#<- this will be where you can find them all

[cheftsunoda]

grid kids or cupids?— mv1

smau + written blurbs

max verstappen x !driver reader

2025 rookies x !platonic driver reader

your ex cheated. you dumped him. simple, clean, no tears—just a block, a race win, and an innocent instagram post. you are over it. but your rookies? not so much.

somehow, they’ve formed a secret matchmaking club and are now trying to set you up with half the grid. you know. max knows. (he’s your very smitten, very amused boyfriend.) but neither of you say a word.

because watching them try? is way too entertaining.

fc : luvstruck on ig (love a tattooed baddie as a face claim)

original request is here.

(a/n) : this was so much fun for me. i hope you all enjoy! love youuuu

—

yourusername

liked by kimi.antonelli, olliebearman, isackhadjar and 4,550,700 others.

yourusername : his loss.

—

view 285,003 other comments.

username000 : did she finally leave that ugly demonic man?????

liked by yourusername

↳ username1 : oh thank god. we got our baddie back��🏻

liked by yourusername

yourbff : man just couldn’t handle having a baddie. the funny thing is he can’t watch the race without seeing your name or face 😏

liked by yourusername

↳ yourusername : he shall never know peace.

liked by yourbff

yoursister : i can hear the streets callin’🧏‍♀️

liked by yourusername

↳ yourusername : call me pluto cuz im alr in them

liked by yoursister

↳ yoursister : where are your children? its rare i make it here before they do.

liked by yourusername

↳ yourusername : oh they will be here within like the next 10 seconds

liked by yoursister

↳ olliebearman : heyyyy so what’s his address? so i can send a hitman.

liked by yoursister, yourbff and yourusername

isackhadjar : if i see that man IT IS ON SIGHT.

liked by yourusername

lando : if i were him id never leave the house ever again, not just because of the 6 angry children at my door but just out of sheer embarrassment from what i fumbled.

liked by yourusername

kimi.antonelli : im small but i can bite ankles. he is a dead man. im going to kill him

liked by yourusername

gabrielbortoleto_ : yn i cannot handle these vague captions. pls answer the group chat. im spiraling and about to hire someone to do horrible things.

liked by yourusername

↳ isackhadjar : i feel sick to my stomach.

liked by yourusername

↳ olliebearman : i just threw up

liked by yourusername

↳ kimi.antonelli : i am pacing

liked by yourusername

↳ jackdoohan : just threw my phone across the room

liked by yourusername

↳ yourusername : guys, im fine. truly. it was for the best. i will call you all later!

↳ kimi.antonelli : yn did he hurt you?? i destroy his entire bloodline

↳ isackhadjar : stop lying. you are ignoring our texts. you never do.

↳ olliebearman : ok well he hurt you so we will just find him and kill him. its all taken care of

↳ gabrielbortoleto_ : cannot believe you are just ghosting your six emotionally unstable children.

username07 : the rookies falling apart in the comments while yn is unfazed is taking me OUT.

alex_albon : he peaked in high school and drives a toyota 💀 and now fumbled an f1 driver…him being him is punishment enough

liked by yourusername

↳ yourusername : i can’t with you 💀

oscarpiastri : absolutely no clue what happened but i instantly take your side. he is a dick.

liked by yourusername

alexandrasaintmleux : he fumbled so i could have you😇

liked by yourusername

↳ yourusername : mmm yes gimme (making grabby hands at you)

liked by alexandrasaintmleux

olliebearman : yn we are coming over

↳ kimi.antonelli : you let us in or we break the door down

↳ yourusername : im sure that breaking and entering is already somewhere on oliver’s crime list so lets not add to it. come on over kids.

↳ gabrielbortoleto_ : YAYYYYYYYY

↳ jackdoohan : on my way! (already outside of your apartment)

↳ isackhadjar : i have been sitting in the hallway since this was posted.

↳ yourusername : get in here🙄

username15 : these kids love their grid mum 🤧

—

flashback

You hadn’t expected the night to end in a breakup. But maybe you should’ve.

It started with his phone—left unlocked, screen facing up, buzzing like a warning. You hadn’t meant to look. But you did. A message preview lit up like a punch to the chest.

last night was the best;) miss you already xx

You didn’t open it. You didn’t need to. The way your stomach dropped told you everything you weren’t ready to admit.

You sat there for a few seconds, staring at the screen. His voice filtered in from the bathroom—some off-key humming, clueless and careless. It made you feel numb. Or maybe free. You weren’t sure which yet.

When he walked back in, grinning like he still had you, you held the phone up.

“You should really be more careful with your passwords,” you said calmly.

His expression dropped. “Babe, it’s not what it looks like—”

“It looks like you’re sleeping with someone who isn’t me.”

You didn’t yell. Didn’t cry. Didn’t even let him finish his half-assed explanation. You just grabbed your heels, your pride, and your keys, and walked out the door like it owed you nothing.

You texted your girls on the way out.

club. now. i finally left the bum.

By midnight, you were wrapped in black mesh and revenge-red lipstick.

The bass vibrated through your bones, and the margarita in your hand burned in the best way. Your friends were already dancing like the world was ending, and for the first time in months, you felt alive.

And then you saw him. Max.

Standing at the bar with a half-finished drink and that usual unreadable expression—until he looked up and saw you.

His eyes flicked over you once, slow and deliberate, before his lips curled into the smallest smirk. He lifted his drink in silent acknowledgment, and you raised your brow like, Don’t test me. But he didn’t walk away.

No, he walked toward you—unhurried, completely sure of himself, like he’d been waiting for you to show up all night.

“You good?” he asked, leaning in just enough to be heard over the music.

You shrugged, grinning. “Better than ever.”

He studied you for a second longer. “You look free. Like you finally let go of that one thing that was dragging you down.”

You met his gaze head-on. “Maybe I did. But I don’t regret it.”

Something about your voice—clear, certain, maybe a little dangerous—made him nod slowly. Like he knew that version of you. Like he’d met her before in himself.

He didn’t say anything for a moment, just offered his hand. “Come dance with me.”

And God help you, you said yes. One song bled into another, and suddenly you were dancing like your skin was on fire, like the world couldn’t touch you anymore. Max wasn’t just keeping up—he matched you. Step for step, stare for stare, like the two of you spoke the same language in a rhythm only you could hear.

You didn’t remember leaning in. You didn’t remember whose hand touched whose waist first.

But you do remember the way his lips brushed yours, soft and warm and slow at first—like he was asking a question. And how you answered with a kiss that tasted like tequila and freedom.

When you finally pulled away, breathless, Max just looked at you with that same amused smirk and said, “Definitely his loss.”

You laughed. You weren’t just fine. You were starting over.

—

The sunlight hit your face before the memory did. Warm. Gentle. Relentless.

You blinked a few times, groggy and still wrapped in that heavy limbed softness that comes from too many drinks and not enough regrets. The room smelled faintly of something distinctly Max—clean, expensive, and just a little smug.

You rolled over. He was already awake.

Lying there, one arm folded behind his head, chest bare, the sheets dangerously low on his hips. His other hand held his phone, which he casually tossed aside when he noticed you looking.

“Morning,” he said, voice rough, sleepy.

You groaned into the pillow. “Tell me we didn’t do something stupid.”

Max tilted his head. “Define stupid.”

Your eyes narrowed. He smiled.

“We danced,” he said. “You kissed me. Twice. And then you tried to start a debate about tire compounds in the elevator.”

You winced. “Sounds like me.”

He laughed under his breath, that low rumble sending a shiver down your spine.

“But no,” he added, softer this time. “You were upset. So I brought you back here. You changed into my shirt, stole all the covers, and fell asleep with your face in my shoulder.”

You blinked. “I didn’t kiss you again?”

He hesitated. “You almost did. Then you said something about how ‘this doesn’t count when you’re drunk’ and knocked out cold.”

You groaned again. “God. Sorry.”

“Don’t be,” he said, without missing a beat. “It was the best night I’ve had in a long time.”

You looked over at him, eyes soft. “You sure? I was kind of a mess.”

Max shrugged. “You were real. That’s what I want to see.”

For a second, the air stilled between you. No jokes. No tension. Just quiet understanding. You’d kissed him the night before thinking it was a one time thing—sparked by adrenaline, tequila, and heartbreak. But lying here now, in his bed, wearing his shirt and breathing in his space.

He shifted, propping himself up on one elbow. “So… breakfast?”

You blinked. “You’re offering to feed me now?”

“I’m offering to bribe you with pancakes so you don’t ghost me later.”

You smirked, climbing out of bed and grabbing your phone.

“I don’t ghost,” you said, pausing by the door. “But fair warning—once I post a thirst trap, our children are going to lose their minds.”

Max grinned, already reaching for his shirt. “Perfect. Let them panic.”

And as you headed to the bathroom, still wearing nothing but his t-shirt and a smirk, you realized something—You really, really didn’t miss your ex.

—

present day

It’s been a few weeks since that night. Since tequila and heartbreak and Max Verstappen.

You’ve seen him a few times since then—quiet dinners in hotel rooms, lingering handholds between debriefs, shared glances across the paddock that made your stomach flip like a rookie on their debut lap. It’s easy, exciting, safe in the strangest way. No pressure, no labels.

And somehow, for once, no noise. Just the two of you, figuring it out behind closed doors. Which is exactly why you should’ve known that post would send the entire grid into DEFCON 1. Because you barely have time to finish brushing your teeth when it sounds like your whole front door is being broken down.

You freeze, toothbrush halfway to your mouth. Then—

DING DING DING DING.

“YN OPEN THE DOOR RIGHT NOW.”

You peek through the peephole. And there they are. All six of them. Kimi. Ollie. Isack. Jack. Franco. Gabriel.

Every last one of them in complete disarray. Jack’s hair is still wet. Gabriel’s holding a box of oreo’s, one stuffed into his mouth. Franco has absolutely no shoes on.

You blink. “Good morning?”

“You can’t just post that and disappear,” Ollie blurts.

“Disrespectful,” Franco agrees. “Honestly rude.”

“You owe us answers,” Jack adds, pushing inside like this is a crime scene. “Did he cheat? Did you dump him? Do I need to start training for violence?”

“I’m already in shape for violence,” Isack mutters.

“I brought Oreo’s,” Gabriel says, holding them up as a gift of peace.

Kimi just crosses his arms and stares you down. “What happened.”

You close the door behind them and sigh.

“Nothing crazy,” you say, voice steady. “I found out he wasn’t who I thought he was. So I ended it.”

You head to the kitchen and start making coffee. Like this isn’t the opening scene of a Netflix special where the 2025 F1 Rookies begin a manhunt.

“But… are you okay?” Franco asks gently.

You turn and smile. “Honestly? I’m great. It’s probably the healthiest decision I’ve made in years.”

Kimi leans against the counter. “You don’t have to be fine right now, you know.”

You sip your coffee and shrug. “I am fine. Genuinely. I don’t miss him. There’s nothing to cry over.”

There’s a beat of silence. Six sets of eyes narrow, exchanging looks like they’ve rehearsed this. You can feel the shift in the air. The whisper of an unspoken plan forming. But no one says it. No one says “we’re going to find you someone better.” No one says “we’ve already made a list.”

Instead, Gabriel sits beside you. “Okay. Well, if you’re fine… we’re still staying for brunch.”

“Obviously,” Franco says.

“Non-negotiable,” Isack adds.

Ollie leans forward, fake-casual. “So… no one new in the picture yet?”

You raise an eyebrow. “Are you taking attendance for my love life now?”

He shrugs. “Just making conversation.”

You laugh. “Well, no. There’s nothing to report. I’m enjoying being single.”

Half-true. You take another sip of coffee and hide your smirk. They all nod slowly. Quiet. Suspicious. Too quiet.

Gabriel’s already texting someone under the table. Jack’s typing into his Notes app. Franco looks like he’s trying to remember every eligible man on the grid. Kimi is definitely plotting a background check. You say nothing.

