfectly: both were reserved, with no great desire for attention on them, just there to support their lovers.

As always, a peaceful and relaxed conversation was taking place between the two, as they strolled around the paddock with smiles on their faces.

Carola told Y/N all about the latest incident at the Perez house, with the small sibling clashes between Checo Jr. and Carlota, and the other girl just laughed. She knew how happy those children made her friend and she couldn't wish anything else for Carola.

Suddenly the mood around them seemed to change.

The environment that before was serene, relaxed, and enthusiastic now gave off a heavy, tense, nervous energy.

Y/N started looking into the faces of the people they passed for answers, aware that they were looking at her. What the fuck is going on, she thought to herself.

Carola sensed the discomfort on her friend, placing a concerned hand on the girl's shoulder. "Y/N, are you okay?"

"Well, I'd like to know the answer to that question too," Y/N confessed without too much thought. "I don't know, honestly. I have a feeling something is wrong."

"Maybe it's nothing," The Mexican tried to calm her down, running her hand up and down along her friend's forearm, although she was aware of the gazes in their direction too. "We're almost at the garage and we'll clear everything up."

Walking through the navy blue walls, the tension only intensified in the air.

The faces of the team members showed worry and nervousness, and the PR team rushing back and forth relentlessly was a sign that something had gone wrong during the drivers' media duties following their practice session.

Knowing Max like the back of her hand... Y/N knew it was him.

All they keep asking me

Is if I'm gonna be your bride

The only kind of girl they see

Is a one-night or a wife

"Hey, where's Max?" Y/N asked her father-in-law, Jos, who wore an angry look on his face. Although their relationship was distant, she knew that if anyone was aware of everything that was going on in her boyfriend's career, it was his father.

"Would also like to know." The man replied dryly, running a hand impatiently through his hair. "He just walked out of here like a fucking coward, and left the others here to sort out his shit."

Y/N swallowed hard, knowing it wasn't worth wasting time trying to defend Max as all the words she would say would go in one ear and out the other. "What happened?"

"That shitty reporter, that's what happened." The older Verstappen replied, raising his tone. "That bastard had the nerve to say on live TV that Max didn't deserve any of his titles, and he panicked like a pussy. I didn't raise him like that - I raised him to be a man, not a little boy."

Without a second thought, Y/N turned her back on the man and grabbed her phone, trying to call her partner, only for her call to go to voicemail.

Unconsciously, the girl opened her Instagram and immediately came across the reporter's now-viral video.

"He doesn't seem to be capable of winning a championship without some sort of scandal. First, Hamilton was obviously ripped off in Abu Dhabi; now, they award full points in a race that wasn't even half finished because of some apparent 'loophole'?! Favouritism at its best."

All of a sudden, the air seemed to have difficulty getting into the girl's lungs, the temperature seemed to have risen dramatically, and Y/N started to feel dizzy as the media started to bring up Max's history.

Max, where are you, she asked herself, begging for a sign of his presence.

I find it dizzying

They're bringing up my history

But you aren't even listening

Y/N looked everywhere: in the garage, in his driver's room, in all the different rooms in the motorhome, in the back of the building, in the cafeteria, everywhere.

She was starting to run out of options, but she knew he had to be around somewhere since his exit from the circuit would not be discreet at all, quite the contrary.

If I were Max where would I hide from the world, she reflected, desperate to be reunited with her boyfriend. Of course! In the place where everyone least expected to find him.

With a hurried step and depositing complete confidence in this last and risky idea, Y/N set off on her way until she came face to face with the red walls, embellished with the Prancing Horse symbol.

Deviating towards the back of the Ferrari building, Y/N felt her heart return to its normal rhythm when she set her eyes on the image of his lover.

There he was, sitting on the grass, with his vision pointed to the sky, so small and so fragile that no one else would be able to see him hiding there.

The girl slowly approached the driver, almost afraid to startle him, until he eventually noticed her presence when she was only a few inches away from him. His shoulders visibly relaxed at the sight of his girlfriend, and a small, forced smile appeared on his face.

"Of course you found me," Max whispered, placing his hand on the girl's thigh, who was now sitting on the grass next to him. "I guess you already know what happened."

Y/N laid her head on his shoulder, hugging his strong arm. "Yeah, I saw it... I'm sorry Max, you don't deserve this."

I feel a lavender haze creeping up on me

So real, I'm damned if I do give a damn what people say

No deal, the 1950s shit they want for me

I just wanna stay in that lavender haze

That lavender haze

"I don't really care," Max spoke, shaking his head. "Let them say what they want. It doesn't matter to me."

"Baby…" The young woman knew that he was doing what he always did: bottling it up inside, hiding his feelings, just like he was taught to do his whole life.

"Liefje, don't worry. I'm fine, I promise."

"Max, stop doing this." Y/N touched his face, forcing him to look at her with his noticeably teary eyes.

"Y/N-"

"Max, please." The girl begged. "You don't have to pretend to be strong with me. You can be honest; you can scream, cry, freak out, you name it, and I'll always be here to listen."

The Dutchman took a deep breath in acceptance, leaning his head back against the red wall. "I'm just tired, you know? I try and try to do my best at all times and it's never enough. Not for the media, not for my dad, or-"

"For me, it's more than enough." The girlfriend interrupted. "And it should be enough for you too. You shouldn't care what others say… Especially your father." She teased, forcing a laugh out of Max's mouth.

The boy contemplated her words for a few seconds, placing a kiss on her temple. "I love you, you're the best."

"I know," She replied, bumping his shoulder playfully. "But I'm serious, Max. No one should have enough power over you that they can make you feel inferior, or less than you are. You are Max fucking Verstappen, two-time Formula 1 world champion. And so much more to come, I don't doubt it for a second."

Talk your talk and go viral

I just need this love spiral

Get it off your chest

Get it off my desk

Talk your talk and go viral

I just need this love spiral

Get it off your chest

Get it off my desk

The girl jumped to her feet, waking the driver from his own thoughts, and reached out to him with both her hands to help him get up on his feet too. "Come on, champ! Enough sulking here and let's face the world with our heads held high, shall we?"

Much calmer after getting it off his chest, Max looked at her with eyes shining with pride and, accepting her help, he got up. Instantly, his arms found their place around her waist, as did his lips on hers.

The couple shared a calm kiss, enjoying their moment of peace in the midst of such a chaotic situation.

"Thanks, schatje." Max said, returning his mouth to hers seconds later. "I can never thank you enough for everything you've done and do for me every day."

"I would do anything for you, baby." Y/N smiled wide, the dimples in her cheeks becoming noticeable. "Anything."

I feel a lavender haze creeping up on me

So real, I'm damned if I do give a damn what people say

No deal, the 1950s shit they want for me

I just wanna stay in that lavender haze

On their way to the Red Bull garage, the two reappeared in the paddock, hand in hand, eyes only on each other.

With them, dozens of photographers and journalists emerged from the shadows, hunting the Dutchman for his comments and trying to get controversial headlines for their next articles.

But from Max, they only managed to take away the magical smile he had stamped on his face while talking to his girlfriend.

It was almost as if nothing had happened to him, such was the confident and determined posture the driver now assumed.

There was nothing like a good dose of love to make someone feel on top of the world, and Max was living proof of that in front of all those prying eyes.

Get it off your chest

Get it off my desk

That lavender haze

I just wanna stay

The world could crumble around them and they would still manage to stay on their feet.

They were a team. They had the perfect balance between them, the strength to face any obstacle together. Like two separate souls born to be reunited, in this life and all lives to come. Born to be on their lavender haze forever.

"Just you and me, liefje." Max whispered so only she could hear over the screams and camera flashes.

Y/N pulled him by the arm closer to her body in search of the comfort he conveyed to her every time, and smiled discreetly at him.

"You and me against the world, my love."

I just wanna stay

In that lavender haze

taglist: @dan3avocado @starxqt @roseinnej @spiidergirlsworld @ccloaned @hotpigeon22 @dr3lover @lovelytsunoda @primadonnasdream @luxebeautystyle @wallfloweriism @ilivefortheleague @gwynethhberdara @satellitelh @adavenus @audreyscodes @wifeoflucyboynton @th6ccnsp6cyy @classifiedsblog @flyingmushroomss @motylekrozi @claramllera @gabrielamaex @handsupforamiracle @pierre-gasssllyy @lorenaloveslewis

@idkiwantchocolatee @simpforsunwoo @kissatelier @xweirdxsceletton @micksmidnights @miniminescapist @inchidentwithmax @hopelesslyromantics-world @alwaysclassyeagle @indieclarke @capela-miranda @okokoksblog-blog @pulpfixion @sins-only33 @sainzclerc @allisonxf1 @honethatty12

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(taglist continues in the comments)

thank you to everyone that asked to be tagged! please let me know if you want to be added to the next stories! 💌

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effortandmore · 1 year

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worth all your while (ch.1) | knj x reader

summary: you know kim namjoon from your work, but running into him outside of seoul tips your relationship into new territory and your world upside down. eventually, you wonder how there can be a million ways to say "i love you," and namjoon, a literal genius, can't manage a single one when it comes to you. or: 5 times namjoon can't make himself say "i love you" but thinks you understand him anyway (you do not), and then the one time he gets it right

pairing: namjoon x f!reader

rating: explicit (18+ please)

genre: smut, fluff, light angst, au: famous, but not an idol

warnings: smut, swearing, alcohol, here are the specific smut tags for this chapter: kissing, penetrative sex, fingering, spanking, sex in an airport bathroom (do not recommend, fwiw)

word count: ~5.5k

a/n: idk what to say! i needed to write a fic for yoongi's birthday, but i can't for some reason, so i'm writing this. i hope you enjoy 💜 i'll update chapters probably weekly, maybe bi-weekly, isn't it fun when some things in life are mysteries? the title is from "static" by steve lacy - i love him. thank you as always to the cabal: @ugh-yoongi, @hot-soop, and @the-boy-meets-evil for putting your eyes on this for me. love you all. this is posted to ao3 here if you like to read fics there.

next chapter

Unpopular opinion: airports are magical places.

You didn’t always think that, but you’ve changed. Opinion swayed. All it took was one delay on a layover in London for you to start singing a different tune.

Seoul to anywhere feels like a long flight lately. You love it there, but getting out, back to where you’re from, takes literal days. The short break at Heathrow is welcome, a chance to move around a little before you get on another almost ten hour flight. It seems like a nothing thing, to wander through the concourses and shops after you’ve made it through the customs check. Each time you’re here is the same as the last. Until it’s not. You’ve done it a hundred times: sniff different scents at Jo Malone, look for a bag you shouldn’t spend the money on at Louis Vuitton, talk yourself out of buying duty-free scotch because you know you’d never drink it in front of your mother anyway… Maybe on the way home, you think (but you never do).

“Excuse me.” You’re staring at the Balvenie you can’t really afford, thoughts drifting, when someone startles you.

“Sorry,” you mumble, stepping to the side.