Because letting them believe you’re freshly single, emotionally vulnerable, and in need of saving? Is way too fun to correct.

—

The brunch was meant to be a quick thing. A little comfort, a little check-in, maybe a pastry or two.

But somewhere between the third round of pancakes and Kimi yelling at Jack for putting ketchup on eggs, it turned into something else.

You knew you were doomed the moment Ollie declared, mouth full of toast.

“You’re not allowed to be alone today. We’re going with you.”

You’d laughed. Thought it was a joke. But now it’s two hours later, and they’re all still here. You walk into the training facility like usual, hoodie up, bag slung over your shoulder, calm and collected. Behind you? Six men trailing in a chaotic single file like toddlers on a leash.

Gabriel’s rapidly texting on his phone. Franco’s wearing sunglasses indoors. Jack’s humming. Isack is trying to arm wrestle Kimi mid walk. Ollie keeps speed walking ahead of you, then backpedaling like a mall cop on edge.

“You guys don’t actually have to stay,” you say for the fifth time, mildly exasperated.

“Yes, we do,” Ollie insists. “What if your ex tries to talk to you again?”

“I blocked him.”

“What if he makes a burner account?”

“I blocked five burner accounts.”

Kimi snorts. “I told you she’s too smart for him.”

Isack stretches like he’s preparing for a UFC match. “Still. You’re emotionally delicate right now.”

You raise an eyebrow. “I’m emotionally fine.”

“She’s in denial,” Jack whispers. “Classic phase two.”

You groan, swiping your pass at the entrance and holding the door open for your band of feral ducklings.

—

You’re halfway through your warm-up laps when it happens. You jog around the corner of the facility and pass by a small group of guys—some local trainers and junior athletes. You nod politely at them, earbuds in, barely noticing.

But they notice you. One of them—tall, maybe twenty-five—stares for a second too long. Not creepy. Just curious. And apparently, that’s enough to start World War III. Because from across the room, you hear a voice yell.

“HEY. EYES UP, BRO. THAT’S MY MOM.”

You stop in your tracks. Spin around. Ollie is storming toward the guy with a hand on his chest like he’s about to deliver the sermon of the year.

The poor guy looks so confused. “I—what?”

“She’s a national treasure,” Ollie says, dead serious. “You don’t ogle national treasures.”

You jog back over, cheeks already burning from embarrassment. “Ollie. He just wanted an autograph.”

“No he didn’t.”

“Yes. He’s holding a pen.”

The guy timidly raises his hand. “I just wanted to say hi. I’m a fan.”

Ollie glares. You sigh and pat the fan on the shoulder. “It’s okay. I appreciate it.”

Behind you, Isack leans toward Franco. “Should we start screening everyone she interacts with?”

“Already doing it,” Franco says, typing something into his phone. “I have a form.”

—

By mid-afternoon, they’ve followed you to recovery. Then to the simulator. Then back to your place, where they claim they’re “just checking your locks.” Kimi installs a door camera. Jack offers to sleep on your couch. Gabriel keeps offering to cook for you.

Every time you so much as look at your phone, someone leans over your shoulder.

Ollie squints, head on my shoulder. “Who’s that?”

You sigh and chuckle. “My nutritionist.”

Franco looks up at you. “Okay. What’s his intention?”

”My nutrition.”

Eventually, you collapse onto the couch, arms folded, finally fed up.

“Guys,” you say flatly, “I’m not a baby deer in a storm. I am fine. No one needs to be screened. I don’t need a 24-hour security team. And I definitely don’t need—”

Ding. Your phone lights up. A message from Max.

You alive or are they still holding you hostage?

You smile at the screen—just a little. Just enough for Isack to notice.

He leans forward. “Who was that.”

“Just… a friend.”

Six heads whip around.

“WHO.”

You roll your eyes and stand. “I’m going to shower. Please, for the love of god, do not follow me.”

They groan like they’re being abandoned on a battlefield. And as you shut the bathroom door behind you, you hear Jack whisper.

“We need to escalate. Operation Boyfriend starts now.”

—

f1gossipgirls

785,090 likes.

f1gossipgirls : Mercedes driver YN LN made her first paddock appearance since her rumored breakup — and if anyone’s heartbroken, it’s definitely not her. Looking radiant and unbothered, she was welcomed with a big hug from teammate Kimi Antonelli and closely tailed by Isack Hadjar, who appeared glued to her side all day.

The real kicker? Her full squad of rookie ducklings followed her everywhere — from the garage to the grid walk to the drivers parade, forming what can only be described as a personal security detail (or cult? unclear). But we love this new and radiant Grid Mum! 

—

view 185,090 other comments.

username000 : kimi hugging her like a baby koala was not on my 2025 bingo card but i’ll take it

username00 : ollie: “she doesn’t need us” also ollie: breathing down the neck of anyone who looks at her for more than 0.2 seconds 😭

username0 : franco, gabriel, jack, ollie, kimi, and isack acting like sons to a woman only a few years older than them… peak formula 1 content

username1 : Grid Mum is such an accurate title like they would all FOLLOW HER INTO BATTLE 😭

username5 : i’ve never been more proud of a woman i’ve never met in my LIFE. she won. she’s glowing. she has six rookies as her army. iconic behavior only.

—

The date with Carlos was scheduled with precision.

Ollie booked the restaurant himself, despite forgetting to ask whether you were allergic to seafood. Isack made a shared Google Doc of outfit suggestions. Franco literally coached Carlos on what not to say during the car ride there. Gabriel told you to “just act natural,” which was rich coming from someone who panics ordering coffee.

Carlos, for his part, handled it like a champ.

“You know they sent me a PDF,” he tells you, raising an eyebrow as the waiter pours wine.

You blink. “A PDF?”

He nods, fighting a smile. “Title was ‘So You Think You Can Date YN.’”

You nearly choke on your water. “I swear to God.”

He grins. “Very detailed. They had a whole section on things not to mention. Like your ex. Or 2019 qualifying in Monaco.”

“Fair,” you say, smirking.

To his credit, Carlos is very good at this. Charming, confident, a little teasing, but never pushy. He asks about your training, your favorite circuits, the meaning behind the small tattoo on your wrist. He compliments your eyes like he means it.

And for a second, you let yourself lean into it. Until you spot them. Behind Carlos, tucked into a booth near the corner?

The Ducklings.

Poorly disguised in sunglasses, hoodies, and baseball caps—like a weird boyband on the run.

Jack has a menu held upside down. Gabriel is clearly filming on his phone. Ollie is wearing a fake moustache. Franco waves when you make eye contact. Kimi sits with his arms crossed like a bodyguard. And Isack’s just… staring at Carlos. Like he wants to  wrestle him across the table.

You bite back a laugh. Carlos follows your gaze, glancing over his shoulder. He turns back, grinning.

“Should we tell them I saw them an hour ago?”

“No,” you say, sipping your wine. “Let them have their fun.”

He raises his glass. “To the worst spies in F1 history.”

—

You don’t know how they convinced Pierre to do this. Maybe it was Franco’s charm. Maybe it was the rookie group chat descending into madness after “Carlos Date Day.” Or maybe Pierre’s just here for the chaos, as always.

Either way, here you are. Dress. Dinner. Dim lighting. And Pierre, in an offensively good shirt, holding out a chair like he was born for this.

“I must say,” he smirks, “the moment they approached me with the idea, I said finally. Someone’s letting me take the prettiest driver on the grid out.”

You snort. “Do you use that line often?”

He grins, absolutely unapologetic. “Only when it’s true.”

You sit, trying not to smile too much. The restaurant is all low lighting and flickering candles—Pierre’s choice, obviously. He orders a bottle of wine in French, and the waiter actually blushes. You already regret letting Franco be in charge of the location.

“So,” you say, narrowing your eyes playfully, “what did the Ducklings promise you?”

“Ah,” he leans back dramatically, “they said if I sweep you off your feet, I get Kimi’s sim time for the month.”

You blink. “That’s… weirdly generous.”

“I know.” He raises his glass. “They’re getting desperate.”

You clink. “They are insane.”

“Insanely devoted to you,” he corrects.

You pause. Let that sit. Because he’s not wrong. And that’s when you spot them. The Ducklings. At it again.

Ollie and Isack behind the wine rack. Kimi pretending to be a server with an apron and a scowl. Jack crouching behind a decorative plant that is way too small. Gabriel and Franco sitting two tables over with fake menus covering their faces, whispering like spies.

You sigh into your wine. “They are so bad at hiding.”

Pierre glances over, raises an eyebrow, and smirks. “Should we give them something to talk about?”

You lean forward, amused. “Like what?”

He doesn’t answer. Just raises a brow and slowly reaches across the table to take your hand, smooth and steady. In the background, someone gasps audibly. Definitely Isack. Pierre doesn’t flinch.

“They need to believe I’m a threat,” he says lowly, thumb brushing your knuckles. “Otherwise, what’s the fun?”

You shake your head, trying not to laugh. “You’re dangerous.”

“I’m French,” he says with a wink. “Same thing.”

—

over with the rookies…

“HE’S HOLDING HER HAND. HE’S HOLDING HER HAND.” Ollie panics into his little earpiece.

Isack sighs. “Deploying emotional damage protocol. Permission to interfere?”

Kimi sets the glass of water down at the table he is pretending to serve. “Negative. We observe. We do not assassinate.”

Gabriel smiles from behind the menu. “She just looks so pretty. I wouldn’t be able to let go either.”

Franco starts panicking and fanning himself with said menu. “Guys. She’s smiling.”

Jack puts his head down. “It’s Carlos all over again. This is a spiral.”

Ollie face palms. “I told you we should’ve gone with Alex first. He would’ve been soft. Safe. Pierre has an agenda.”

—

Pierre’s still holding your hand when you laugh—genuine and loud and a little tipsy. The date has been fun, even if it feels like an elaborate school play. He’s charming, flirty, just the right amount of dangerous. But still…

Not the one who sent you a photo of your coffee order this morning. Not the one who smirks every time the rookies panic. Not the one who hasn’t stopped texting you versions of “good luck surviving them” all day.

You finish dessert—chocolate tart and rookie glares—and stand with Pierre as the waiter brings the bill. He leans close, lips brushing your cheek.

“Merci, chérie,” he murmurs, warm and quiet. “This was fun.”

And it was. But the second you step outside and the rookies swarm you, dramatic as ever—

Ollie checks you over quickly, holding your arms. “ARE YOU OKAY? DID HE POISON YOU WITH COMPLIMENTS?”

Isack rushes over, out of breath. “DO YOU HAVE EMOTIONAL WHIPLASH??”

Gabriel reaches up and brushes your hair. “Did he touch your hair???”

You just laugh, shrugging them off as you walk to the car. Because even though Pierre was perfect on paper— He wasn’t Max. And maybe the rookies haven’t figured it out yet.

—

You were promised a casual night.

“Low pressure,” Gabriel said.

“Light-hearted,” Jack promised.

“Just Alex,” Franco winked. “What’s the worst that could happen?”

Famous last words.  Because ten minutes into sitting across from Alex Albon at a cozy Thai restaurant — one he picked himself — you clock all six rookies sitting in a booth across the room in matching black hoodies like they’re in a rogue choir.

Alex leans in, smiling wide as he watches you clock them. “So. We’re ignoring the Secret Service detail?”

“Apparently,” you deadpan. “Their idea of ‘stealth’ is coordinated outfits and Jack holding a menu upside down.”

Alex chuckles, offering you a piece of spring roll with his chopsticks. “I’ll admit, I kind of love the chaos. Makes me feel like I’m in a sitcom.”

You grin, accepting it. “Is this their idea of soft-launching us?”

“Please,” Alex says, mock offended. “If I was soft-launching you, it’d be on a boat, golden hour lighting, maybe a quirky caption.”

You laugh out loud. Truth be told, this is the most normal of the “dates” so far. Alex is sweet, calm, and effortlessly funny. He talks to you like you’ve known each other for years. No pressure, no forced charm. Just vibing over pad see ew and Thai iced teas. Still, something’s… off. Not with him, exactly. Just… something.

—

duckling commentary…

Ollie whispers lowly. “Why is she laughing that hard? What did he say? I need a transcript.”

Isack squints. “She looks relaxed. TOO relaxed.”

Kimi shrugs. “He’s got soft energy. I’m not threatened.”

Franco sighs. “But what if she likes soft energy.”

Gabriel with a mouth full. “I like Alex. He’s soft. Like tofu.”

Jack moves the menu from his face. “I will literally flip this table if he touches her hand.”

—

back to you and mr. albon…

“You know,” Alex says, mid-bite, “I told them this was ridiculous. I said, ‘She’s not looking for someone. She’s got that look in her eye like she already found someone and hasn’t told them yet.’”

You go still.

He looks up at you. “Sorry—was that too much?”

You stare at him for a second.

And then: “No. That was… very on point.”

Alex smiles, a little softer now. “It’s not me, is it?”

You shake your head slowly. “No.”

He sits back, letting out a small breath. “Didn’t think so. Just wanted to be sure before I told Isack to stop plotting date number four.”

You laugh. Like full body laugh.

“God, they’re so intense.”

“They’re obsessed with you,” Alex says easily. “I get it. You’re kind of their mum. But also their queen. Their general. Their—”

“Duck wrangler.”

“Exactly.”

You sip your drink. “You’re handling this well.”

“I like being a decoy,” Alex shrugs. “Gives me a front row seat to the Max Verstappen Situation.”

You choke. “The what?”

He smirks. “Oh, come on. You don’t think we all saw him volunteer for the draft room? He showed up like he’d already won.”

You press your lips together. “It’s… complicated.”

“Is it?” Alex grins. “Because I think the only people who haven’t figured it out are the rookies. And honestly? I’m not telling them. Watching this slow unraveling is the best thing to happen to the paddock since Pierre got stuck in that bathroom in Baku.”

—

You and Alex step out of the restaurant into the night air, the six rookies immediately materializing from inside.

Isack approaches quickly. “Rate the date. Out of 10. Be honest.”

Ollie checks you over, again. “Did he hold you?”

Kimi crosses his arms. “I brought pepper spray in case things got weird.”

Gabriel sighs dramatically. “Alex, are you in love with her?”

Jack stares at you. “Was it mid?? Be real.”

Franco stares down Alex. “You better not hurt her or I’ll flatten you on the sidewalk.”

Alex just throws his hands up. “Guys. I’m literally the safe option. You picked me for vibe control.”

—

The place is quiet. Max picked a rooftop bar just outside the city — warm lights, open air, panoramic views, and most importantly—no cameras. Well. Except the ones hidden behind a concrete planter across the deck. You glance toward it and spot the very obvious outline of Ollie’s curly hair. You don’t even say anything. Max sees it too. He smirks.

“They really don’t know how to blend in, huh?”

“Nope.”

“I think he is wearing the fake mustache again.”

“I give them points for commitment.”

You clink your glasses together — you with a ginger beer, Max with something dark and still half-ignored — and settle into the kind of silence that feels earned, not awkward. The breeze lifts your hair slightly. His eyes follow the movement, just for a second.

“You’ve been humoring them,” he says after a while.

You glance at him. “You’ve been letting them spiral.”

He grins. “I don’t intervene in things I already won.”

Your heart does a thing. You sip your drink to cover it.

—

meanwhile at the rookie watchtower…

Jack smiles, looking satisfied. “Okay, we’re officially in the final boss round.”

Isack eyes the both of you. “Do we think he’s actually playing the game or just… winning by default?”

Gabriel shrugs. “He’s not even trying to flirt and it’s working. I hate it here.”

Ollie squints at Max. “He’s got that smug ‘I already kissed her’ look—”

Franco shrieks. “Wait. Has he???”

Kimi eyes all of the boys. “Do we interfere if tongues happen.”

All of them erupt. “YES.”

—

back with you and maxie…

Back at the table, Max leans forward slightly, eyes on you like he’s choosing every word carefully.

“I’m glad you let them do this.”

“Yeah?”

“Gave me a front-row seat to your smile. And their chaos. Win-win.”

You raise an eyebrow. “So what’s your plan? You know they’re watching.”

He shrugs. “Not here to impress them.”

“Oh?”

Max sets his drink down.

“I’m here to kiss you in front of them and end this game.”

You go still. Heart? Racing.

“You’re serious.”

He stands. Offers his hand. You take it. And then he pulls you in gently, tilting your chin up just enough, and kisses you like it’s not even a question anymore. Like it never was. Warm. Certain. Slow. Soft. And behind you—

“OH MY GOD.”

“THAT’S ILLEGAL.”

“THAT’S AGAINST THE RULES.”

You don’t even break the kiss until Max pulls back with a laugh, turning just slightly toward the human pile of rookies currently losing their minds behind a planter.

His arm stays looped around your waist.

“That’s against the rules!” Ollie yells again, hands flailing.

Max smirks. Shrugs.

“I don’t follow rules,” he says simply, “when she’s already mine.”

Jack screams into a napkin. 

Franco blinks in disbelief. “HE SAID WHAT—”

Isack looks like he is going to faint. “I NEED TO SIT DOWN.”

Gabriel clutching his chest. “I think I just blacked out.”

Kimi smirked. “I knew it. I KNEW IT.”

Ollie crumbles quickly. “They made us schedule a date with Alex when she was already WITH HIM—”

You turn toward Max, cheeks warm, heart light, still half-shocked and entirely melted.

“That was… dramatic.”

“Worth it.”

“You really planned to one-up the rookies?”

He grins. “No. I planned to end the game before they tried to match you with Lando.”

You laugh and kiss him again — brief, bright, completely yours. Alongside the two of you, six ducklings begin planning a joint wedding speech.

—

maxverstappen1

liked by gabrielbortoleto_, olliebearman, kimi.antonelli and 5,505,023 others.

maxverstappen1 : grid mom and dad making it official. love you, schat❤️

tagged : yourusername

—

view 250,000 other comments.

gabrielbortoleto_ : i feel like i found out santa isn’t real but also found out my parents are canceling the divorce on the same day.

liked by yourusername and maxverstappen1

↳ yourusername : idek what that means but okay my little ducky.

↳ gabrielbortoleto_ : im betrayed but overjoyed

liked by yourusername and maxverstappen1

francolapinto : mama y papa

liked by yourusername and maxverstappen1

olliebearman : we scheduled dates. we made color-coded spreadsheets. we googled how to flirt respectfully. AND YOU WERE ALREADY KISSING.

liked by yourusername and maxverstappen1

↳ isackhadjar : i was ready to flatten pierre with my car for this woman. AND THIS IS HOW YOU TREAT ME???

liked by yourusername and maxverstappen1

↳ jackdoohan : we booked a RESTAURANT. i WORE A COLLARED SHIRT. i told a waiter “it’s her big day.” for WHAT.

liked by yourusername and maxverstappen1

↳ gabrielbortoleto_ : i was her emotional support water bottle holder. do you know how much responsibility that is???

liked by yourusername and maxverstappen1

↳ kimi.antonelli : i knew. i always knew. but i let the others spiral because it was funny.

liked by yourusername and maxverstappen1

↳ olliebearman : don’t even talk. i wrote her a DATING PROFILE. with bullet points.

liked by yourusername and maxverstappen1

↳ isackhadjar : they KISSED ON THE DATE I WAS HIDING BEHIND A PLANT FOR. i need financial compensation.

liked by yourusername and maxverstappen1

↳ olliebearman : HEY. i wore that itchy ass mustache four dates in a ROW.

liked by yourusername and maxverstappen1

↳ yourusername : i would trust you all with my life. just not my love life ❤️

—

bonus scene!

The checkered flag waves. You don’t even hear the roar of the crowd at first — not over the static-crackling voice of your race engineer, screaming so loud he’s probably broken something in the garage.

“P1! YN, that’s P1 — you did it! YOU BLOODY DID IT!”

You’re not breathing. Your hands are shaking around the wheel, your visor fogged slightly with heat and adrenaline. You let out a noise — somewhere between a yell and a laugh and a sob — and punch the air so hard you might’ve dislocated something. And then another voice cuts in. Kimi. Completely unprofessional. Totally euphoric.  “GRID MOM WINS. THE GRID MOM WON!!!”

You let out a laugh, heart racing, vision blurring. Your car rolls over the finish line and onto the cooldown lap, your fingers white-knuckled around the wheel.

By the time you’re climbing out of the car, the world is already screaming. Fans at the fence chant your name. The Mercedes crew is piling over the pit wall like lunatics.

You tear your helmet off and throw your arms in the air. You’ve barely taken a full breath when you’re tackled from the side — Kimi, jumping on you like a golden retriever with too much kinetic energy.

“I’M SO PROUD OF YOU,” he yells, muffled by your shoulder.

“You got your first podium!” you laugh, hugging him just as tightly.

“And YOU WON. So, respectfully — I will get in line, this is your moment.”

He lets you go with one last enthusiastic pat on the back, and that’s when you see him.

Max. Standing a few paces away, helmet off, hair messy, eyes only on you.

The way he looks at you? Like you painted the sky.

He doesn’t rush you. Just walks forward with that calm, smug patience he always has — but when you meet him halfway, wrapping your arms around his neck and laughing into his shoulder, he lifts you slightly off the ground without hesitation.

“You’re unbelievable,” he says softly into your hair.

You pull back just enough to see his face. “Still think you let me win?”

He grins. “Only because you’re hot.”

The champagne sprays. The flashbulbs explode. The crowd is still roaring when Max steps off his podium block, strides across to you — and kisses you. It's not subtle. It's not quiet. It's a hard launch in high definition. He pulls back only slightly, curls his arm around your waist. Your eyes go wide, but you're already smiling. Laughing, even. You press your forehead to his and exhale one word through your grin.

“Dramatic.”

“Correct.”

But before either of you can bask in it for too long— CHAOS.

Suddenly, there’s yelling. Sprinting. A commotion behind the barriers. And then— A ROOKIE STAMPEDE.

Ollie is first. He launches himself up the side of the podium steps like it’s the final stage of Ninja Warrior. Franco and Gabriel follow, scaling like climbers on caffeine.

Jack does a running leap. Isack vaults the barrier with no regard for ankle safety. And Kimi, of course, simply walks up — nods at the FIA official like this is normal, and joins the crowd. They pile onto the podium. No one stops them. Security gives up. Fans are shrieking.

Franco hugs your waist and yells, “MY MOM WON!!”

Jack flings an arm around Max and shouts, “DAD HARD LAUNCHED! HISTORY HAS BEEN MADE!”

Ollie collapses onto the floor of the podium and moans, “I feel so emotionally unsafe right now, but I’m also so proud.”

Gabriel is taking selfies mid-hug.Isack is clinging to your arm like it’s the last flotation device on the Titanic.

Kimi sighed happily. “It was time. The people needed to know.”

And in the middle of it all, Max just throws an arm around your shoulders and says with a completely straight face. “These are our children now.”

—

Later that night, Max throws his phone on the hotel bed and flops down beside you, still smiling.

“I think we broke the Internet,” you murmur.

“I think we adopted six grown men.”

You laugh. “Worth it.”

He turns his head, grinning. “They love you, you know.”

“I know.”

You pause. “They love us.”

He kisses you again — soft this time, slow — and the world outside fades. For now, it’s just the two of you. And the six rookies already planning family brunch in the group chat.

—

[luna-azzurra]

Some Actually Useful Questions to Get to Know Your OC Part Two

↳ What lie do they tell themselves to sleep at night? Seriously. What’s the little piece of denial that keeps them functioning? Do they pretend they don’t care what people think? Tell themselves they’re over that one person? Convinced they’re not the villain of someone else’s story? We all lie to ourselves; your OC is no exception.