There’s a man there, right there. He’s stepped up close so that your arms are practically touching. He’s tall, with dark hair under a beanie, an expensive jacket that’s made to look like it isn’t, and his face hidden under a mask that isn’t required here. There’s something about him, even though you can only see a stripe of his face, that looks familiar. For some reason, neither of you move; he keeps staring at the thousand-pound bottle of scotch, and you keep staring at him.

“You can’t drink it on the plane, you know?” You say it more than you ask it, and of course he knows. Everyone knows. But you see the corners of his eyes crinkle a little and you think he’s smiling under the mask. He finally turns to look at you.

“Was thinking I’d get it as a gift,” he explains, shrugging his shoulders.

“Nice gift,” you remark.

“Yeah…” he replies, turning his attention back to the bottle. “It’s pretentious, isn’t it?”

And at that, you smile. “Maybe a little. Depends on who it’s for.”

“No one special.”

“It’s none of my business,” you say, “but I wouldn’t buy ‘no one special’ a hundred-pound bottle of scotch, let alone a thousand-pound bottle.”

The man laughs, and you notice another guy walk up, right next to him. He’s bigger, older, and way too serious looking for your taste. They seem to have a silent conversation and then the would-be whisky buyer turns back to you. “Time for my flight,” he says. “Thanks for the advice.”

“Anytime,” you nod, still smiling even though you can’t tell anymore if he’s smiling back. Can’t hurt to be polite.

After he goes, you realize you aren’t going to buy the scotch, either, and it’s probably about time for your flight, too, so you start the scramble to your gate.

One of the bad things about flying all the time is that you feel like you see more than your fair share of delays. And this trip is no different. When you make it to the gate, you can sense the panic before you even see the notification. There’s a particular brand of hysteria that sets in with people when their flights are delayed, and it’s amplified with inter-continental flights in your experience. All of the things that make airports romantic and interesting are the same things that make people think they can behave any way they want and it won’t matter. It's like upon entering, people think they get carte blanche to be raging assholes to the poor airline counter guy who’s just trying to make sure everyone gets where they’re going and probably only makes enough to barely pay his rent.

So, you know before you’re told that there’s a delay, and you can tell by the level ten panic around you that it’s probably a long one. It’s confirmed when you see the headlines across one of the large televisions at the gate. Big storm off the coast of the Eastern US. All flights are delayed from what you can tell. Yours looks to have a delay of about six hours, but you know from experience it could be more. You’ll just have to wait and see. You’re lucky, you want to get home, but there’s really not a huge rush on your end, so you can wait it out if you need to.

There’s a quiet spot at a gate with no pending flight, near yours and a few of the other gates with international flights scheduled to leave. You hate sitting, knowing you’ve done it for a half a day already and have another long flight (eventually) in front of you, but you don’t know what else to do and at least you have a couple books in your carry on.

Maybe thirty minutes passes of you reading when you look up, just to see how things are settling around you as people start to either (like you) become resigned to the fact that they’re not going anywhere for a while, or let their anger hit a fever pitch with the gate agent.

You see a familiar fancy jacket waiting near the ticket counter, his friend from earlier having an animated chat with a woman who doesn’t seem like she speaks enough Korean to be keeping up. Fancy Coat is watching, looking amused and not chiming in, even though you know firsthand he can speak English perfectly well, and could probably be a help to his travel companion.

Because you’re one of those people who can never do things as subtly as you think you do, you’re caught out—Nice Jacket turns his head and his eyes lock with yours before you can look away; he knows you’re watching. He tilts his head, eyes widening with what you hope is amusement and not terror that you were looking. Slowly, he brings his hand up and waves at you, then gives you a gesture like he wants you to wait for something before he leans in and says something to his friend.

You turn back to your book, embarrassed.

A considerable chunk of whatever willpower you have is used in Not Looking when you hear (and feel) someone plop into the chair next to you.

“Good book?” Nice Jacket asks.

“Mmhmm,” you murmur, trying not to make things any weirder than you’ve already made them by staring. It is, in fact, not a good book. But your colleague wrote it, and he’s the special kind of narcissist that will ask you what you thought of it every day you see him until you provide some sort of satisfactory feedback kissing his ass.

“That guy’s a jackass,” he comments.

And that gets your attention. You turn to him, a little surprised. “You know him?”

Nice Jacket nods, eyebrows raised. “Do you not remember me?” he asks.

“From the duty-free shop?”

He laughs, louder than he means to judging by how he stops himself and looks around self-consciously. “No… I think you’ve interviewed me before…”

Things begin to snap into place rapidly. Because now that he says it, he goes from looking vaguely familiar to being instantly recognizable. You don’t really keep up with him or his music, but you have interviewed him, when your asshole colleague had passed one of his assignments to your desk, assuming you’d “like that kind of thing.”

At the time, you’d tried not to let yourself assume the worst about what he meant, and you did the interview over Zoom with no protest to your coworker or your boss. It wasn’t the kind of thing your magazine usually wrote about, but the article was focused on his art collection, and it gave you a good opportunity to learn something you wouldn’t have in a gossip magazine, and a chance to look good for your boss. The whole thing hadn’t lasted more than eight minutes, professional and easier than most of your interviews. Since then, you’ve been in the same room as him a few times at events you’d covered, exchanged greetings and appreciations on both sides for the article, and obviously, you know who he is.

He’s famous, but not like… idol famous. Stage name RM, he’s a rapper and producer who works with a small collective. You see him in magazines and on TV, his popularity growing over the last few years less for his music and more for his work in art preservation.

“Oh my god…” you say, closing your book and dropping your voice to a whisper. “Kim Namjoon. I’m so sorry, I didn’t realize it was you.”

“Good,” he says with a wink. “That’s the point.” He gestures vaguely to his beanie and his mask and the sunglasses he took off when he sat down next to you.

“How are you?” you ask, because it’s polite, and that’s what you should do, even though you’re not even sure why he’s sitting here speaking to you.

“Alright,” he says, but you notice he seems a little amused.

“What?”

“Nothing.” He raises his hands defensively.

“No, what? Why’s it funny to ask how you’re doing?”

Namjoon doesn’t say anything for a second, just watches you with his head cocked. “I guess no one ever really asks me that,” he says.

You scoff. “That’s ridiculous.”

What’s more ridiculous is that you’re sitting in Heathrow having a conversation with this sort of famous person who you kind of know, but not in a “run into you in the airport and have a casual chat” kind of way. Or maybe it is like that, because that’s exactly what happens.

You talk about how he’s doing (pretty well but tired from traveling and ready to be settled in his hotel). Then you talk about your asshole coworker and his not-very-good book. You laugh at a story he tells you about said coworker, and you feel your face heat up when he says how relieved he was that you interviewed them instead of anyone else from your magazine, and how much he’d liked talking to you that day. He’s bluntly honest with you about his preference for doing interviews with Korean-language publications, which you completely understand. He tells you that he didn’t mind doing an interview for your small English-language one because you at least greeted him in Korean and tried out a couple questions in the language.

“It’s my job to make people feel comfortable,” you say flippantly. It’s true, it is your job, and you talk to a lot of sort-of-famous people and their people, so you know that at the end of the day, they’re just people. You get better results and better interviews when you treat them as such. When you tell Namjoon that, you can see him grinning under his mask, you can tell for sure this time by the way the corners of his eyes pinch.

“That’s a nice way to think of it,” he finally says. “It’s good to be treated like Namjoon and not RM sometimes.”

“Happy to be of service,” you say.

Before you can say more, you’re interrupted by his friend, who you now understand isn’t exactly a friend but a manager or a bodyguard or some combination of both. He explains that it’ll be a few hours, that there aren’t any other flight options, and that he and Namjoon can go make themselves a little more comfortable in the airport lounge. It’s spoken like a suggestion, but the way he side-eyes you as he speaks makes you certain it’s more of a directive. Namjoon nods along until his manager tells him, in hushed Korean, that he can’t just sit out in the open talking to strangers.

“She’s not a stranger,” he says, clearly pleased with himself.

After a brief explanation that you’re an acquaintance (which is how Namjoon puts it and is a little more generous than you would have been), his manager lightens up, and even keeps his mouth shut when Namjoon invites you to come with them to the lounge. He does, however, insist on walking alongside you when you agree to go with them, making Namjoon walk a little ways in front of you both. Better safe than sorry, you suppose, even though no one seems to be paying any attention to the three of you.

At the lounge, his manager has a brief conversation with the airline employee at the desk, and then the three of you are whisked through the entrance, past the service desk and the bar, and into a small, private room at the back of the lounge. Namjoon puts his bag down and moves to the coffee machine, pausing to ask if you want anything as he fumbles with the stack of cups there. Cute. The professional in you hates that you even had that thought pass through your mind, but the rest of you doesn’t mind. He is cute, he gets paid to be cute (at least partially), he knows he’s cute. You have eyes, so obviously you see it, too.

His manager unceremoniously pulls an eye mask and headphones out of his bag, seats himself in the corner, and announces he’s going to try and sleep and to wake him up if anything interesting happens, leaving the two of you essentially on your own.

When you have your drinks, you pull your masks off, settle into loungers in the opposite corner of the room, and start talking again. It comes easily between the two of you—you’re used to asking questions and he’s used to answering them. He’s going to New York for a “personal schedule,” and you don’t ask for more details because you know he wouldn’t give them to you anyway. His whole face lights up when he tells you about an exhibit at the Whitney he’s hoping to catch, about how he’s willing to suffer through the jet lag for a glimpse at a certain Hockney that he probably won’t ever see in Korea.

Eventually, the tables turn a little, and he starts asking you about your own life. It’s less interesting (in your opinion) than his, but he’s a good listener, and asks good questions. He seems really excited (and remembers, to your surprise) that you’re an arts reporter, asks what you’re writing about lately, asks if you’ve seen anything new that caught your eye, even asks you for gallery recommendations around Seoul. You have a few, and he actually jots down notes in his literal notebook while you speak, claiming he’ll forget which you recommended if he doesn’t write it down. Cute again.

Hours pass, and you’d swear it’s only been a few minutes. It’s been a long time since you talked with someone like this—leisurely, candidly (or as candid as he can be, anyway). You get food brought to you by an airline employee, and you know it’s an upgrade from what’s being served in the rest of the lounge, but Namjoon isn’t phased at all. You suppose this is his normal, so there’s nothing out of the ordinary for him.

“I can’t believe you get special food,” you say when you’ve finished.

“Special food?”

“Well yeah, they’re not serving anything other than soup and crackers out there. Maybe carrot sticks.”

“Oh…” he says quietly, brow furrowed, like he’s really thinking about it. “Do you think I should ask them to bring barbeque to everyone else?” You actually think he means it. So fucking cute, you think.

After you talk him out of wielding his influence, mostly using the argument that it would be an immense amount of work for the airline staff, you settle in again. He produces a blanket from a cabinet against one of the walls of the room, and it’s an obvious sign this whole experience is totally typical for him. When he hands you the blanket, you can’t help it, you smile at him and probably look a little smitten. You might just be.