↳ What’s their emotional kryptonite? A specific thing that absolutely shatters them, like someone crying? Being ignored? Praise from a parent figure? The sound of an old song? The smell of something nostalgic? Find it and use it against them (lovingly, of course).

↳ When do they feel the most alive? Is it mid-battle, mid-baking, mid-breakup? Does adrenaline light them up, or do they find joy in the quiet, mundane things, like folding laundry while listening to sad girl music? This can reveal a LOT about what drives them.

↳ What would totally ruin their day? A bad haircut? Someone touching their stuff? Or is it something deeper, like being reminded of their failures, or seeing someone else succeed where they couldn’t?

↳ Who do they think they should be? And who are they really? This one’s juicy. Do they think they should be a hero, but keep acting like a villain?

↳ What’s the one thing they’d never admit out loud, even under duress? The shameful thought. The inappropriate desire. The thing they desperately want but don’t think they deserve. DONT FORGET: Characters are built on what they repress.

↳ What are they petty about? Don’t pretend your OC is above this, I mean everyone’s petty about something. Do they hold grudges over stolen pens? Get irrationally jealous of someone’s hair? Still mad about a game of Uno from 2007? Petty makes them fucking real.

↳ How do they act when they think no one’s watching? Do they let their mask slip? Dance around the kitchen? Talk to their cat in baby voice? Cry a little?

↳ What would make them snap? Where is the breaking point? What line has to be crossed for them to finally say “Enough”? Is it injustice? Betrayal? Feeling powerless? You’ll know you’ve found it when it scares you a little (Or a lot).

↳ If they had a theme song, what would it be? No, seriously. The vibe of a character’s soundtrack says a lot. Is it Angsty indie rock? Bubblegum pop masking deep pain? Make a playlist. Your OC will tell you who they are... <3

[seneon]

I have no idea if requests are open or not so forgive me if they’re closed but could I request like making out with the Saja boys and how that would go? If that’s too much then putting makeup on them🙏🙏

LIPS HIPS KISS ─── saja boys. suggestive. gn¡reader.

𖥔 ݁ ˖ JINU SAJA

making out with jinu feels like the end of the world. he's a good kisser. why wouldn't he be when he's at least four centuries old? he's had his fair share of experiences that he has learned from. soft lips, smooth skin, tantalising eyes. and his magical hands that has you melting beneath his touch.

jinu holds your face, the back of your neck, or wherever that he could keep you locked in your spot with absolutely no where to run. his lips moved against yours so softly at first— testing the waters. but when you reciprocated, it gets bolder and heated until he could feel both your bodies growing hot, pushing you so close to him you could feel his chest against yours and the growing arousal from below.

he's the type to make out with you after the mood is set, or whenever he needs reassurance. french kisses seemed to be his favourite. he loves the way your lips perfectly moulds against his. kisses like these often leads to comforting cuddles, not very often does it progress into something more heated. he likes keeping it romantic. but when it does get heated, his hands will be under your shirt or beneath your waistband by now.

𖥔 ݁ ˖ ABBY SAJA

likes your hand all over his chest when you two make out. it's common to hold onto something to keep the connection going, isn't it? so he always wants your hand on him, roaming all over and feeling his muscles hardening under your touch. it sends fire straight to his core, making him breathe so very heavily into you.

abby heavily fancies rough kisses. ones where it's dominating, controlling, and guiding. this man leads every kiss and every single initiation. he wants to execute, not feel. never much of a feeler. abby only seek to please you and make you feel good. his kisses are a simple start.

while your hands are all over his chest, his hands in return are all over your hips and waist and under your shirt. touching and feeling your skin, simply by brushing his thumb against your hips is enough for him. abby will also make out with you literally anywhere. the underworld if you're a demon, social meetings, meet and greets, at the back lane, anywhere. he could never get enough of the taste of your sweet lips.

𖥔 ݁ ˖ ROMANCE SAJA

make outs with romance always end up with his hands on your hips, guiding you to rock your hips against him. no kidding. no shit. no lies. his heavy breathing and the way he holds the back of your head contains a lot of affection, and you can tell by the way he always starts off cheesy and romantic.

but oh, how silly of you to think that sweet kisses couldn't develop into something such as grinding against the obvious arousal in his pants while you feel your own arousal build up. he's a big tease with it. always getting you all hot and bothered but never doing more than that. you know you get him all worked up as well. besides getting aroused sexually, you annoyance from the teasing also gets aroused.

that's okay though. romance likes it when you're all angry and taking control instead when he's became your thirteenth reason in this push and pull. if i hadn't made it obvious yet, he likes you sitting on his lap and looking up at you with that stupid smirk and devilishly handsome face. he's also the type to also nip at your bottom lip.

𖥔 ݁ ˖ BABY SAJA

super big fan of brushing your bottom lip before kissing you or even in the middle of kissing. that was your foreplay before sex, if we're speaking through incoherent metaphors. he finds your lips absolutely pleasing to touch or simply kiss. and suck. oh, how much he adores sucking and then licking your bottom lips. only bottom by the way.

baby is the type of man who wants to taste your whole mouth as if they're potent enough to cover the taste of spicy sauces. exploring your mouth is a normal thing when you make out with him, his hands cradling your cheek just as his thumb gently brushes against your lips.

often times tongues are involved, so there weren't any exceptions. in fact, tongues are a must. you can't even tell if he's teasing you or not. but it makes the kiss heated and to die for. after several minutes of making out, baby yearns to leave his marks on the skin of your neck. he goes down your collarbone, your chest, and your lower abdomen until he reaches his favourite place to kiss.

𖥔 ݁ ˖ MYSTERY SAJA

loud, noisy, and absolutely pathetic. not in a bad way, in a good way to signify to you that he enjoys making out with you. like the rest, mystery will heavily breath into you as he kisses you. only this time with him, this man will emit sounds from the depths of his throat which you swallow.

he whimpers when you touch him, whines when you pull away for air, moans when he himself gets rougher with the kisses. he's so touchy and needs you to touch and hold him. which shocks you, because mystery is so quiet that the thought of him being noisy during heated moments such as these could happen. not that you're complaining though.

him being a yearner makes you feel like a wobbly jelly. maybe even because you get to lead the kiss and do whatever you want to him. he's the type to crumble under one touch from you and become the pillow princess. you have mystery wrapped in your fingers and. he loves being in your chokehold. you might get a few bit marks on your lips with his much mystery digs his teeth into your lips by mistake and pure excitement though.

note. oops i went overboard with this one uhh yay! this one's for you, @skriblobz, happy early wedding day to you and rafayel LMFAOOO

© SENEON 2025 ♱ do not repost, alter, or translate.

[rooksamoris]

“YOUR MOM/DAD IS SO HOT” !!

💞 — in which you tell them that their parents are fine af. 💞 — featuring; deuce spade, trey clover, jade leech, floyd leech, vil schoenheit, idia shroud, malleus draconia, silver vanrouge. 💞 — gender neutral reader. a bit over 200 words each. warnings: cursing, thirsting over milfs/dilfs. here's a link to my current follower event, featuring twst characters in classic disney scenes.

DEUCE SPADE. 

“Respectfully, your mom is so hot. Does she date younger?”

Deuce dropped the books from his hands. You were just in the library, collecting some books for an upcoming essay when suddenly you started reminiscing about the White Rabbit's Festival when you suddenly dropped that bomb of a statement. That was when you met his mother, the bombshell Dylla Spade, and you were whipped.

He looked at you in bewilderment first, and then something akin to disdain. You only ever saw him give that look to Ace when he was on his usual Ace bullshit, “The hell did you just say about my mom?” he asked, slipping back into his delinquent tone the moment he felt his dear mother was being disrespected.

Instead of stopping there, you smirked, “I said, respectfully, your mom is a total babe. I might just have to take a role as your step-parent,” you winked.

His face became red with both embarrassment and frustration, but he knew better than to blow up on you in the library of all places, so he bent down to pick up the books before looking away from you, “Yeah, well, she’s not interested. She’s got bigger things to worry about,” he paused, “Hey! Don’t call her!”

That was another thing. You had received her number when you met.

TREY CLOVER.

“Woah, your parents look good. Are they in search of a third? I’m down to help out in the bakery, if you know what I mean.”

He nearly dropped the stack of plates and coasters he was carrying. 

You were helping Cater and Trey set the table for the next Unbirthday party when Trey decided to show you a tart he was making based on a recent recipe his parents came up with. In the picture was his mother holding the tart up and his father was in the background putting a tray of pastries onto a counter. You thought they both looked so fine. And you were sure they were strong too, considering all the bags of flour they had to carry. All those heavy ingredients in bulk…

“No way you just said that,” Cater laughed. Trey was looking like a fish, and so he took a few pictures of him.

Trey cleared his throat, carefully putting the plates he was carrying down before he ended up dropping them and making a mess of everything, “I think they would be flattered to hear you find them attractive,” he replied, a bit awkwardly. What else was he supposed to say?

“You think so? When are you gonna invite me to your hometown so I can tell them myself, huh?”

JADE LEECH.

“How did your dad bag such a baddie? Like, damn, I’d let her step on me.”

Jade’s brow twitched, but his smile remained cool and polite as ever. You both had been going through some pictures from the wedding he had invited you to attend, where you partook in the Eternity Float. You had been trying to pick out which pictures to print for physical copies when you came across a self of yourself with Mrs. Georgina Leech. 

“My mother is married,” he said, placing a hand on his chest in his cordial manner.

“She’s got two hands,” you reminded him, grinning like a fool. You could not help yourself, she was a gorgeous woman. You could see the resemblance she had with her sons, but really she was the main event when it came to the Leech lineage, with her piercing eyes... and her tall figure. Ugh, the things you would do to be with such a lady.

Jade raised a gloved hand to his lips and let out a short chuckle. Unnaturally short. Almost threateningly short, “Yes, well. I imagine you would make quite the meal for her,” he replied, concisely. He was going for a sinister, horrific, effect, but your reaction was anything but scared. 

“I’d let that woman have me on a silver platter. You think she’d like this outfit?”

FLOYD LEECH.

“Damn, your mom is fine as fuck.”

Floyd turned his head slowly to face you, heterochromatic eyes wide and his nose scrunched in disgust. 

This was meant to be a fun day out, skipping classes to enjoy the warm day under the shade of a tree. He was draped across your lap, his stomach over your thighs as he scrolled through his phone. Or at least, he was scrolling through his phone before you made such an egregious statement, “Eww, Shrimpy! You can’t say that about my mom,” he groaned.

You raised a brow, just scrolling through your camera roll. It was pictures from the wedding Jade took you to attend, since Floyd decided to skip out on it. He thought it would be such a drag and lost interest.

He sat up and scooted away from you, frowning. You were his buddy, not his mother’s, and yet here you were talking about her like she was available to you on the market. It grossed him out and annoyed him.

“I’m just being honest,” you shrugged, still looking down at your phone like whatever you said was completely fine.

He looked down at your phone before he snatched it right out of your hands, sticking his tongue out at you when you looked at him in surprise. He stood up from his spot before running away.

VIL SCHOENHEIT.

“Jeez, I would let Eric Venue run me over in a semi truck.”

Vil was completely used to seeing some of the most feral comments over himself and his father. So long as it remains innocent and non-threatening, he does not worry too much. That being said, he did not expect to hear that from you the moment after you met his father. He blinked a few times as he touched up his lipstick and then turned to you. He pulled the tube away from his lips and arched his perfectly plucked brow.

“What?”

“Your dad. He’s just so hot, and charming. Like, I don’t think I’ve ever met a more welcoming man in my life. If he ran me over, I’d apologize for getting in his way and not kissing the very ground he walked on.”

That made his brow twitch. He was more bothered about this than he was of the usual thirsty comment. Perhaps it was because you were classmates, or perhaps it was low key a bit of envy. He did not know for sure just yet. A soft huff escaped his lips and he looked back into his reflection in his compact mirror, “Please refrain from such uncouth commentary regarding my father in my presence,” he muttered, coldly. 

You laughed and nodded, “Don’t worry, Vil. You can run me over too.”

IDIA SHROUD.

“Why are your parents kinda…”

Idia's bright yellow eyes widened in pure horror. It was like the world had stopped for a moment when you said that phrase. It was just some picture you saw on his computer, scent by his parents. There they were, veiled in their wonderfully engineered glowing masks, with his mother's pose very clearly showing she was excited while her husband was just happy to be there with her. Immediately, he turned his gaming chair around.

“What is wrong with you!? You can’t even see their faces??” 

“I can tell they’re hot, you know? I have a sense for these sorts of things. Besides, you ended up cute and Ortho is totally adorable. Based on those genetics, they’ve got to be fine as hell.”

If it was up to him, there would have been a teleportation checkpoint right on his desk so he could get away from this whole situation.

Sevens, there were no options on the dialogue-tree to respond to such a statement. He stared in pure shock. He brought you into his cave—his dorm room—and this was how you repaid him? He closed out of the tab of his parent’s messages, “I…” he muttered, “I… really think you need to touch grass.”

“That’s rich coming from ‘Mr. Please no outdoor classes,’” you replied, rolling your eyes, grinning.

MALLEUS DRACONIA.

“Woah, your mom is smokin’ hot. Hotter than the fire she breathes.”

Malleus had done you the great honor of inviting you to the Briar Valley over his break. He was excited to share the castle with you, and he was sure your presence would bring to it some much needed light and laughter. As he was giving you a tour, he came across a grand portrait of his mother, Maleanor Draconia, the late princess. She was beautiful and regal, but there was a welcoming warmth in her eyes. She must have been watching someone she loved when the portrait was being painted.

Malleus frowned, “That cannot be. I heard this portrait of her was painted in the winter,” he corrected you.

That made you snort, and then you laughed, hiding your grin behind your hand as you tried to calm yourself, “Jeez. No, Malleus. It’s an expression used to call someone very attractive, you know? Like someone you want to court.”

“Ah,” he hummed, but the more he thought about it, the more off-putting it was. He looked at you with knitted brows, “You wish to court my mother?” 

“Yeah, who wouldn’t? She’s a total hottie.”

He really did not like that, “You may call her beautiful, not hot. I do not appreciate that phrase very much,” he paused, “Now come. Let me show you to the gardens.”

SILVER VANROUGE.

“Ugh, he’s so fine. I would let Lilia make me into a pretzel any day of the week.”

Silver did not quite process the words completely yet, and just shook his head, “Even if he did cook you, it would be very poorly done. I doubt you would make an appetizing pretzel.” 

It was his turn to tidy up the lounge and you offered to join him in cleaning up. Thankfully, Diasomnia students were not as messy as some of the other dorms so it mostly consisted of moving furniture back into place and wiping down commonly touched surfaces. You were fluffing pillows when you made the comment after seeing Lilia pass through.

You glanced up from your work and gave Silver a look, waiting for him to catch onto your true meaning, “I didn’t mean for him to make me into a meal… unless he’s into that kind of thing.”

The expression on his face could best be described as the loading screen when the wi-fi was poor. When it hit him, his eyes widened and a flush covered his pale cheeks, “I see.”

“That’s all you got to say?”

“You should tell father. He would probably be pleased to hear it,” he muttered, trying to go back to focusing on wiping down one of the lounge mirrors.

©rooksamoris 2025. do not steal or translate my work!

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[peachesofteal]

Like Real People Do previous + masterlist Simon Riley/female reader - hospital au CW: none just prickly Simon

“What the fuck is this?”

You glance at the photo. It’s your patient from yesterday in his crib, except there’s a teddy bear stuffed against one of the rails, next to his face. Fuck. 

“I don’t know. That wasn’t there when I left. I would have removed it.” His eyes drill into you, fire blazing in them, hot enough you’re sure it will burn you to a crisp. 

“Do we need to go over the SOP for toys in cribs?” 

“No.” You bite out, looking over his shoulder to focus on the wall. It’s not that parents do it intentionally, they just don’t know. They don’t think about the fact that soft toys, plush toys, can carry bacteria since they can’t be wiped down. You can’t fault someone for wanting their child to have something of comfort. “It must have happened after I left, like I said.” 

“Well it didn’t.” You want to push back. You want to tell him again, that it didn’t happen on your watch. That you’re not stupid or careless or not paying attention like he so clearly thinks, but you don’t. You know how it will go. 

“I’m sorry.” His jaw clenches, lip curling like you disgust him. 

“You’re sorry.” The air is being sucked from this room, the walls trying to go with it, closing in on all sides. “Keona seems to think you’re doing an excellent job, but I’m starting to think she’s just covering for you.” The accolade he gave you last week fades into oblivion, panic taking its place. You can’t lose this job. You can’t. 

“It’s a transition. I’m learning as fast as I can.” Stay calm, stay calm, stay calm. He rises from his chair, coming around his desk to lean against it, thick legs stretched out towards where you’re standing, arms crossed over his chest. It could be considered a casual stance, but on him it’s anything but. He lords over you, terrifying and dominant, ready to pick you apart. 

“You need to figure out if this is the place for you before I do.” 

“It is. I can do it.” You rush out, desperate to reassure him. It’s a crack, a very small one, and you scramble to stuff it up, plaster over it to reinforce the wall it’s trying to crumble. “I can do it.”

“I guess we’ll find out.” 

You stare at the fancy lotion for too long. 

Before, you would have chucked it in your cart no problem. Twice even, one for home and one for your work locker. 

But now, your entire existence is built around a budget that’s calculated down to the dime. 

And that budget really does not have wiggle room for a twenty dollar bottle of lotion. 

Still- 

You toss it in your cart. A mistake. An irresponsible indulgence. Something you absolutely should not purchase, but the girl buried so far beneath who she is now, the one who was once reckless and wild and free, she wants that lotion. She wants it bad. She wants a relief, a reprieve, a little treat for the hell that this week has been. 

You really, really wish you hadn’t listened to her. 

“Wait… what?” 

“Sorry, the tag was incorrect.” You stare at the bag of cherries unbelieving. They were the last thing on the belt, bringing your total to a whopping one hundred and forty dollars. Forty dollars over the budget that was already twenty dollars over. 

“Okay.” Thank god for small miracles, there’s no one in line behind you to watch your shame unfold like a car crash in slow motion. 

“Do you still want them?” You do. Riley loves them. She asked for them specifically. She eats them raw from a bowl until her fingers are stained. She feeds them to the mares even though you tell her a million times not to. 

“I mean… you’re saying this bag of cherries is twenty dollars?” The clerk’s smile is sad. 

“They are twenty one dollars and fourteen cents.” The lights in the grocery store suddenly seem too bright, and the noise, the beeping and the intercom and the chattering is too loud. Too much. It’s all too much. Everything. This weight will crush you. Your vision tunnels until there’s nothing else, just you and this cashier and your stupidity. “Miss? Do you still want them?” 

“Yes, sorry. I want them.” She rings them up, total flashing on the reader in front of you. You sigh as you tap your card- 

and then freeze when it makes that dreaded sound. 

The “you’re a fucking idiot if you think you’re buying this bottle of lotion” sound. The clerk is looking at you with sympathy now. Camaraderie. 

“Maybe it was a bad read. Try again?” She tries keeps her voice down, bless her, but she’s also older than dirt so it doesn’t do much. You try your card again against your better judgement. Same noise. Same sinking feeling. You must have made an error somewhere, screwed up the math. 

“Do you have another card dear?” You swallow and shake your head. 

“No, I don’t. I’ll… can we take the lotion off?” This is your fault. Your self indulgence, the little devil sitting on your shoulder who told you to pick that stupid bottle of lotion up and put it in your cart. 

You’re not that girl anymore. You’re Riley’s, and you’re sure as shit not picking it over her cherries. Lesson learned.

“Take the lotion off?” She repeats, you’re assuming to make sure she got it right before she starts pressing buttons on the screen, and you nod. Force a smile. It’s fake but they’re the best shields. “Do you want to run back and grab a cheaper one?” Insult to injury. 

“No, I’m okay, thanks.” Your tunnel vision finally widens when the new total pops up, and your chest loosens with relief. 

For a second. 

Until you see Doctor Riley. Standing in the other line just over your cashier’s shoulder. 

Staring at you, head just barely cocked in consideration. 

Oh my fucking god. 

You lock eyes and freeze, a deer in headlights, a woman tied to the tracks. It lasts for a second and then you look away, silently praying for a tornado to come by and rip the roof off this place, carry you off. 

No such luck. 

Instead, you go through the mortifying motions of loading your cart up with the bags, casually tracking him from the corner of your eye. He finishes before you, thank god, and you stall at the end of the checkout lines until he’s fully out of sight, beelining to the truck lest you get caught in some awful, awkward small talk or worse, more eye contact. 

Great. 

“The British are coming.” 

It’s the long standing joke. Started spreading after they got here, though Doctor MacTavish apparently throws a fit over it, considering he’s not British at all. 

They all showed up together too, an already forged unit, strong alliance to one another that stretches across the hospital. There’s history there, a lot of it, but you worked with John for a while and he was pretty tight lipped. No one ever pushed him, but you and others can’t deny the curiosity. There’s nothing a hospital loves more than gossip. 

“Where?” You still eat with the ED. There’s always at least someone on break at the same time as you, and you indulge in the comfort of your friends. It’s not that you dislike anyone in the NICU, you don’t. They’re all lovely, it’s just the team in the ED knows you. They supported you when you stumbled, when you fell, when you went through hell and came out on the other side. They knew you before, and those precious pieces are long gone. The ED is your last tether to the girl who wants to buy lotion, who rode recklessly and screwed around. 

Olivia jerks her head towards the double doors on the other side of the cafeteria. 

You hope for Price. Instead, you get Garrick and your walking nightmare. “Fuck.” 

“God he’s so hot.” You bristle. It comes out of nowhere, strikes you like lightning until you look over and realize she’s staring at Doctor Garrick and not Doctor Riley. The reaction is nonsensical, and instead of trying to diagnose it, you move on. The two of you reach the end of the line, and Clara behind the counter gives you a big, genuine smile. 

“Hey honey. How’s that baby?” 

“Not a baby anymore, that’s for sure.” She asks this every time. It’s sweet. “How are your grandkids?” 

“Oh you know. Terrors.” You snort. 

“I know your pain.” You wait for Olivia, who clears her throat when she makes it back to your side. 

“Is it just me or… is Doctor Riley staring at you?”  Heat floods your cheeks. 

“It’s not just you. He does that.” You don’t look. The embarrassment from the last time you saw him, the grocery store fiasco this weekend, is still stagnant in your brain, taking up way too much space. She raises an eyebrow. 

“I’ve never seen someone so scary, and hot at the same time. It’s like the fear makes it better.” You swallow that feeling again, and nod. 

“I saw him without a shirt on like two weeks ago.” She squeaks. Just the memory of the bulk of him, the broad expanse of his chest and shoulders, the well carried layer of fat on his belly covered in hair makes your stomach swoop. 

“You what?!” 

“Yeah I had to wake him up. Needed him at bedside. He’s... huge. Built like a bear, I bet he could take one. And he has a full sleeve.” She gives you a look, and you give her one back. Mischief and malice. “Don’t.” 

“I’m just saying… how long has it been for you? Since before Riley?” 

“Olivia, come on. You know I don’t have time. And even if I did, you’d never catch me sleeping with a provider. Especially him. He’s a dick, and he hates me.” It’s not like you have anything against it, you don’t. You don’t judge. It’s just not for you. There are happy endings sure, but they’re rare, and it’s not worth the headache. Olivia however, is an equal opportunity employer. She sniffs. 