You offer him part of the blanket, and he accepts, pulling it over his lap and asking you if he took too much. (He didn’t). You talk more, and you feel relaxed with him—it’s so easy to forget he’s who he is and you’re who you are. It’s just like getting to know any other casual acquaintance better except he’s stupid good-looking and you start to notice that your faces are a lot closer together than they started out as you talk about Marci Kwon and the interesting work that the Asian American Art Initiative is doing. It was the last article you’d written, and you’re surprised to hear he’s read it.

You’re saying something about non-hierarchical modes of presenting research in art when you realize he’s not listening anymore, just staring at you intently. You’ve been talking a lot. For a while… Maybe talking too much; maybe he’s bothered.

“Are you okay?” you ask.

His eyes widen like he’s the one who’s been caught-out this time. “I’m really good,” he says, almost like he’s surprising himself.

It makes you beam. “Good,” you say. “I’ve liked talking to you.”

He nods. “I’ve liked talking to you, too. You have a lot to say.”

The fact that you can feel his breath on your face when he speaks makes you certain that you’re sitting too close, that something is happening that probably shouldn’t be. It makes you forget that “you have a lot to say” isn’t always a good thing. You think that everything might sound good when it comes from his mouth, that even the worst insult would trickle out like honey. Your heart rate has picked up, you now notice, and you both keep just staring at each other—you don’t know why you don’t move or look away, it’s like you can’t even though you know you should.

Namjoon’s eyes flick up behind you to where his manager is, and you can hear the man snoring, so you know he’s not aware at all of what’s happening right in front of him.

“They don’t have cameras in here,” Namjoon says. “It’s why we come here.”

You nod, nothing to say to that—you’re not even sure why he said it unless…

“Can I kiss you?”

That is the exact moment when every coherent and rational thought you have ever had rushes out of your brain like a waterfall. You’re not even sure how you manage to respond, but this very cute, very smart, very interesting person has just expressed interest in you of all people, and you’d be an idiot not to say yes.

“Oh my god, please,” you say all in one hurried breath.

And before you’re even finished, his lips are on yours. It’s soft, more chaste than you’d expected, but it doesn’t stay that way when he nips at your bottom lip and licks into your mouth. One of his hands comes to the back of your neck, fingers teasing at your hair and pulling you closer as you practically melt into him. It’s a good kiss, a fantastic kiss, and all you can think is more, more, more as the two of you try and do your best to be as close as you can over the armrests of the stupid lounge chairs.

When you part, his eyes are a little wild, and you think yours must be, too.

“I have to wake him up soon,” he says, looking past you. “It’s almost time for our flight.”

You glance over your shoulder at his manager who’s still totally unaware of what’s happening around him, and then stand, offering a hand to Namjoon, too.

It’s a rare moment of boldness, but something’s come over you, and you’re acting with very little thought as to what you’re doing and how stupid it probably is. “Come on,” you say, tugging him up. When he’s standing right in front of you, you put your hands on his chest and raise up on your tiptoes to whisper, “Let’s get out of here for a minute.”

He wipes across his bottom lip with his thumb, pausing probably to think about what you’re implying, and then he bends to kiss you quickly before he agrees. “Okay, yeah, let’s go.”

It’s not your fault that you know where the ‘family restroom’ is—you passed by it on the way to the back of the lounge and you notice things, you remember things.

You hope he doesn’t think you do this kind of thing all the time, or ever, although you don’t know why you care what he thinks since you’re also willfully oblivious to any looks you might be getting from any passersby who see you tug him into the room behind you.

It’s sheer luck that your go-to travel outfit is a fairly basic knit dress. It takes him no time to have you pinned up against the door, lips on your neck, hand rucking up the front of your dress so that he can get a hand under your tights. God, it feels good. He feels good, large and solid and his fingers… fuck. They’re long and nimble and he’s clearly not new to this, but neither are you, so you roll your hips forward and moan at the contact when he slips his hand under your tights.

“You’re already wet,” he says, surprised, pulling his head back so he can look at you properly, his fingertips skimming between your legs.

You nod and pull him back in to kiss you again—you only know a few things about Kim Namjoon, but you already know you like talking to him, and now you know you like his lips on yours even more than that.

“Come here,” you say, and slide away from the door, pulling him with you so that you can bend over the small vanity where you can see yourselves in the mirror above it. He’s been polite, almost too nice for what you’re in the mood for, and you don’t know if he’ll take the initiative, so you lock eyes with him in the mirror and slide your tights down from under your dress, stepping out of them one leg at a time.

In the mirror, you watch as he tentatively sticks a hand out to feel you again, groaning when his fingertips slide against you so easily. One, then quickly two fingers enter you, slowly moving in and out, and he studies your reflection, like he’s trying to learn what you like. It’s a lot of effort for a one-night stand in a Heathrow airline lounge. He pulls his joggers down; he’s already hard, feels big against your ass and the back of your thigh.

“God, you’re gorgeous,” he sighs. It’s apparently not lost on him how you watch him in the mirror, pupils blown, because then he asks, “You want to watch me fuck you?” He winds the fingers of his free hand around a handful of your hair and tentatively pulls your head up so he can look you in the eye through the mirror.

You watch him focus on you nodding and pulling your bottom lip between your teeth; he drops your hair as he stares. He has to know already how much you want it, but he makes you say it anyway.

“Tell me you want to see me make you come,” he whispers into the back of your neck, breath hot against the shell of your ear. Behind you, he’s rolling on a condom that seems to have appeared out of nowhere—you wonder if he had one in his pocket ‘just in case.’

You smirk, widen your eyes, and nod again. “Please? Will you fuck me? I want—” You pause to turn your head over your shoulder and kiss him again. “I want to watch you make me come.”

Holding onto your hip, he pushes his cock, thick and flushed, into you quickly; you don’t have much more time before his flight.

He groans as he starts thrusting, pulling almost all the way out slowly before snapping back into you.

“Oh shit…” you whisper each of the first few times he pushes into you.

Your head falls as he fucks you—It’s so good, he’s deep deep deep, and you feel so full, and you might cry it’s been so long since someone’s fucked you like this… But he wants your attention, so he brings a hand up and slaps you lightly along the back of your thigh to get you to look up.

It wasn’t hard, but you’re barely acquaintances, so he seems to hesitate, looking to your reflection for reassurance. In return, you look him straight in the eye and let out a moan.

“You wanted to watch, so watch,” he whispers.

“Do it again... please,” you plead softly as you raise your head and push your hips back against him.

He lifts the other hand and strikes the swell of your ass this time, harder than the first slap, making you suck in a breath. White knuckles grip the sides of the sink as your skin turns pink, but you’re still smirking and soaking wet, asking for more as he grips your hips to fuck you harder.

“Harder… I need you… feels so good,” you pant.

You move to lean on an elbow and bring your other hand down to your clit. His hand follows yours and moves it out of the way as he leans forward to whisper, “I thought you wanted me to make you come.”

“Then do it.”

Namjoon slows the movements of his hips to focus on you, rubbing circles over your clit with his fingertips and sucking on your neck, right against your pulse point, sending shivers along the length of your spine.

He rolls his hips into her as you grind against him, whimpering quietly, “Fuck, Joon… yes… oh, fuck…” You trail off, not able to focus on anything except his hands and his cock. You don’t even care that you’re already using nicknames with him.

“Finally got you to stop talking so much,” he teases as he works you nearer to orgasm.

You’d laugh, okay with being teased, except you’re practically shaking now, close to release, so he puts more pressure on your clit and moves his cock in you a little less deep, hitting you exactly where you need him each time.

God, you look good together. There’s a sweat sheen on your foreheads, his cheeks are painted with a rose blush, and your eyes are wide, watching yourself with curiosity in the mirror as you start to come.

You’re close, so close, tightening on his cock as he lets go of your hip and puts a hand over your mouth just in time to muffle the loud cry you make when your orgasm hits.

Your cunt pulses around him and he drags his hands slowly away from it and your mouth, back to your hips.

“You ready?” he whispers.

“Good girl,” he affirms as you nod, and that absolutely shouldn’t have you ready to come on his cock again, but maybe you have a praise kink you didn’t know about. You whimper when he starts fucking into you again, resuming his previous faster pace.

It doesn’t take long for Namjoon to come after that, with you babbling nonsense about how good his cock is and begging for him to come inside you. He thrusts into you one last time and releases into the condom, watching in the mirror as you give him a satisfied grin and roll your hips with his.

When he pulls out of you, he drops to his knees and kisses you where he’d left a handprint on your ass. It makes your breath hitch, feels too intimate for people barely know one another and who’ve just fucked in an airport bathroom. But then he pulls you up to standing, smoothing your dress around your legs. He grabs a bundle of toilet paper and hands it to you to wipe up.

“Look at you,” you tease, “what a gentleman.”

He pulls his joggers up and watches you flush the tissue while he discards the condom. You fiddle around for your tights and slide them on under your dress.

When you’re finished, you lean against the sink and watch him—he’s cute like this: face still flushed, hair mussed, and most of all, he looks as nervous as you’re starting to feel.

“I don’t do this kind of thing,” you say. Your voice is a little wobbly, and you wonder where any of the self-assurance you’d had earlier when you dragged him into the room has gone to.

Namjoon laughs, bright and dimpled, before he replies. “Fuck, me either. I mean… people sometimes… know who I am and I have to be careful.” The last words come out in a rush.

“Careful how?”

He looks fully embarrassed now. “LIke my manager is going to kick my ass when we walk out of here and… well, people back home would have a field day with this if someone saw.”

You’re not even sure what to say to that. Because of course you know who he is, you get that he’s famous, but the thought of talking about this with anyone just seems… It’s not like it makes you look very good either, so you’d never. It would be professional suicide; you’d never be taken seriously again. You spit out the next words mindlessly, just trying to make it less awkward. “You think this was the ‘something interesting’ we were supposed to wake him up for?” Namjoon just looks at you like you’re nuts before you both burst into laughter.

When you catch your breath again, you get a little more serious, your voice softer. “I’ll sign something. Whatever we should have done before, we can do it now, you can email me or whatever. God, this is crazy…” You trail off, consequences of what you’ve done starting to sink in.

“Okay… Thank you,” he says. “I hate how awkward this is. I’m sorry.”

You cross your arms over your chest, suddenly feeling a lot more vulnerable than you can ever remember feeling. Is he sorry that you did this together or is he sorry that it’s awkward? You don’t really know. Maybe it’s both.

“This was a mistake,” you say without thinking, and his face falls.

“You think that?” he asks quietly, stepping into your space and reaching out to stroke your arms gently. “Because I really don’t. I know things are complicated with me? But… I liked you when I met you for the interview, I liked you today, and I’d like to see you again. I really wouldn’t have done this if I didn’t think anything would come of it. I’m not that kind of guy.”

“Aren’t all guys that kind of guy?” you ask, wondering if he’s even for real.

“No,” he says. And you think he’s sincere. “Really. I’ve never done something like this before.”

You nod, uncrossing your arms and letting your hands slide into his. “So, we should go though… You have a flight to catch, and I guess I have an NDA to sign.” You’re trying to tease, but you think you probably just sound fucking terrified.

“Can I have your number?” he asks.

“For the NDA,” you affirm, taking the phone he’s sticking out to you and typing in your contact info.

“And for a date, maybe?” he says. And when you look up at him, he looks bashful, nervous even, as if you could ever say no to this man with a big brain and a dick to match who has just made you feel at least twelve new things in the last few hours.

“I’ll be back in Seoul in two weeks,” you say, handing him his phone back.

He smiles wide at that, and leans in to kiss your cheek. Cute again.

“I’ll call you,” he says eagerly. “And someone will be in touch about the paperwork… Sorry again.”

“Not your fault.” You shrug. “But you should head out first so it looks less weird, probably. I’ll freshen up for a minute and then be out in a bit.”

“Right,” he agrees. “Okay. So… I’ll see you in Seoul?”

You can’t help but be endeared to him; the fact that he seems to think you might actually not want to see him again makes you go all squishy inside. “It’s a date,” you confirm.

“Great! Okay… I’m gonna just… go now.” He points at the door, fumbling behind himself for the latch, like he doesn’t want to break eye contact with you.

“Okay, Namjoon… It was good to run into you and…” You hate that you can’t say anything coherent, your sentence just ending in, “stuff.”

He laughs and pulls his mask back on. “It was good to run into you and stuff, too.”

Finally, he’s got the door unlocked, and before he slips back into the lounge he says, “I’m really going to call you, okay?”

You aren’t sure why, but you believe him when he says it even though you know better, and all the weird feelings you’ve been having about him come together in a bright firework feeling in your chest. Something like hope, maybe.

“Talk to you soon,” you say quietly.

And then he’s gone, and you’re left breathless, wondering what you’ve just done.

next chapter

#bts fanfic #namjoon fic #namjoon smut #namjoon imagine #bts smut #namjoon x reader #namjoon x you #bts fic #bts writing #fic: wayw

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writing-for-marvel · 1 year

Text

Cause That’s When I’ll See You Again

DBF!Ari Levinson x Fem!Reader

Summary: The one time of year your dad’s best friend is in town is during the holiday season - the perfect opportunity for some no strings attached, filthy sex with a man who actually knows what he’s doing, but year after year it becomes harder to convince yourself you’re only in it for the orgasms.

Festive prompt: a roaring fireplace

Warnings: strictly 18+, smut, oral sex (f receiving), daddy kink, praise kink, a little angst (cause it’s me and I can’t help myself), happy ending, fluff and soft feelings, age gap is implied although exact ages are never mentioned

Word count: 2.5k

A/N: Happy Holidays to my Thot Neighbourhood Secret Santa, the lovely, beautiful and talented @jobean12-blog. Jo thank you for being such a ray of positivity and love on this site. You are one of kindest souls with the warmest heart, thank you for being you. I hope you enjoy this and have a wonderful holiday season ♥️ also a HUGE thank you to @late-to-the-party-81 for putting so much time and effort into organising this Secret Santa - I love and appreciate you Jen 💜 banners by @vase-of-lilies and dividers by @firefly-graphics

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A sense of déjà vu washed over you as you laid a tartan blanket in front of your crackling fireplace.

It was that time of year again, where colourful festive lights were strung throughout your neighbourhood and flurries of snow dusted the town, the combination of which produced an intangible magical quality, one you wished you could forever encapsulate and preserve in a snow glow.

The festive season was finally upon you.

Despite the chilly temperatures, most people’s spirits were warmer than ever, including yours. This time of joyful celebration also happened to coincide with the one time of year your dad’s best friend, the beefy and dangerously handsome Ari Levinson, returned home from his almost year long stint working overseas.

And to ensure that he wouldn’t be spending the holidays by himself and celebrating Hanukkah alone, your friendly father invited Ari to spend the festive season with your family.

The first time you slept together had been accidental - well, if you can call finally giving in to the massive crush you had developed on the burly framed, sex god, who never failed to affectionately refer to you as ‘Toffee’ because the chewy confection had been stuck in your teeth the first time you met, an accident.

But once you kissed him, allowed his large, assertive hands to roam over your every curve, and let his tongue taste every drop of your arousal for him, you knew you were in trouble.

You swore you’d never cross that line and act on such feelings, but when said sex god, with eyes as blue and inviting as a warm summer sky, looked at you like a ten course meal he wanted to devour, well, all logical thinking and restraint flew out the window, along with your panties.

The entire following year, you wondered if your dalliance was fated to be one glorious night. Whether Ari considered it a moment of weakness on his behalf and if he regretted what the two of you did, or if he was as desperate for it to happen again as you were.

The following holiday period, your questions were answered almost immediately.

The first time you two were alone again, all it took was one quizzical glance and you knew he too was thinking back to the night a year ago.

Perhaps it should have concerned you just how easily you gave yourself up to him, but you were honestly so desperate for him to have his way with you, to utterly ruin you again, that the desire between your legs overruled any self-control your brain tried to exert.

From your experience, none of the men your age knew anything about how to satisfy a woman, but there was no doubt with Ari, by your third orgasm, when you were floating on a cloud of pure bliss, you were convinced your bodies were made for each other.

This particular year he had a whole two weeks at home before departing again, and you made use of all fourteen euphoric days.

“Fuck, Toffee, so wet and messy, just for me - your pretty pussy gonna cum on these fat fucking fingers again? You gonna make a mess all over daddy?” His low growling voice was already such a turn on, but when he talked to you like that, you couldn’t stop yourself from cumming right then and there.

“That’s it, pretty girl, doing such a good job for me. Look how beautiful you are bouncing on my cock.” His praise spurred you on, lifting yourself up and sinking down on him again so he filled you completely, but when he reached to where your bodies connected, strumming on your clit, the coil in your stomach tightened as he brought you closer to your orgasm. “Wanna feel you cum around me baby, can you do that for me?”

“Still can’t get enough of me, can you Toffee?” He spoke into your ear as he pinned your hands above your head, fingers interlocked with yours, his weight pinning you to your bed, hips rolling into your own filling the room with salacious sounds of skin slapping skin. “You’ll never get enough, will you? I don’t think I’ll ever get enough of you either.”

As you laid beside Ari the day before he was due to leave, content listening to the crackling fireplace, head resting on his broad chest, his strong arm wrapped tenderly around your waist, pulling you back into him as if your touch itself sustained him, you couldn’t help your mind from wondering if you meant more to him than simply an easy fuck; someone he knew would be available to take his sexual frustrations out on for the couple weeks a year he was home.

You had never met someone who fucked you so rough, but also treated you with such tenderness, as if you were something worth taking care of.

There were moments throughout the past couple weeks, when his eyes weren’t consumed with just pure lust for you, there was something else swirling around those desire-blown pupils. But you told yourself it must be your imagination. Surely he couldn’t truly be looking at you with the devotion you wished he felt for you.

When time came for him to leave again, you didn’t have the words to express to him how you had treasured the past two weeks. You were fully aware that he was your fathers best friend, and even if that weren’t reason enough to prevent your heart from becoming attached to him, you knew his position which took him overseas for the majority of the year should be. Whatever this was between you two, it could never turn into something real.

But that didn’t stop you from wishing it could.

The following year was pure torture. When you had only hooked up just once, you could at least resign yourself to the thought that it was a one time thing that meant nothing to him.

But now, knowing you had both been so eager for it to happen again, and the expectation that come the next holiday season you would pick up right where you left off, made you miss his presence even more.

The thought itself was exciting, but also agony.

Because, even if you wouldn’t admit it aloud, you missed not only the toe curling orgasms, but the way his eyes softened when they looked at you, how your body fit so perfectly with his as he cradled you to sleep, and the tranquil happiness you seemed to only find in his company.

Unbeknownst to anyone else in his life, Ari had made the executive decision to have an additional two weeks at home this year, designed to be spent solely with you.

He knew he couldn’t offer you the life or relationship you deserved, but just in this one aspect of his life he wanted to be a little selfish.

He wanted his sweet Toffee all to himself for these next four weeks, watching as your face contort in the most exquisite way as pleasure washed through your entire body; he wanted to wake up beside you and spend the cold mornings bundled up with you, listening to your voice as you read chapters of your new favourite book; but more than anything, he wanted to kiss you every chance he got, roughly kiss you until you were completely out of breath, sweetly kiss you when you were in the middle of a sentence because he just couldn’t wait until you were finished, tenderly kiss you right before you fell asleep so you would dream about his lips on yours.

Being able to spend a whole month with Ari was like a dream come true.

He spent an entire day teaching you to make sufganiyot just as his mother had done every Hanukkah when he was growing up.

Promised to beat you at every board game you kept stored at your place, but you were also convinced he let you win every time.

You sat by the roaring fire, one blanket stretched to cover both your laps as you read in peace, simply enjoying being together, even if you were doing something separately.

Someone could be confused into thinking that given the intimate nature of how you spent your days together, the pure tenderness which softened your gaze and the doting, involuntary smile tugging at the corners of your lips whenever you gazed at him, your relationship was much more significant than occasional fuck buddies.

But you couldn’t allow yourself to think like that - not only did Ari live most of his life oceans away from where you did, but he was best friends with your father. There was no way the two of you could ever have something that sembled a real relationship.

However, it was undeniable that when the two of you were together, it was something even more magical than the holiday season itself. The sex was incredible, that was evident by the number of life shattering orgasms he could pull almost on demand from your body, but it wasn’t just the sex.

He could make you laugh like nobody else, helped you feel confident in your body, provided an environment where you were comfortable enough around him to divulge secrets you hadn’t even told some of your friends. He brought out the best version of you you didn't even realise existed before him.

After a particularly sensual and passionate night, you laid together by the roaring fire, however it was the warmth which came from snuggling beside Ari’s strapping naked form which you were most interested in. For the first time in your life you felt truly content, protected, but most of all, loved.

The way he looked at you, the way he touched you, he made you feel like the most beautiful woman in the world, he could so easily fool you into thinking you were the only one for him.

Saying your inevitable goodbye was excruciating. Each year it became progressively more painful, and you weren’t sure you could manage the searing heartbreak which would come next year when you were positive you were already in love with him.

You couldn’t keep living like this, wondering for close enough to an entire year if the man you loved would still want you next festive season, whether in the time you were apart he had found someone else to settle down with, or if he wouldn’t be able to make it home for the next holidays, or came to the realisation of any one of the numerous reasons he wouldn’t want to continue sleeping with his best friends daughter.

You made a pact to yourself that the next time you saw Ari you’d tell him. Tell him how insanely happy he made you, how all you could think about was if next holidays you would get to experience that feeling of pure rapture when you were together, and how it killed you to consider that might not be a possibility. Tell him how possessive you were over him and that the thought he satisfied his needs with anyone else over the period you were apart ripped your heart from your chest. Tell him how even though it was entirely impossible and beyond impractical, you wanted to spend every moment of your year laughing with him until your cheeks ached, learning every aspect of his passionate soul and making love to him every chance you got.

Tell him that you loved him.

A knock on your front door pulled you from your reverie as you straightened the corners of your tartan blanket. Butterflies bloomed in your stomach and your heart clenched with dread.

This was it.