“Don’t knock it until you try it.” 

“I won’t be trying it.” 

You could cry. 

You could. 

You haven’t done it so long and it would be well within your right today, though you won’t. Even if you wanted to, your automatic response is to hold your tears back no matter what, no matter how, and this is no different. 

You spot Mabel on the hill right away. She’s the only one who strays from the pasture when the gate gets loose, always taking off towards the highest point on the property, probably so she can look down on her kingdom. 

It doesn’t help that she hates Blue, your horse, and as soon as you get close, she bares her teeth. 

“We know, we know. You’re in charge. Come on lady.” You reach for her halter, but she side steps away from you, jerking backwards. “Mabel. Stop.” You squeeze Blue with your thighs, urging her forward, closer, and reach again, snagging your fingers into the side of the halter. She tries to pull away again, but you hold her firm. She won’t follow Blue back because following any other horse or even human is beneath her, but if she realizes you’re not going to be giving up, she’ll high tail it back to the barn. You’ve got a good grip, now you just need to wait until she gets the picture. You lift your face to the pink streaked sky. “You know, it would have been a lot easier on me if you hadn’t spoiled the shit out of her.” You chastise the clouds and give them a dirty look. “It’s like I’m still getting bullied by you through your god damn horse.” Mabel snorts, and you glare at her. “Don’t start with me. You’re worth tens of thousands of dollars. I could have sold you.” It’s an empty threat. You’d rather lay down and be trampled. 

She decides she’s had enough and pulls ahead, intention clear, and trots off towards the barn. 

For a minute, a brief, hazy minute, she’s not alone. 

Your sister is there, turned around in the saddle, laughing and telling you to hurry up. The sunset is painting her in a rainbow of pink and coral and orange, glowing on her face, saddle squeaking under her pregnant belly. Mabel’s gait is smooth, smoother than it’s ever been, like it has been for months, since she started to show. You’re convinced she knows, instinctively. One mother to another. 

“Come on crazy Daisy.” She moves Mabel into a canter, and you grit your teeth. 

“Tess,” you’re about to tell her for the seventeenth time that she’s supposed to be taking it easy, but she cuts you off. 

“I’m fine. Hurry up. I’m hungry and Liam is making mac and cheese.” She looks over her shoulder one last time, smile bright, so bright it could blind you, a nearly perfect mirror of your own, and you roll your eyes. 

“You’re the worst.” She laughs. 

“But you love me.” 

The minute passes. It slips through your fingers and you swallow, once, twice, three times. 

You could cry. 

You could. 

But you can’t. You have a little girl back at the house who doesn’t need her aunt fucking crying every time shit gets hard or sad or both. You have a responsibility, and that responsibility depends on you to be strong, to be in control, to take care of her and make sure she’s safe, healthy, happy. 

So you are. 

And that’s all there is to it. 

[alien-slushie]

DpxDc Prompt/Idea

I feel like whenever I read "Danny's Bio Dad is Bruce" or "Danny is Bruce's Clone" stories, it always takes place when Danny is a kid or teen[14-16]. From a story/plot standpoint I can understand it, its much easier to have Danny interact with the batfam if hes underage and is more or less forced to interact with them due to not having recourses, thus he has to rely and bond with the only people who wil have him. What I want to see is the family trying to meet and bond with Danny when hes an adult and actually has a choice in the matter.

Actual Prompt Part:

Danny is a collage student or just out of collage. Jack and Maddie didn't react well to the Ghost thing, while they didn't hurt him or anything, its hard for them to wrap their head around and accept, so Danny cut contact with them when he left for collage(paid for by Vlad through blackmail because screw him) in Metropolis(because let's shake it up a little). At 23(ish), he has a job, work friends, neighbors, a dog, and while nothing fancy, his own appartment. Not everything is perfect, but its a life Danny has built for himself and hes proud of it, happy even.

In Gotham, Bruce has no idea of Danny's existence(rather Danny is actually his kid or clone or something is up to you). The only way anyone even finds out about Danny is because Damian's school made all the students do an ancestry assignment. Danny and Jazz had done a similar test a few years prior just for fun, and to see if Danny had any relitives through his doner(/who he was cloned from). No results showed up simply because ancestry tests were so new at the time, so Danny wasn't really surprised and actually forgot about it all together. Damian nor Bruce really expected anything to come from the test, maybe super distant cousins and long since past relatives, never in a million years did they expect to be linked to a random 23 year old in Metropolis of all places, with the website claiming them to be brothers(/father and son due to cloning process, or heck maybe uncle?). Cue the usual bat-stalking.

After getting all the information they could on Danny and his background, they decide to reach out. Through the ancestry website they sent him a message, explaining they matched and would be interested in meeting.

And Danny, well, he was curious in at least meeting these people, so he agreed, taking a week off work, loading up his dog, and finding a partially okay hotel in Gotham. They make plans to meet at a restaurant, just Bruce, Danny, and Damian since they didn't want to overwhelm Danny with the whole brood. After some polite, if awkward, conversation(and Damian snagging some hairs to run some additional, more safisticated tests), they make plans for the rest of the week, ending Danny's trip with a Wayne Family dinner so Danny could meet everyone else.

With Danny's relation to Bruce verified, and Danny seemingly not a threat, Bruce wants to do something for him, and this is where the struggle starts. All of Bruce's kids were adopted when they were young, Bruce was able to house them, raise them, pay for their schooling, and give them almost whever they wanted, Danny was an adult, and didn't want or need any of that. Danny's collage was paid for, he had his own job, his appartment was perfect for where he was currently in his life and he didn't want to buy it nor was he saving for a house yet, and he was a civilian(as far as they knew) so Danny had no interest in vigilantism, and even if he was he lived in Superman's city. Danny was a simple guy, he had everything he wanted/needed. The only thing Danny really wanted from Bruce was a chance to know his family. But for such an emotionally constipated and traumatized family, that may be more than they can handle.

[iydiamartinx]

PAN-DEMONIUM II

Pairing: Jason Todd x Reader

divider by: cafekitsune & omi-resources word count: 1.2k synopsis: When your boyfriend forgets to mention his dad is the Batman, things can escalate quickly.  a/n: I wasn't planning on a part two but y'all asked, so here it is!

You hummed under your breath, barefoot on cool marble, sleeves of Jason’s hoodie rolled up to your elbows as you stood in the large kitchen, helping Alfred lay out breakfast. The older man had insisted—very politely—that you relax, but you’d ignored him in equally polite defiance and taken to slicing fruit while he worked on the eggs. Jason was upstairs showering, and everything was feeling domestic and peaceful.

“Would you be a dear and watch the eggs for a moment?” Alfred asked as he dried his hands on a dish towel. “I’ve just remembered the preserves need restocking.”

“Of course,” you said, offering him a warm smile as you stepped in front of the stovetop. The eggs were nearly done—edges crisping perfectly. 

They let out a gentle hiss as you stirred them. You were so focused on making sure they didn’t burn. You didn’t even hear the door creak open behind you.

You only realized that you were no longer alone when you heard footsteps approaching from behind.

“Back already?” you asked without looking up. “I think they’re just about—”

You turned.

And screamed as you saw a massive, dark figure looming behind you with ghost-pale eyes fixed on you.

You didn’t even think.

Instinct screamed through your body. Your hand snapped to the counter, grabbed the first thing you saw—the damn pan again—and swung.

CLANG.

The sound rang out like a gong in a cathedral.

The figure jerked back, staggering a half step as a low grunt escaped him—equal parts pain and surprise—as the pan connected with the side of his head.

All Bruce could think in that moment was, Thank God you hadn’t aimed for the jaw, like he’d advised last time. If you had, he’d be sporting a nasty burn in addition to what was already shaping up to be a mild concussion.

The eggs—once again utterly ruined—sailed from the pan in a slow, tragic arc and hit the wall with a wet splat, yolk and butter sliding down like the world’s saddest crime scene.

At that exact moment, Alfred stepped out of the pantry holding a jar of marmalade. He paused, blinked once, and sighed with the quiet resolve of a man who’d lived through way too many Bat-related mishaps.

“Oh dear,” he said, utterly unbothered. “Master Bruce, are you quite alright?”

You stared at him, arm still raised, pan trembling.. Then back to the man you’d just clocked. “Wait—Bruce?!”

Before anyone could clarify further, thudding footsteps sounded from the hallway—multiple sets, heavy and fast. A second later, the door slammed open as three figures rushed in, weapons drawn. They burst into the kitchen scanning for threats like they were about to face off with Gotham’s worst.

Nightwing with his glowing blue escrima sticks crackling with electricity. Red Robin, gripping his bo staff and finally Robin with his sword already halfway unsheathed.

“Is it Joker?!” Nightwing barked, eyes scanning the room.

“Where is he?!” Red Robin demanded, doing the same.

“Please tell me someone needs to die,” Robin muttered, his tone almost hopeful.

You screamed—again—reflexively, throwing the frying pan up like a shield.

And then—they all stopped.

Three pairs of masked eyes locked on the scene, Batman rubbing his head, Alfred calmly setting jam on the counter, you clutching a frying pan like your life depended on it, and the eggs completely and utterly ruined against the wall.

At that moment, Jason strolled into the kitchen, shirt half-tucked and hair damp from his shower. He also took one look at the scene and sighed.

“Again? Seriously?” He looked at Batman with a crooked grin. “B, you really need to announce yourself. Keep this up, and the rogues’ gallery is gonna find out and your reputation’s gonna tank.”

You, however, were spiralling.

“I—okay, someone needs to explain what the hell is going on,” you said, voice rising as you looked around in disbelief. “Why is Alfred calling him Bruce?! That’s Batman in the kitchen! Batman! And the rest of his team! Oh my god, am I about to have to fight all of you?! It was an accident! I swear! He keeps following me and—someone needs to put a bell on him! or—or better yet tell him to stop breaking into people’s houses! Wait—why are you all laughing?!”

Jason stepped in quickly, his smirk barely held in check as he gently pried the pan from your grip before you could land another accidental assault charge on Gotham’s most feared vigilante.

“Babe,” he said, tone low and soothing, like he was trying not to make you panic more than you already were. “That is Bruce. As in Bruce Wayne. My dad.”

You blinked. “What?”

“And those three?” He pointed behind him with his thumb. “Nightwing—Dick. Red Robin—Tim. And the family disappointment, Robin—Damian.”

“I heard that,” Damian snapped.

You stared at them, utterly dumbfounded. Then looked back at Bruce who was now rubbing his temple like this was more inconvenience than injury. The others casually pulled off their masks, and sure enough, there they were—Jason’s siblings. The same faces you’d seen over breakfast, teasing one another in sweatpants and hoodies. Now suited up in full tactical gear.

“You’re telling me…” you began slowly, turning toward Jason with a look of utter disbelief. Your voice cracked under the weight of your unraveling sanity. “Your entire family is made up of vigilantes and you just—forgot to mention that?”

Jason shrugged, unbothered, the corner of his mouth curling in amusement. “I was easing you into it all.”

You gawked at him, then at the others, then back to Bruce, and then back at Jason. Your eyes narrowed dangerously.

“Give me back that damn pan.”

Jason stepped just out of reach, hiding the pan behind his back like that might save him from your wrath. “Hell no! At least B had armour when you swung.”

You inhaled sharply, exhaled an equally sharp curse under your breath, and dragged a hand down your face. “I think I need to sit down.”

Without missing a beat, Bruce—still in full Bat-gear, cowl and all—muttered, “Preferably somewhere without cookware.”

Alfred, who had returned to plating toast like none of this was new to him, cleared his throat gently. “Shall I prepare ice for the swelling, sir?”

Bruce exhaled through his nose. Long-suffering because he was becoming way too old for this shit. “No. I think I’m just going to go to bed.”