When you opened the door Ari looked handsome as ever, broad and tanned as if he had spent far too long in the sun. But it was the twinkle in his striking eyes at the recognition that it was you behind the door that made your heart flutter in your chest.

He didn’t speak a single word as he dropped his bags inside the entrance and pulled you into a tight hug. His embrace was warm and familiar, and even though it was Ari who was technically returning home, in a way it felt like you had as well.

“Ari?” The inflection in your voice indicated it was a question. Ari pulled back and studied your face before answering.

“Yeah Toffee?” His features stiffened and all of a sudden he looked worried. You had never seen him look this anxious before, and you made the quick determination that you didn’t like it one bit.

“I’ve had something on my mind literally all year and I need to come out and say this before we pick up where we left off.” You nervously babbled, peering down at how your hands were shaking.

“You’re in a relationship?” His voice was filled with sorrow which tore your heart in two.

“What? No. Actually, it’s sort of the opposite.” You nervously giggled, the sound of which seemed to calm his nerves. You took a deep breath to summon the courage you needed to confess your secret when his gorgeous eyes looked at you so expectantly. “I’ve been so hung up on you the past year I haven’t been able to think straight - well if I’m honest it’s probably been longer than just this last year. And I know this might ruin everything, and that it probably puts you in an awkward situation because of my dad, but Ari I think I’m in love with you.”

He took that moment to finally kiss you, like he was a suffocating man and your lips were his air. Lord, you had missed the tickle of his beard and how he smelled warm and musky, with a hint of tobacco. Every intimate feeling you had left unsaid you poured into that kiss, finally feeling free to convey every last emotion into your expression of love for him and not have to hold back as you had previously.

When you finally pulled away, needing air, Ari rested his forehead against yours, scrunched his nose and affectionately rubbed the tip against your own.

“My darling Toffee, I know wholeheartedly that I am in love with you.” You had never seen Ari smile as much as when he confessed those words.

“You do?” You asked, and he responded with an ardent kiss to your lips.

“This moment right here, reuniting with you, that’s what got me through the whole year. You’re the person I come home for.”

This time it was you that kissed him, eager, luscious and downright possessive. His luggage long forgotten, you steered him towards your living room and the cosy space you had set up next to the fireplace for an occasion just like this one.

You’d already had some very memorable holidays with Ari, but you were certain none would compare to this year.

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shoshiwrites · 1 month

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if you’re still looking for touch prompts, might i request doing a pinky swear (31) for jo and bucky?

- @parajumpboots 💜

Of COURSE, thank you so much, Peri! I got to try out Gale and Benny for this one, biggest thanks to @mercurygray and @basilone for the much-needed assistance <3 From this list. Bucky Egan x WarCo OC.

The jacket is only a little bit too big. Someone had wrangled it for her off a bombardier who wasn’t going up today, the collar smelling like aftershave and a faint layer of sweat. She’s a little too warm here on the ground, but soon, up above, it’ll be all she’s got, on top of the other layers that all combine to make it difficult to bend her arms at their usual angles. In the pocket she feels a coin, a single jack, some kind of chain, the metal cool against her fingers. She lets them be. “So,” says Bucky, and he should be Major Egan now, to her, here on the tarmac. In his own jacket and crush cap, looking all of that rank and an inch on top. “You’ll be in Buck’s plane.”

Don’t focus on me, she wants to say. I don’t know why they’re letting me up, but they are, and none of you are supposed to know I’m there. Fat chance of that. “Yes,” she says. Yes, sir, she supposes it should be. Training had gone by in a blur of a week, half like some kind of absurdist play and half like the life and death situation that it was. Is. Fuck. A reporter from The Post was taking it too, he’d be going up next week. And his photographer, who’d been nagging Jo for a few shots until the instructor had told them to can it. “Nervous?” She rocks back and forth once on her heels. “Maybe.” “Don’t be. Listen, Gale’s bird — that’s where you wanna be.” Her mouth twitches, almost like a smile. “Good thing that’s where I am, then.” Gale, all six-foot-unruffled of him, walks up. “Right, Major Cleven?” He looks at Bucky. “Oh, I’m Major to you now?” Bucky grins like a bullseye. “In front of company.” His friend sighs, just a little. “Let her breathe, John.” “Ah, alright. I promise though, Jo, you’ll be fine. How ‘bout you let me swear it.” She doesn’t understand. “Hold out your hand.” Gale looks half a step from intervening in whatever foolishness he thinks this is. “John.” Behind him, DeMarco paces around the nose of the plane. Bucky looks back at her, nods exaggeratedly so she does too, looping his pinky around hers. Almost funny, if she looks at how much bigger his hand is than her own. “You’ll be fine.” She plays along, the silkiness of her scarf now a little too tight at her throat. “I’ll be fine.” “Exactly.” He walks her through another minute of procedure, meaning a detailed inventory of the good luck talismans on his person, and hers, and everything she should be paying attention to once they get in the air. “We’ll take it from here, John,” Gale says. Something about his voice already starts to slow her pulse. And off Bucky’s about to go, to check the things that really need checking, the plane that Jo doesn’t examine too closely for fear of realizing it’s a tin can with wings. Well. Maybe that was already a fact. He shouts over Gale’s head so the two of them hear, Cleven and DeMarco. “You take care of our girl, Benny, hear me?” Something buzzes between her ears and she can’t tell what it is, the sudden sensation of her heart in her chest or the too-warm lining of the jacket or our girl or any of it, but Cleven is as calm as a tide-pool, on the runway there in his sunglasses. DeMarco offers her a stick of the same gum he’s chewing on his back teeth. “You ready?” “Shouldn’t I be asking you that?” He lets the air out of his nose, surely wishing for a day that doesn’t involve babysitting a jumpy correspondent. “You’ll be fine, just don’t touch anything.” “Roger wilco. Captain.” She thinks he smiles at that, and maybe she isn’t totally hopeless. He nods towards the plane, the thing they trust more than almost anything. “C’mon. We saved you a seat.”

#parajumpboots #mota oc #masters of the air oc #shoshi writes #jo's tag #motaverse #????????#sorry i had to get in at least one hand comment....................

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astronicht · 7 months

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viking au, max/daniel f1🫶

Hopefully you came into this anticipating the wall of text 💜

1. The summer that Max was ten years old, the raids went far to the south, through the Pillars of Hercules and into the Mediterranean— because this literally happened like Vikings in fact did this. Theoretically Vikings could have seen Monaco! Anyway. This was memorable not because it was his first season — it was his second, he started a little young — but because it was the first time he stole something for himself on a raid. So, Max saw the coast from Narbonne and Pisa. And Max stole two cats on a raid of a town whose name he did not know, but where people died fast enough that a boy could dodge into a house with searching hands.

Back home, people sometimes laugh and ask if he saved his spoiled cats from the pelt-sellers, who raise cats for their fur (sorry i know i wanted sexy viking “i stole my dutch wife” stuff and instead i give u this canonical Viking-era Danish practice SORRY). He always corrects this: “no, I went out viking and i stole them.” People usually think this is a joke. Their names are Jamti and Saxi, because of course Max does not know their original names. (these are both boy names but whatever, his cats are named after Monaco clubs, what do you want me to do about it).

2. Daniel’s folks are from Sicily and Calabria; let’s put him in Calabria, which is partly Byzantine Greek ruled by Constantinople and partly Arab; he would call himself Roman (meaning Byzantium, the Eastern Empire) and speaks Greek, probably, with a smattering of Arabic that is mostly slang. He is weirdly bad at it. (Sicily was entirely Berber Muslim at this point with a large Byzantine Greek population, by the by, and would later be conquered by the descendants of the Vikings, so I guess that’s a whole different AU). Daniel, for his part, was not stolen from his home; his father was not killed, his mother and sister are presumably well. It is simply that he could not sit quietly in a warm place that would have loved him fine. Oops!

3. They meet for real in the town of Jorvik, which is a river city in what will later be England. Christian warned Daniel ahead of time that they were taking on a new kid, implied that there was a favor owed. Daniel’s met the father, and like, fair enough. Pay Jos back for whatever and steer clear, in Daniel’s opinion, and Daniel and Christian usually agree. Max arrives with a set face and carrying his cats — who are 16% smaller than modern cats but still fucking heavy and sliding around unhappily — in a wicker basket that he carries up the hill from the river himself, his doeskin boots sliding in the muck. A few of the guys tell Max he can get mousers here, why carry these? Daniel, who had been in the city for three years now, tells him he should have taken the old Roman stone road. Max is unamused, but at least Daniel was (unwittingly) the helpful one. They are overwintering together in a house down by the other river. Max is seventeen.

3.a Christian’s debt owed was to Max’s mum. Daniel doesn’t know this.

4. Daniel does otherwise know a lot about Christian, because he helped the ironically named Christian Hornbære (also written as Hyrne), once a minor Northumbrian thane, to throw his lot in with the Danes (vikings), take a Dane wife, turn on his compatriots, and sack the place. Christian has remembered this loyalty ever since. This will come up later!

5. Okay since everyone has been patient i WILL play up one sexy (?) viking trope and like. At some point it’s spring and just prior to the beginning of raiding season and the first early little harvest has come in so Christian is hosting a feast before they all go off to do some genuinely heinous shit, and the expectation is absolutely that Christian’s boys get to fuck in this semi-public way in the longhouse. And Max and Daniel are two of the stars of the show, right, so it’s a sort of champagne room situation, only it becomes increasingly clear to Daniel, who is btw barely holding everything together, that Max is absolutely relying on him to get through this. Like everyone in this long dark room has been drinking for two days and Max is watching Daniel to see what he’s going to do, and Daniel is terrified to realize Max watching is the only reason he’s getting hard, etc. They fuck women side by side. It’s a mess! They get off, by which i mean daniel watches Max get off and then fakes his but watching max was the best part. After a bit Daniel goes outside bc he thinks he’s going to be sick but he’s not and he just sits on the new wet grass. Max comes out looking for him and somehow they end up just like. sitting in the wet grass and Max lets Daniel hold him and it’s the only thing that calms Daniel down that entire year, it feels like.

6. The emotional narrative here is like. The inherent tragedy of wanting to be the best, wanting to be beloved, wanting a crowd to know your name, and the outlet available to you is a small, brutal, violent activity. Not because there is absolutely no other option— the Viking Diaspora is one of the widest worlds to have existed; there was a rigid social structure, but one with lots of little odd corners and loopholes. But the tragedy comes in any time and place when no one thinks to tell you this. Max’s cats — stolen from the dead, but themselves simply just cats, just little animals that kill birds for food or to show you love — are kind of the nexus of this, somehow. No idea how I would resolve it, frankly, which is partly because i have to write things to know what they’re gonna say!

Further notes: in this verse Alex Albon’s granddad somehow got caught up in the Battle of Talas, probably on the side of the Tibetan Empire and the Caliphate but who knows, politics are big complicated. Like many Talas veterans’ families he lives in Baghdad right now with his mum and his siblings and he’s often very tired. Look if a Tang Chinese general could get lost in Ethiopia for a bit after the Battle of Talas then Alex Albon could be doomed to watch a really weird viking funeral on the banks of the Caspian during a trade mission to meet up with his father. Shit happens to him. Why is that nude viking man holding a torch and covering his anus?? We will never know bc Alex + Ibn Fadlan’s translator wisely chose not to show up that day. Alternatively Alex IS Ibn Fadlan’s translator, which explains why he is very tired.

what the fuck is this one! thanks for playing. i spent two hours researching domestic housecat dispersal theories.

#my fic #maxiel #f1 rpf #need a better tag for not actually fic #ask replies

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halfmoth-halfman · 10 months

Text

we're starting to get into the spooky months now, so what better way to close out the summer vibes than with a fic rec list!!

unfortunately, the original of this post got messed up through my queue and it left me discouraged and not really with the energy to go all out like i usually do so i apologize if the reviews are a little lackluster this time around, but i did love and adore every single one of these fics 💜

if you wanna see more more of my fic recs and favs, i have em all on my recs blog, here!! please note the navi page is still under construction!!

and of course, if you have any fic recs of your own, feel free to send em my way here or on my sideblog - i love finding new fics and writers!! 💜

Javier Peña

birthday bash || a pile of cards - @mvtthewmurdvck

✧ what else can i say? cute. adorable. perfect. made me feel like it was my birthday, because this was fic was such a gift. i don't know how jo is able to write the cutest and most fun relationship dynamics, but it makes my heart soar every time.

late night texts || iv. before the gold and glimmer | bonus scene: phone sex | v. you make me feel wild | vi. the place where i want to be | bonus scene: wicked games you play | vii. oh the sweetest thing - @mvtthewmurdvck

✧ i will never not be in love with the way jo writes javi, and the absolute beauty of her writing. the way this relationship builds and feels so real with equals parts teasing and the shyness of the first time meeting someone you kinda sorta know always leaves me stunned.

John "Soap" MacTavish

run away to me || i. - @halcyone-of-the-sea

✧ i'm warning y'all now, hal has spoiled me this month and a lot of the fics on this list are gonna be hers. but to start we're talking about this fantastic fic. blacksmith!soap was not something i knew i needed and i am foaming at the mouth to see where this goes.

soap comforting reader - @nrdmssgs

✧ coming from someone who's had very similar anxieties around meeting a significant other's family, this hit very close to home and was so. damn. sweet. i love this so much and soap being an absolute sweetheart here was just icing on the cake.

John Price

glitter and gold || snippet - @writeforfandoms

✧ i could talk about this fic for hours. not only have i read it about a hundred times, but this fic helped inspire me to start drawing again. one of my top favorite comfort fics, everything about it is perfect. dragon!price being so in love with his wife, princess!reader finding joy and love and freedom with her new husband, the little appearances from the rest of the 141. it's all just perfect.

cardigan || part 1. it starts in a bar - @as-is-above-so-below

✧ price x teacher!reader was a lovely idea that i have been waiting for with baited breath and it did not disappoint. esp this part:

“Believe me. I get it. My career makes it difficult to find time for much of anything.”

“Yeah, well, I have sixteen kids.”

i love sassy teacher!reader.

songs that sound like sea-foam || (ii) | (iii) - @halcyone-of-the-sea

✧ this fic destroyed me. i had to call my mom and talk to her about it because i loved it so much. idk how to describe it, this filled me with a beautiful sense of longing and nostalgia of the classic fairytales my parents used to read me before bed

all, most, some, none - @halcyone-of-the-sea

✧ mmkay just one second while i-

lions and ibexes - @halcyone-of-the-sea

✧ i love husband!price, don't get me wrong, but i think farah was the real star of this fic. her characterization is wonderful, and the talk she and reader have is so sad (for lack of a better word) but also hopeful and real. i want to have a love the way hal writes it in her fics.

late night cookies - @halcyone-of-the-sea

✧ perfect dad!price fic right here. really hit me right in the unresolved daddy issues. good job.

where did you sleep last night - @captainfern

✧ i might just be a sucker for pet names like my love and darling, but this was so unbelievably sweet. reader missing price so much that they light one of his cigars just for the familiar smell of him?? i'm aldkasjl i love this so much.

glory to the reaper - @halcyone-of-the-sea

✧ the ability of hal to just present us with pure poetry like it's no big deal is just ugh chef's kiss. like all of this here:

How can life go on when such things are uttered to light? When they’re buried deep into your marrow like the dirt on top of a grave?

How can the Reaper knock at your doorways when love exists in such quantity…in the fractures of his eyes? Only when his lips brush yours do you understand.

absolutely stunning.

ducky socks - @halcyone-of-the-sea

✧ dad!price strikes again by breaking my heart in the best possible way and gluing it back together with pure sweetness and a wholesome father-daughter relationship.

Keegan P. Russ

for the weak and weary - @halcyone-of-the-sea

✧ i am of a simple mind. i see hal has written a keegan fic, i drop everything and read the keegan fic, i sob uncontrollably and struggle to read through my tears, i scroll back up to the top and read again.

Kyle "Gaz" Garrick

some nights are like that - @deadbranch

✧ insert ohmygod they were roommates meme here. i love gaz, i love friends to lovers, i love roommates to lovers, i love everything about this fic. it's cute, it's sweet, it made me giggle. 10/10 will read again.

cult of vagabonds || chapter six: storm-flying petrels - @halcyone-of-the-sea

✧ i crave this series like something else let me tell you, and each chapter completely delivers. reader is somehow so frustrating and so relatable at the same time, no regard for her own life but also...same.

to be in love - @lethalchiralium

✧ am i biased because i requested this? yes. but also because this is cute and wholesome and perfect and the idea of gaz buying flowers for his crush makes me smile like an idiot and keri did a perfect job with this.

paper rings - @lethalchiralium

✧ this is me staring at keri after she's written one of the most perfect gaz prompts i've ever read and giving me the cutest, sweetest, most wholesome treat.

get behind me - @writeforfandoms

✧ i love fall fair stuff. corn mazes, haunted houses, bobbing for apples, all of it. and it's even better with the addition of gaz. soap being a little shit had me laughing, but gaz being such a sweetheart (and a little bit of a tease) just had my smiling and giggling to myself.

there’s no need to panic, i’m right here now, aren’t i? you’re safe - @writeforfandoms

✧ gaz is the best boi and even more so when jen writes him. i love the way she portrays him being so soft and comforting, but also not afraid to take care of problems for his significant other. and, as someone who's had loud neighbors, i wish i had gaz there to take care of them for me too 😭

Miguel O'Hara

glass houses - @lethal-chiralium

✧ actual picture of me pretending to be okay after reading this and having my heart shATTERED INTO A MILLION PIECES HOW DARE YOU KERI

welcome to new york || 3 | 4 - @writeforfandoms

✧ i consume these chapters as if they're a decadent slice of cake made just for me and they're so fucking delicious every time. i love lyla and jess in this fic (i love everyone in this fic tbh, but i gotta support the girlies) and this part right here:

(Note to self: bring a sweater.)

literally me. i love this so much and can't wait see where it goes.

hammock by the sea - @wyvernest

✧ the way this fic made me want to enjoy a sunny july afternoon on my honeymoon with miguel in a hammock soooo bad. idk if feel-good can be used to describe a fic, but that's how i feel about this one. it's a feel-good fic, makes me soft and happy and wistful.

spider-girl!reader|| you haven't kissed me all day | jealous miguel | saying i love you for the first time - @luveline

✧ luveline never misses with the miguel fics. every single one is A+ 10/10 chef's kiss. the domesticity while also keeping miguel his grumpy self is just lakdjaksl i'm so weak for luveline's fics and her portrayal of miguel.

Multi

dead disco || chapter 6 - @peachesofteal

✧ i really gotta read this series in small doses, because the way it makes my heart ache cannot be healthy. i just want everything to work out, for them to be happy but goddamn does peach want me to suffer (and i happily thank her for it)

how do they cuddle - @homicidal-slvt

✧ this has any and everyone in it, but more importantly it has my boys, gaz and roach and that's all that matters to me. gaz being the type to do a little kiss attack is so cute and something i can see him doing and roach tracing little shapes and letters i'm screaming. also graves being an absolute menace, you're so right for that.

Nikto

ravishing allure || prologue | cake for a dead man (i) -@halcyone-of-the-sea

✧ do i know who nikto is? not in the slightest. did that stop me from dropping everything to read this series? not in the slightest. will i ever be normal about one of hal's amazing fics? not in the slightest :)

Phillip Graves

close your eyes for me, love - @writeforfandoms

✧ protective graves just does something for me. like, of course, he's a little shit and all that, but, as we've seen in canon, that man is loyal to a fault so it makes sense that loyalty would extend to his significant other. and also the way jen writes him just makes me blush and giggle so that's a plus 🤭

Rodolfo Parra

pressing their foreheads together - @writeforfandoms

✧ i read Warnings: soft domestic fluff and kissing. and knew this fic was gonna be made for me. and i was right. this fic made me sigh longingly. i am so astronomically weak for the way jen writes this man and the way she writes soft domesticity.

Simon "Ghost" Riley

the safe house has seen better days - @ghostaholics

✧ how does it feel to have such a perfect understanding of a character and then create such a gorgeous fic on top of that??

Always staying awake, always assigning himself to the graveyard shift for watch while everyone else squeezes in a few hours of rest before the sun comes up.

i am in awe of ms. ghostaholics and her beautiful ability to turn characterization into pure poetry.

hired as a live-in house cleaner - @ceilidho

✧ i👏🏼love👏🏼this👏🏼fic👏🏼 this turned me into a big ol' soft pile of hearts and mush ugghh just the perfect amount of fluff. very cute but subtle too and y'know i think that fits ghost pretty well.

the team is invited to a wedding - @rileyslibrary

✧ one thing about me: i love a wedding. and this fic right here? absolutely delivered. it's got everything: ghost, gaz cameo, a wedding, macarons. not to mention the A+ banter between ghost and reader, i love them and this fic so much.

happiness || white carnations - @lethal-chiralium

✧ happiness hurts in a way that leaves me somehow longing for more and i can't describe it any other way. i think keri is determined to figure out how many different ways she can break my heart with angst and fluff and i couldn't be more thankful.

circles and squares - @mvtthewmurdvck

✧ i know i gushed about this fic already, but i'm gonna do it again. the best way to describe my feelings about this is that i would dedicate an entire section of my bookshelf just for jo's writing. the way she perfectly balances the differences between ghost and simon. the way he's stern and struggles, but doesn't lose his snark. the way he and reader support each other while still respecting each other and they're need for space. i'm so weak for this fic.

on the edge of the universe - @kil-g

✧ it's the world-building for me. it's the captivating atmosphere for me. there's just something so beautifully haunting here, and i am desperately clinging to every little piece of it. like i'm already feral for everything isa writes, and this is another excellent addition to the collection.

civ!reader kills someone out of self defense for the first time - @halcyone-of-the-sea

✧ had me hooked from the opening line and man was i on edge the rest of the time. i was panicking right there alongside reader, and the portrayal of her confusion and fear and anxiety was so well done. and ghost coming in to comfort her?? i was crying. so unbelievably good.

badly wrapped secrets - @mvtthewmurdvck

✧ i just-

"Thank you, for all of this.