He turned and walked out, cape swishing with whatever dignity he had remaining—which wasn’t much.

You stared after him in stunned silence, then turned back to Jason. “I’m gonna be banned from the manor now, aren’t I?”

Jason only grinned, sliding an arm around your shoulders and tugging you into his side like this was all perfectly normal. “Nah. You’re family now. It’s like… tradition.”

You looked up at him, deadpan. “Do all your family traditions involve blunt force trauma?”

“Only the fun ones.”

You lightly elbowed him in his side with a tired groan, glaring up at him. “I’m still half-tempted to hit you with the pan for not telling me all of this sooner.”

Jason smirked. “That’s fair. Just… at least give me a running headstart.”

From the other side of the kitchen, Tim—still in partial gear, bo staff casually propped against the counter—lifted an eyebrow. “So… when exactly are we making her a suit?”

Dick let out a laugh, arms folded across his chest, that mischievous glint lighting up his eyes. “I say we call her Cast Iron. Ooh! Or Pan-man!”

Jason groaned, rolling his eyes. “You seriously need to work on your names.”

“Says the one who practically named himself after Red Riding Hood,” Dick shot back with a smirk.

“Like you can speak, Disco-Wing,” Jason retorted.

Damian scoffed, cutting the two off as he turned on his heel. “She’s lucky Father didn’t counter the attack. You would’ve been mopping her off the floor.”

Jason’s expression darkened slightly. “Watch it, demon brat.”

But you only groaned louder, dragging both hands down your face. “I’m never living this down, am I?”

Jason looked back down at you and his face brightened as he grinned. “Not a chance.”

← Previous Chapter

Tag List: @sept3mberchild, @sascha-graves, @eepyfaerie

[thatonegrimm]

Can I request where baby progressively shows his demon appearance more and more to reader while dating cause he’s getting comfortable? You can add the other Saja Boys

Yes, of course! 💖 That’s such a soft and beautiful concept—I love the idea of Baby slowly revealing more of his demon form as he grows comfortable in the relationship.

Little by Little

Summary: Your boyfriend is slowly relaxing his hold over his true form — not all at once, but in quiet moments over time. As trust deepens, you begin to catch more glimpses of his real self: lilac skin, glowing eyes, and the soft vulnerability he never lets anyone else see.

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

The first time you see one of his markings, it’s by accident.

You're brushing your teeth, half-asleep in your shared apartment, when Baby walks in without a word. He’s always quiet in the morning—still bleary-eyed, still warm from sleep, the black sleeves of his hoodie pulled over his hands.

But today, something’s different.

He leans over the sink to spit out mouthwash, and when he straightens up, the edge of his collar dips just slightly. You catch it in the mirror, just a glimpse, no more than an inch, of patterned violet spreading along his collarbone. Geometric and jagged, like cracked glass under his skin.

Your toothbrush slows.

The air shifts slightly, as if the room itself holds its breath.

You don’t say anything.

Not because it scares you—it doesn’t. You’ve known what he is for a while now. But you also know him—the way he wraps his jokes around silence, the way he keeps a careful distance from vulnerability unless you’re patient enough to wait him out. Like everything that matters most to him is kept behind a locked door, and you’re still learning the shape of the key.

So instead of asking, you slide a hand into his and squeeze.

He doesn’t say a word, but he doesn’t pull away either. His fingers twitch once before curling around yours, warm and quiet.

Later that morning, you find that hoodie tossed near the laundry basket—half-on, half-off, like he didn’t care how it landed.

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

The second time is intentional.

You’re curled on the couch together, legs tangled, a movie playing in the background neither of you are really watching. Your head rests on his chest, his fingers tracing idle patterns on your shoulder, when he shifts and rolls up one sleeve.

You blink.

The skin beneath is no longer the pale peachy tone he wears in public. It’s lilac—soft and smooth, with a shimmer under the light. His forearm is crisscrossed with deep violet markings, the same jagged ones you saw on his collarbone. They trail up past his elbow, disappearing under his shirt.

He doesn’t draw attention to it. Doesn’t say anything. He just lets it be there—visible.

You lift your head to look at him.

“Pretty,” you say simply.

Baby makes a quiet sound, something between a laugh and a breath he forgot to hold. He tries to act nonchalant—tries to look away—but there’s a pink flush creeping up the tips of his ears.

You kiss his arm just once, near the darkest mark.

“I meant it,” you add, resting your cheek against his chest again. “You don’t have to hide things from me.”

He says nothing, but later that night he falls asleep on top of you, full weight, head on your chest, like he trusts you to hold all of him.

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

The claws come next.

You’re chopping vegetables in the kitchen when Baby comes up behind you and lazily wraps his arms around your waist. You’re used to the warmth of his hands, the quiet pressure of his chest against your back—but today, you notice something new.

His nails are longer. Sharper. Just enough to prick slightly when he drags them gently along your side.

You pause, glancing down.

His hand rests flat against your stomach—skin still smooth, still lilac, but now tipped in elegant, curved claws. Not monstrous, but definitely inhuman.

He notices you staring and starts to pull back, muscles tense.

You stop him with a hand over his.

“I like them,” you murmur.

He doesn’t respond immediately. You feel the moment where he debates pretending like it didn’t happen. But then—

“I file them down most days.”

His voice is low. Almost embarrassed. Like this tiny part of himself, something natural to him, needs an apology.

You hum. “You don’t have to around me.”

“…I know,” he says, but you feel the way his arms tighten around you, the small exhale against your shoulder. Like maybe he needed to hear it anyway.

When he holds your hand that night, his claws graze your knuckles gently. Purposefully.

You don’t let go.

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

Sometimes you wonder what he sees when he looks in the mirror.

Does he only notice the claws, the cracked-glass skin, the glow in his eyes that sets him apart? Does he trace his markings and wonder if he’s too much—or worse, not enough—when he’s just being real?

Because when you look at him all sharp teeth and soft hoodie sleeves, glowing eyes that give too much away—you just see him. Baby. The boy who makes you ramen at 2am when you’re sad. The one who insists on watching horror movies but hides behind you at the jumpscares. The one who gets too hot at night but still clings to you like a second blanket. The one who hums off-key when he thinks you’re asleep. Who asks if you ate, then pretends he wasn’t worried when you say no.

The one who’s learning to let you see him, piece by piece.

And you love every one.

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

It’s a late Sunday morning when you finally see his full skin.

You’re sitting on the floor of your bedroom, folding laundry in the soft buzz of summer heat, when Baby walks in shirtless. Not just shirtless—bare-chested, relaxed, no hoodie, no long sleeves, no effort to hide.

Lilac from throat to waist. Cracked-glass markings running down his ribs. Collarbones like amethyst under sunlight.

Your breath catches.

He doesn’t say anything. Just walks over with a pile of socks in his hands and flops down beside you like it’s nothing.

But you can feel the quiet tension under his casual movements. The way he pretends not to be watching your reaction from the corner of his eye.

You lean in and kiss his shoulder.

“Still you,” you whisper. “Always you.”

This time, he doesn’t hide the way his hands shake for a second before he wraps his arms around you. Doesn’t hide when he exhales into your hair and says, raw and real:

“Thanks for waiting.”

You press your face against his neck. His skin is warm. Familiar. Yours.

“I wasn’t waiting,” you whisper back. “I was just walking with you.”

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

It becomes routine after that.

Claws click gently against his phone as he texts. You catch him half-shifted in the kitchen, markings crawling up his neck like vines. Sometimes his golden eyes glow when he’s laughing—full and bright and unbothered.

He doesn’t hide anymore.

You still remember the version of him from your first few dates—the hoodie up to his knuckles, that too-cool-for-school shrug, the shadows that followed him when he thought you weren’t looking. This Baby feels lighter. Not different. Just unburdened.

You don’t ask anymore.

He shows you because he wants to now.

And one night, curled up together under a blanket that’s too warm for summer but perfect for hiding in, he tilts your chin up and rests his forehead against yours.

“Hey,” he murmurs.

“Hmm?”

“You—you’re not scared of me, right?”

Your heart tugs.

“Never.”

He nods once. Then slowly, carefully, he pulls off the last barrier: a glamour spell that softened his features. The change is subtle but stunning—his smile sharper, teeth a little longer, eyes glowing gold with slit pupils.

It hits you that this is the first time he’s let you see him like this—unguarded, spell-less, fully himself.

You press your forehead to his, breath warm between you.

“You’re beautiful,” you whisper.

He bites his lip. His claws flex once at your waist. Then, finally, he relaxes—melting into your arms like he was always meant to fit there.

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

Little by little, he let you in.

And now, there’s nothing he hides.

Not his markings, not his claws, not the fire in his eyes.

Not his heart, either.

And that’s the part you love most of all.

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

M-List

[fanficsat12am]

You were never supposed to matter (1)

Targeting the fans was only the beginning. If he truly wants to bring down HUNTR/X, Jinu knows he has to strike at their core by focusing on one of their beloved managers, (Y/N). But what happens when the demon prince of pop finds himself falling for the very heart he planned to break?

wc: 1.9k

divider credits go to @hyuneskkami 💛

Letting out a sigh, your shoulders droop in exhaustion, your marbled countertop now looking like the softest mattress in all of Korea. With the way the Saja Boys have been climbing the charts lately, Rumi’s voice disappearing, and the backlash from the canceled live performance, you had no idea how you were supposed to manage this nightmare.

You knew about the girls’ second life—how they protected the world from Gwi-Ma’s demons while maintaining the perfect image of K-pop idols. You were one of the few people Rumi trusted with her secret, having accidentally seen the marks on her back during a fitting. After years of working with HUNTR/X, you’d gotten good at spinning lies to Bobby and the others: exploding demons? Special effects. The girls falling from the sky mid-rehearsal? Just some ambitious wire work. But with the recent threat of the hot, muscular demon boy band, you had been on your toes for days, coordinating with the PR team on how to keep the girls afloat amongst their competitors. 

Your eyelids begin to droop, heavy from exhaustion—until something shifts.

The air changes. The night breeze picks up, colder now, sharper. 

Your eyes snap open. You reach back, grabbing the nearest knife from the block. As you spin around, your blade lands inches away from a familiar figure—a raven-haired boy standing in your kitchen. 

“Easy, easy, easy,” he says, hands raised in mock surrender. As he takes a step closer, the streaks of moonlight seeping through the curtains reveal him in his human form—the one plastered across billboards and fangirl daydreams.

And who could blame them?

He was the epitome of perfection. The sharp jawline, the tousled black hair, the lean frame that moved with dancer precision—it was a weapon in itself. He was sculpted to charm, built to be adored. Even now, bathed in silver light, he looked less like a demon and more like a dream.

But it was his eyes that made you hesitate—those honey-colored irises, warm and gleaming with something almost human. Almost.

“What the hell are you doing in my house?” you demand, eyes narrowing.

“I’m not here to hurt you,” he replies calmly.

“Oh sure, because trusting a demon has never gone wrong before,” you snap, stepping closer, the blade still pointed at him.

But he doesn’t flinch.

“Well... your little friend believed me when I promised to keep her secret. Purple hair with demon marks sound familiar?”

That stops you. Just for a moment. Just enough.

Jinu sees it—and steps forward, gently pressing a finger to the tip of your knife and guiding it away.

“Now that I have your attention,” he says calmly, “I want to help you.”

You let out a sharp laugh. “And what makes you think I’d ever believe you?”

He sighs, gaze lowering. “I don’t expect you to. I just… I want to be like her. To be free. But until they reach the Golden Honmoon, we’ll never escape Gwi-Ma’s control.”

Your jaw tightens. “You have those marks for a reason.”

“I made a mistake—”

“No,” you snap. “You made a choice.”

Your grip tightens on the knife. “And that’s why I can never trust someone like you.”

In a split second, the blade flies from your hand—but before it can touch him, he vanishes in a puff of violet smoke. The knife hits the wall with a dull thunk, then clatters to the wooden floor.