He nods—short, and full of understanding, as well as signalling: you’re welcome."

i love them so much 😭

blood was its avatar - @halcyone-of-the-sea

✧ i was fighting for my life trying to read this without blushing like a sinner in church and ended up looking something like this-

and i damn near cackled like a witch at that ending LMAO

the roommate series || lover boy - @a-small-writer-in-a-big-world

✧ i knew nothing about this series going on and when i tell you i read through it with a swiftness. my skin is clear, my knees are weak, my livestock is fed. this fic (this whole series tbh) has reached in and wrapped around my heart in the best possible way.

illicit indulgences || the ghost of you - @floralpascal

✧ i am screaming. this is so...i don't know the right word. beautiful? stunning? gorgeous? all of the above? the captivating description of loneliness, the way ella manages to capture the stubbornness of ghost missing someone but refusing to admit to himself that he does. they're so perfect and in love and i'm just alskdaj

can you imagine someone threatening you - @mvtthewmurdvck

✧ you ever hear that phrase, so nice you reblog it twice? well i have, cause that's exactly what i did with this fic. it's the least i could do for the pure artistry of this fic. i love reader here, being so confident and capable and ghost being completely infatuated by her ability and so ready to kill anyone who disrespects her.

Valeria Garza

10 years too late on that, love - @writeforfandoms

✧ hello???? this was incredible???? i am??? slightly intimidated???? and in love??? with both valeria because she's mommy and with jen because she's such a wonderful writer and i am in awe of her talent.

#moth fic recs #fave fics #monthly fic recs

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lovvecherrymotion · 2 months

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Asks, you said? Lets go!

1. How do you imagine their wedding? Small and intimate or a bit bigger (approx. 100 guests)?

2. Show me the aesthetic of their wedding! Colors, their suits, wedding rings

3. Who’s gonna be their groomsmen?

4. Who from ESC 23 will be invited and who will eventually arrive?

5. How would JOcrew help with their wedding?

6. Any funny accident?

7. Where would they go on honeymoon?

(finally replying omg)

1. they aren't on the same page at first, but settle for a smaller wedding and a nicer venue. honestly, nace would do anything for jan, so if he'd rather have a small wedding, he'll be more than willing to compromise. jan does end up going with the venue nace liked the most 💜

2. i'll be putting the wedding moodboard under the cut because this will probably get long 😅

3. officially, jan's brother and kris are the wedding witnesses, but all of joker out are their groomsmen, because they could never pick between all of them.

4. surprising everyone - jere makes it! he knows where slovenia is! häärijä is also invited ofc and comes along. other guests from the 2023 class: teya and salena, gustaph (because of you is a jance song after all 🤭 and he gifts them a lovely live performance during their reception), alika, wild youth, mia, alessandra, luke, blanca paloma & mae - and they all make it!

5. the jo crew does NOT work during their wedding day. they want their friends to enjoy themselves and that includes not helping during the wedding. they do take mark and vita's suggestions of wedding photographers tho

6. it's a special day so of course not everything goes smoothly. jan is very late because he had to go back to get his shoes and at some point he's wearing bojan's socks and kris' tie because he can't keep going back home to get everything. nace is mildly annoyed because the flowers are not the ones they ordered but jan says he likes them better so he gets over it pretty quickly. the biggest accident is bojan crying after drinking way too much and just holding them and telling both of them how much he loves them - it's loud and everyone laughs but both jan and nace feel very loved.

7. tokyo, japan! i think jan would be okay with going anywhere but he knows how much nace wants to go there, so he's the one to make the suggestion - and when nace's eyes light up, he knows he's made the right choice. he buys nace all the gengar merch he can find 🥺

here's the jance wedding moodboard i made months ago. i'm claiming jan as a fellow space nerd so it's a little space themed (couldn't find a puppy that looked like ollie but... i had to include the pets ofc)

#oof this did get long #i hope you enjoy it 💕#jance #janace #ask

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mrcowboydeanwinchester · 1 year

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howdy, partners! very excitingly, i just reached a big ol' milestone, so i thought it would be fun to have a cheeky creator's celebration weekend to say a massive thank you. as i mainly post sapphicnatural and disablednatural stuff, i think it's huge to reach 1k, and i honestly don't know where i'd be without all the fun i've had with y'all on this silly little blog. i'm endlessly grateful <3

so, february 18th and 19th - go wild with posting any kind of content you fancy!! fics, art, amvs, edits, gifs, poetry, you name it. just make sure to tag it #mrcowboy1k and @ me so i can see :)

i've gathered a few (very me) prompts to get the creative juices flowing, but there's no need to stick to them or the days they're on!! and of course, mix and match and interpret them however you wish

🤠 PROMPTS

Saturday 18th:

blonde girlies of spn (jo, donna, mary, claire, to name a few - go feral!)

hohnatural (hard of hearing natural!!!)

purple

Sunday 19th:

sapphicnatural rarepairs

chestervelle (dean x jo - platonic, besties with benefits, romantic, anything!!)

cowboynatural

💜 SOME ROADHOUSE KEEPING

nsfw content is more than welcome but please tag accordingly!

and that goes for everything - please make sure all content/trigger warnings are clear <3

hatred towards sapphic and disabled characters will not be tolerated.

you don't have to be following me to take part !!!!!!!!!!!!!

i don't know why there would be but no w*ncest i beg

and another something funky: ✨BLOG SPOTLIGHTS!✨

drop me asks (anon or not) celebrating and supporting your favourite spn creators and blogs 'cos i'll be posting them all throughout the day to give the community some love!! we're smaller than we have been so let the appreciation shine louder than ever <3

and that's it!!!!! once again, thank you so so much for 1k, i adore you all. and i cannot wait to hear about the blogs you love and see all the epic creations you make. stay slay, ola x

#i've been wanting to do this for SO LONG and it's finally here !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!#so so so excited for this #and so so so so grateful for everything this blog and community has given me. there aren't words #ANYWAY HAVE FUN WITH THESE #sapphicnatural #hohnatural #cowgirls #spn event #mrcowboy1k #ola originals

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peachjagiya · 1 month

Note

https://www.tumblr.com/peachjagiya/747891487375753216/im-not-a-shipper-and-definitely-in-no-way-a-jkkr?source=share

Asks like these makes me realise that people still don't understand people tbh. You don't have to believe in taekook to comprehend human interaction with themselves and society. Everyone lies and especially people behind cameras. There is nothing wrong with it if the intent is good. This whole omission/tweaking of facts made me realise how bh sticks to jkk narrative with subtitles, cuts and emphasing on moments. Remember: serendipity as a choice for Jk's fave, hickey emphasis, them sharing cars. Bh also does it for taekook but in reverse like telling Jungkook even v left him after the tasks etc. the issue is not whether he left or not but to point out things to suit their narrative.

Unfortunately members also have to play their parts as well. Like I found it weird that jin had to emphasize twice on Tae's being absent for Jungkook's birthday last year. And it's not only members but taekook themselves who have done it. In fact Tae has alluded so many times that Jungkook doesn't give him time in the earlier days but goes to Jimin but then we see incidences like Jungkook's shoes outside his room and speaker in his hotel room. Anyone remember that may 2019 live where taekook showed such a big drama of tae exiting the room and mysterious flying wrappers. Yeah his room was def haunted. 🙄

It's not like they have never been on individual lives when the other is present (the live before Jungkook recorded his GCF Newark, Tae is clearly present and shown sitting near the table, though Jungkook shifted the camera so quickly). My point is they have to show that taekook don't spend time together without members or other people.

My advice to the anon is to keep an open mind and see how taekook drives the narrative that they are close but not like a couple coz they gotta protect themselves. Them implying they are not sharing room, when they do sometimes. Not staying together after outings (reverse lives) or mostly only disclosing their group outings. That whole its awkward talk. Though sometimes I feel Tae gets frustrated with how people hate taekook and let's it slip how he and Jungkook are so close. You see all this them not being together on important days are their way of protecting themselves. It's not a matter of if they were or were not but to make their point home that there is nothing between them.

They live in SK darling. We don't know how their families, friends, company, military, general public gonna react if they get outed. So even if they don't like they have to drive this narrative home. It's sad though when I really think about it but feel very proud when I seem them treasuring and protecting what they have in adverse conditions.

Sorry Jo for the long "essay" 😂

☝️☝️

There's so much to protect for all 7 of them. Not just potential same sex couple in their group but potential girlfriends they might have, opinions they might hold, habits they might have that fans won't like.

History shows fans act very entitled with stuff they don't like. So of course they'll limit our access to it.

None of this essay was calling TKKrs delusional and generally being really really rude so you're fine 😂💜

#my asks #truthbending

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jo-harrington · 11 months

Note

Jo, my love 🤍

For a little Heaven/AASB prompt: A Nightmare on Elm Street

Chelsea my love 💜 This has been sitting in my drafts for so long. (The last blurb game I played.) I love you and know you needed a little time to feel better, but hopefully this can make you smile a little. Sorry this is so late, I am TRASH.

Haven't ready Heaven yet? Find it here. And find the Master List for As Above, So Below here.

December 1984

It had been a month.

A month full of nightmares and worry and tentative touches.

Eddie walked on eggshells around you, making sure you knew how much he cared about you—how much he loved you—while he whispered sweet nothings in your ear, hoping to soothe whatever demons lurked just beyond your consciousness.

But he couldn’t deny it anymore.

You lied to him.

And he needed to confront you about it.

“You saw Nightmare on Elm Street without me,” he exclaimed as you opened the door to greet him, ready for a night in.

Your previously excited expression fell.

“Eddie, I—”

“Nope,” he interrupted and pushed past you into your apartment. “I don’t wanna hear it. You said you didn’t want to go with me and you went anyway.”

After the whole incident that night in November—the one that had you practically clawing at his door, covered in soot and muck and smelling like smoke—he had treaded carefully. You had put on a brave face but he knew that you weren’t ok.

You flinched when he touched you if you didn’t expect him to. If you spilled any gas when you went to fill up your car, you’d scrub and scrub your hands until the skin was raw and throbbing.

However, the nights where you stayed together—whether at your apartment or at the trailer—and you woke up panting and in a cold sweat were the worst.

Which was why he didn’t protest when you turned down seeing the movie with him, despite having been excited several weeks before when you’d seen the preview for it on tv.

“That looks absolutely amazing. I can’t believe they’re waiting for November. They should have released it for Halloween!” You gushed.

“Listen, that Terminator movie seems pretty cool too,” he justified. “We’ll just have to wait.”

So the two of you waited, and Eddie waited even longer, it seemed.

He didn't bring it up when the Hawk began advertising it on the marquee--he thought he was giving you time before springing a nightmare monster on you--but at Thanksgiving, Wayne had mentioned it after the commercial popped up during dinner and you immediately became flighty.

"That the movie you kids were thinking' of seeing?" he asked around a mouthful of mashed potatoes.

"Yeah, we need to get tickets before the Hawk features another show." Eddie turned to you. "How 'bout it, angel? You're off tomorrow."

"Oh, umm," you pushed your fork through your macaroni and cheese and shrugged. "I'm kind of...tired. I was just gonna stay in, if you wanted to just come over and watch movies with me there."

Eddie agreed, of course. Not only was he eager for any amount of time he could spend with you, he just...didn't want to push you before you were ready. He also didn't want to be the kind of boyfriend who steamrolled you just because he wanted to do something.

He'd been around enough assholes like that and he knew, whether you explicitly said it or not, that you had been too.

Still...he really didn't want to wait until Family Video had the tape for rent.

So on the last day that it was at the Hawk, some dull little Wednesday at the beginning of December, he went. Brought Jeff, Gareth, and Dave under the guise of it being a treat for a great set the night before. (They really had done a good job.)

And on the way out, he noticed the poster still hanging outside of the box office. The creepy claws, Heather Langenkamp's petrified gaze. Maybe seeing the movie would be too much for you, but the poster would look really good on the otherwise-barren walls of your little apartment.

So told the boys to wait in the van so he could beg and plead and possibly bribe the theater manager--one of Rick's fishing buddies--to give the poster to him.

Imagine Eddie's surprise when the older man pulled a post it off the side of the cash register and said it was already spoken for. That surprise only increased tenfold when he recognized your name and phone number scrawled there.

Eddie asked when you'd claimed it.

"Yeah, a big group from Bradley's came by right before Thanksgiving" the manager shrugged. "You know old Tim likes to do...what do they call it? Team building? Whatever new fangled ways that you get out of paying out a holiday bonus."

Eddie didn't know how to feel...he knew you kept secrets...he did too. It wasn't that the two of you were lying to one another, per se...this certainly felt like a lie though.

Why wouldn't you just tell him you had seen the movie?

The two seconds it took for the theater manager to take a breath and get to his feet were an eternity for Eddie, and in that eternity, he spiraled in insecurity. His doubt in you, in your relationship, in himself.

He didn't want to do it. Didn't want to be this way. But what else should he think--could he think--but that it was his fault when everyone left?

The theater manager exited the box office and walked over to the poster display. He fished keys from his back pocket and unlocked the little window, then pulled the poster out and handed it to a numb Eddie, oblivious to his internal conflict.

"She said it was some kind of surprise for her boyfriend," the manager explained. "But...you're practically Rick's kid. I can't say no to you Ed. Just don't tell anyone where you got it. I don't want to get some kind of phone call saying I'm...out to destroy young love or something."

Just like that, all of the doubt exited his body.

Now here he was, standing before you as you stammered and tried to explain, as you tried to say that you had no choice. You paced and worried your fingers together and he knew he had to stop you before you got too caught up in your guilt.

He pulled the poster out from where it was tucked inside of his jacket and held the roll out to you.

"What's this?" you grabbed it from him with a frown.

"The scroll with the instructions for the Holy Hand Grenade of Antioch," he grinned and urged you to look at it.

You unfurled the poster and the tension in your shoulders dissipated.

"You could have just gone with me again," Eddie offered. "I wouldn't have minded."

"I just...didn't want to be a disappointment to you," you sighed. "I know you were looking forward to it. You always cover my eyes during the jump scares. That's your favorite part."

"No," Eddie shrugged. "My favorite part is making out with you during the credits."

You rolled your eyes and rolled the poster back up to hit him with it.

"Hey now, don't damage the goods," Eddie laughed and grabbed you by the arms to stop your playful abuse. "It took a lot of work to woo old Bill into giving me that poster."

"I wanted to surprise you," you scoffed. "I was even gonna give him $20!"

"You seriously underestimate my ability to charm people, sweetheart," Eddie teased. "Hypnotize them, get them to fall for my devastating good looks."

"I guess I'm just immune to that charm," you snarked and he shifted his hands quickly to your waist tickle you. "Ah no Eddie!"

You shrieked and squirmed until you started to go limp in his arms, unable to withstand the assault any longer. His fingers slowed down and he took the opportunity to smack a kiss against your lips.

"Just you wait. One day I'll find the right words, the right enchantment," he vowed in a faux menacing voice. "And you'll never escape my spell, ever again."

#as above so below #hymns of heaven #Eddie Munson x reader #Eddie Munson fluff #Eddie Munson angst #a little...sus at the end...huh...#don't know about that one

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canirove · 1 year

Text

Professor Rice | Chapter 1

Summary: It is Veronica’s last year at uni. After partying maybe a bit too much the previous one, she wants to be focused and not struggle again. Especially not when to finish her major, she will be needed the credits from one of her most hated subjets: Science. But because that wasn’t enough already, her professor happens to be one of the most handsome men she has ever seen. Professor Rice.

━━━━━━❃━━━━━━

"What are you looking at..." Madisson stopped mid-sentence to look at the door. "Oh my sweet baby Jesus!"

"Can he be my lab partner? I promise to be good" I laughed.

"Babe, that's not a classmate. That's our professor."

The professor... that's our professor. I'm screwed!

Author’s note: This story is a very special one, because I didn’t write it, a friend of mine did. It was my birthday present from her a couple of years ago, and that’s why the main character was named after me 😁 She got inspired because when we saw the photo of Declan that I’m using on this chapter’s header, I told her that with the glasses he looked like an university teacher 😅

If you’ve read any of my other stories, you’ll probably notice that our writing style is a bit different, but I hope you still enjoy it as much as I did. Thank you for reading! 💜

Next chapter

Masterlist

Veronica's POV

On my first day back at uni, I woke up feeling like an anxious mess. I was in need of one of Jo's pep talks.

After I showered and got dressed, I went into the kitchen to find my best friend cooking my favourite breakfast: banana pancakes with chocolate chips. I don't deserve her.

"Good morning, gorgeous. I made you some breakfast" Jo said while placing my plate and my cup of tea in front of me.

"Have I ever told you that you are my favourite person in the whole wide world?"

"Yeah, yeah, yeah" Jo said, rolling her eyes. But I could see a little smirk on her face. Josephine knew this was the only way to get me to eat something before class on my first day, so she woke up extra early to get everything ready.

"You ready for this, V? I know you worry too much, but this year you have fewer classes and it shouldn't be as stressful as last year, ok?"

"I guess... I do have some classes that I can't keep avoiding. Like Science. Ugh, I hate Science" I groaned. Why do I have to take more Science classes?

"Veronica, don't be silly. I'm great at Science, I'll help you out if you need it." Of course, Jo to the rescue.

"I know. I just don't want a repeat of last year".

The end of my second year in Uni was a rollercoaster. I might have enjoyed my party time a bit too much, and when it was time to catch up on everything that I had to study... well, saying that it wasn't fun was an understatement.

Jo and I spent multiple nights awake studying, and I managed to get good enough grades to keep my scholarship. I’d liked to think I've learnt from those mistakes. But Jo and I had already been invited to three parties, and we still haven't found a way to say no.

"Veronica!" Jo screamed.

"What?" I said, covering my ears. She knew I didn't like loud noises so early in the morning.

"Stop daydreaming, peach. We need to go. Oh God! You've barely eaten." She immediately grabbed a napkin and put two more pancakes on it. "You can eat this on the way to your first class. Have fun. Love you!"

"Yes, mum. Bye, mum." I couldn't help but tease her as I left to go to hell. I mean, today's classes.

These next 9 months are going to be the worst of my life...

Two classes down, two to go. And it was finally time for the worst of them: Science. I knew I had to get these credits from this Science class to finish my major, but I also knew I didn't have to be excited about it.

My least favourite part of first days was teachers making a big deal out of everything. As if university wasn't overwhelming enough. They felt the need to talk about every single detail of everything we'll be doing for the next few months, and I always left feeling just a bit dumber than before that class started.

As I made my way to my seat, I saw Maddison was already there. Maddie and I were good friends but had never been in a class together. She was also very good at Science, so being next to her in this class sounded even better than it normally would.

"Hi Maddie" I said while sitting next to her.

"Hi Nica! We finally get to be together in a class. Only took us three years" she laughed.

Maddison always called me Nica. Apparently, there was a singing contest she watched as a kid with her mum, who is from Spain, and her favourite contestant's nickname was Nika. So she couldn't help but call me Nica. It was cute, to be honest.

"So," Madisson started, "have you heard about the new professor?"

"New professor? What do you mean?"

"Well, there was this two hundred-year-old man who has been teaching this class since before dinosaurs went extinct, but he finally retired and we are supposed to be getting a new professor who is a hottie. At least according to some classmates of mine that had him in their first class today." Madisson, of course, started to wiggle her eyebrows while telling me the story.

"A hot professor?" I laughed. "Not in this class, please. I struggle with concentrating enough as it is."

"Oh, c'mon. A bit of eye candy never hurt nobody."

The class was about to start when the most beautiful man I've ever seen in my life walked through the door.

"What are you looking at..." Madisson stopped mid-sentence to look at the door. "Oh my sweet baby Jesus!"

"Can he be my lab partner? I promise to be good" I laughed.

"Babe, that's not a classmate. That's our professor."

The professor... that's our professor. I'm screwed!

Declan's POV

Why is teaching a class in front of one hundred students more daunting than being in front of thirty thousand people at a football pitch?

"Hello class. I'm Professor Rice, and I'll be teaching this course now that Professor Richards has retired. Now, I don't want to overwhelm you on the first day talking about everything you're supposed to do in the next few months, but I do want to talk about how I plan on organizing these first weeks of classes. So pay attention, I don't like repeating myself".

Did that sound confident? I bet they can all see how much I'm sweating underneath this suit. Why did I wear a suit in August? God! I'm a mess.

"So, next week we'll do a small test." I could hear complaints already. "Relax, this won't count for your final grades. I just want to know how to organize the study groups and to check who might need more help. My office is always open for anyone who has questions, ok?"

I then wrote all the topics that will be covered on the test on the board. My handwriting was worse than usual because I was trying not to show how nervous I was.

All for nothing, because the day had been going really well so far. All the students in the first two classes seemed excited to have a younger teacher in their class. Even a couple of girls asked me where my office was. I didn't expect that.

You can do this, Declan. You can do this!

"So, any questions?" I asked, and then saw a couple of hands being raised.

Once I answered the questions, I kept on explaining how the course was going to work. It's not that I didn't want to be a harsh teacher, but I was in their place only a couple of years ago and I felt like I got how they felt better than a sixty-year-old professor could.

Also, I really wanted them to like me. The footballer in me craved that praise and love. It's not easy retiring when you are eighteen while your best friend goes onto winning all the trophies. But hey, this was a good job, and I would make the best out of it.

While the students left the class, I noticed many of them staring at me. Including a cute redhead who blushed when our eyes met. Wait, why was I thinking about one of my students as cute? I had actually noticed her during class, she kept on frowning at most of the things I said. And she was constantly asking her friend questions. Why didn't she ask me those questions? And why did I care so much?

I looked down at my backpack and started to pack all my things.

I need to talk to Mason.

#declan rice #declan rice fanfic #declan rice imagine #football fanfic #football imagine

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