A small, pale blue card flutters down from where he once stood. You hesitate before picking it up.

A cartoon duck smiles on the front.

You open it.

Inside, in delicate handwriting, it reads:

“Come find me when you’re ready to listen.”

You roll your eyes, toss the card into the bin, and fall back onto the couch with an exhausted sigh.

But as the night settles in, you can’t help but wonder, why did Rumi trust him? And why, deep down, did part of you want to believe him too.

__________________________________

As you watched the girls practice the dance for what felt like the umpteenth time, your mind kept wandering back to last night’s encounter. There had to be a catch. Demons were all the same—selfish, vile, cruel.

So what did he really want?

The memory of his honey-colored eyes lingered like a bruise in your thoughts. Warm, almost sincere—but lies always wore a pretty face.

So many questions spun through your head like a whirlpool, dragging you under until—

“Helloooo?”

You blinked. Zoey was waving her hand inches from your face.

“Earth to (Y/N)?” she teased, dragging out the last word.

Your eyes widened, snapping back to the three girls now staring at you.

“You okay?” Mira asked, head tilting, brows furrowed with a mix of concern and suspicion. “You’ve been acting… different today.”

Zoey pipes up again, “Yeah, you’ve been looking at us like—” She tilts her head to the side, eyes wide, like she’s under a spell.

You giggle softly. “Yes, I’m fine. Just thinking.” You send them a reassuring smile.

They all nod, understanding. You always had a lot on your plate as a manager.

“We’ll go ahead and call it a day,” Rumi says. “Let’s pick it back up tomorrow.”

The other girls sigh in relief, clearly eager to be swallowed by the nearest couch. As they turn to pack their things, you reach out and gently grab Rumi by the wrist. She stops, her violet hair swaying slightly as she looks back at you.

“Can we talk?” you whisper.

Her brows crease. “Yeah, sure, uhm…” She glances over to Zoey and Mira. “You guys go ahead. I’ll catch up later.”

“Sounds good,” Mira calls. “See you tomorrow, (Y/N)!”

“Bye, (Y/N)!” Zoey waves excitedly before leaving with her pink-haired companion.

Once the door clicks shut behind them, the room grows quieter.

You turn to Rumi, wasting no time.

“Have you been talking to Jinu?” Your voice is firm. “And don’t lie to me.”

She stiffens. Her eyes dart away, debating silently. Then, quietly—

“Yes.”

You let go of her hand as if burned, staring at her like she just suggested disbanding HUNTR/X.

“Rumi…”

“It’s not what you think—”

“Not what I think?” Your voice sharpens. “Rumi, he’s a demon! One of the very monsters you’ve sworn to hunt and destroy. You’ve hated their kind since you were a little girl!”

She hesitates, but then… she speaks.

“He’s different.”

She bites her lip. “He’s not like the others we’ve fought. He just… he doesn’t enjoy the hurting. It’s like he’s trapped in something he didn’t ask for.” She pulls her sleeve up slightly, revealing the faint glowing marks etched into her skin. 

“People change,” she says, voice low. “Sometimes… they just need a reason to.”

Before you could respond, the studio lights flickered once… twice… then died. The room plunged into darkness.

“Get out,” Rumi said sharply, her voice instantly shifting into that protective, no-nonsense tone. “Now.”

“Wait, what are you—”

“Go!” she shouted, already dashing in the opposite direction.

Heart pounding like a war drum in your chest, you grabbed your phone with trembling hands and fumbled to switch on the flashlight. The weak beam flickered to life, cutting through the thick veil of darkness as you sprinted down the hallway, footsteps echoing against the studio walls.

But halfway through, you skidded to a stop—your breath caught in your throat.

A low, sickening growl echoed from the shadows ahead. It wasn’t human. It wasn’t even close.

Then came the sound of claws—wet, ragged, scraping against the walls. From the cracks and corners, they emerged—a horde of demons, crawling out like living smoke. Half-shadow, half-nightmare. Spines jagged like broken glass. Eyes glowing red in the dark. Limbs bending wrong, too many joints, too many teeth.

You turned to run—but they were faster. One leapt toward you, its mouth splitting open in a shriek that pierced your skull.

You screamed, stumbling back, and instinctively squeezed your eyes shut.

You braced for the pain. For the end.

But it never came.

Instead, a feral snarl ripped through the air, so loud and guttural it made your bones rattle. The sickening crunch of impact followed, like something had been thrown straight into the wall. Hard.

Your eyes snapped open.

There, standing between you and the demon pack, was a tall figure draped in a jet-black hanbok, its fabric swaying gently like smoke in the still air.

“Jinu?” you whispered

But not the Jinu you knew.

His human illusion had fallen away. He wore a traditional black gat, its ribbon fluttering in the unnatural wind that had suddenly stirred. From beneath the wide brim, his eyes burned golden—not warm, but wild, predatory. Smoke, thick and purple-black, coiled around the edges of his silhouette.

His body moved like liquid shadow, sleek and elegant, but every step oozed restrained violence. The demon who had attacked you lay crushed against the wall in a heap of limbs, twitching before going still.

Jinu didn’t even glance back.

He didn’t speak.

But as the others lunged at him, he moved with a speed that was inhumane.

Effortless. Precise. Beautiful in a way that made your breath catch and your spine crawl.

He cut through them like a blade of darkness—one clawed hand dragging a demon to the ground, the other summoning a flick of searing smoke that split through flesh like fire through paper. Each motion was deliberate, calculated, protective—but brutal.

You stared, frozen.

Not because you were afraid.

But because you understood.

He hadn’t come for them.

He came for you.

You watched as he dealt with the last of them, holding it by the throat and with a crack of finality, letting it fall limp to the ground—it’s body fading into ashes. He looks back to you, but the look of anger and bloodshed in his bright golden eyes was gone, now back to a warm hue. The silence seemed to stretch between the two of you, almost palpable. He walks towards you. Every step echoed in your ears, louder than your own heartbeat. Your instincts screamed—Run. Turn away. Don’t let him get close. But you stay frozen in your spot. He stopped just inches away, closer than you should’ve ever let a demon get. He raised his hand slowly. You flinched and shut your eyes, breath hitching sharply. 

This is it, he’s going to kill me himself. 

Instead, you felt his ice-cold finger lifted your chin gently, his touch featherlight. Your eyes fluttered open. You find his gaze inspecting every inch of your face, his bows furrowing just the slightest as he memorized every detail. 

“Are you okay?” he asked, a hint of worry in his voice. 

You nodded, though your voice trembled. “Y-yeah.”

He let out a soft breath, the corner of his lips curling into the faintest smile. “Good.”

For a moment, neither of you moved.

Then his expression shifted—just slightly, like a storm creeping back in behind his eyes.

“I shouldn’t have come here,” he murmured, gaze dropping for a second. 

Before you can speak, he steps back. The smoke curling around his form starts to rise again, swallowing him like mist.

“Wait—” you call out, reaching a hand toward him

But he’s already fading.

“Don’t follow me,” he says, voice soft but clear. “Not until you’re ready.”

Then, just like before, he vanishes into a ripple of violet haze.

You’re left standing in silence. The hallway, once haunted by demons, now feels too still. Too empty.

And then… something flutters gently to the floor.

Your eyes lower.

Another card.

Same pale blue. Same cartoon duck. But now, taped to the back, a single ticket—National Theater of Korea. Tomorrow. 8 p.m.

You pick it up slowly, heart thudding in your ears.

Inside the card, in that same careful handwriting:

“Come find me. I’ll be waiting.”

You want to throw it away.

You should throw it away.

But instead, your fingers tighten around it. You stare at it for a moment longer… then quietly tuck it into your pocket.

[lily-bisque]

𝒹oin' 𝓉ime 𓍯𓂃 𝓈ummer 𝒷ash 𝒸ollab 🐚

your dream destination on the coast of the amalfi waters in italy awaits 𓂃 ོ☼𓂃

teaser ˚⋆𓇼˚⊹

pairing: assistantfem!reader x childhoodfriend/prostitute!toji

synopsis: sparkling turquoise waters, hidden coves, and limoncello for days in the illustrious city on the amalfi coast was just how you wanted to start your work-trip—now instead struggling to find a room for the night thanks to your arrogant boss leaving you to fend for yourself. yet your hopes begin to float just above the surface when your fate crashes with your old childhood neighbor with a questionable past but an annoyingly dashing charm beneath the sun-kissed shore glow. it really is a small world after all.

contents: tba, nothing in this teaser!

a/n: this oneshot is part of my summer bash collab that i have been lucky enough to get sixteen other writers on board with! was far too excited writing this, so here's a little snippet. comment to be tagged on the oneshot once it's posted <3

“You know, the whole ‘macho mystery man’ look is getting old,” you deadpanned with finger quotes, despite him not being able to see it. “I’ve literally seen you trip over your own feet and fling your arms at nothing.”

“Well, thankfully I’ll only have to indulge in your presence for the evening since I’m kicking you out at dawn,” he retorted, kicking the door open after shoving his key into the keyhole.

“Yeah yeah I’ll get out of your hair—.” You cut yourself off when you got a view of the room. Don’t get it wrong here, the room was fucking gorgeous.

The issue? There was a singular bed—no connecting door to another room or anything.

What the hell were you expecting?

You huffed a laugh, swiveling your head to your childhood friend. “So I’m guessing this is where I’m staying and you’ve got another room?”

He looked at you over his shoulder as he tossed your bag onto the mussed mattress, where you can only assume he slept in the night before. “Fuck are you talking about? There’s a pullout couch.”

You laughed incredulously at him, not even caring that you could get a noise complaint at this hour. “...Seriously?”

He turned around, crossing his arms over his chest and cocking his head. “Yeah. Wouldn’t even be our first time sharing a room, anyway.”

You twitched at that, your heart stalling in your chest for a moment as words died on your tongue. Give it to Toji for making things weird.

“Uhm. Just… give me a second.”

You hurried out of the room, shuffling down the winding steps and stopping right before the jaded receptionist at the front, heart roaring in your ears. “Are you guys fully booked for the night?”

She had her legs and arms crossed, peering up at you whilst smacking her gum, an annoyed and tired expression coloring her. She leaned over the computer and clicked a few things out of your view. “We’ve got one room left.”

You breathed a sigh of relief, feeling your shoulders slump. “Perfect. I’ll take it.”

She gave you a feigned smile. “It’s our presidential suite, however. It requires proof of high status such as dignitaries or heads of states. Otherwise, we keep it open.”

You furrowed your eyebrows at that. “What? Who the hell cares who I am if I’m a paying customer?”

She shrugged, panning her screen towards you. “Well, can you afford it?”

Your gaze followed the screen, squinting against the harsh light, when you made out the multiple zero’s coming after the euro symbol, your maw falling slack.

The walk back to Toji’s suite was a dreadful one, being told that every other hotel in a thirty mile radius was also booked out, dragging your feet and pushing the door open with your head downcast.

The television was now droning on with some static-y hotel-like cable sitcom that aired after hours, enough to make you shiver.

Your bags were in the same place Toji had left them, but the man was nowhere to be seen. Your eyebrows drew in as your head turned on a swivel, peeking into the bathroom and the closet warily, as if he were waiting to jump out and catch you off guard like a deer in headlights, but no.

“Oi. Get in here,” you heard his voice bellow past the ajar balcony door.

Your head cocked curiously, following the sound out onto the balcony, the white drapes flitting in the warm night breeze. Peering over the edge, you could see Toji just one floor down, veiny forearms and broad shoulders draped over the edge of some hot tub, the roman-style pool beside it empty.

It was a beautiful set-up, the area littered with potted plants and shrubbery from poppies to sunflowers to roses, giving it a bright glow even in the night.

Toji was sporting black swim trousers, shirtless as the water pooled around his massive pecs. Your thighs subconsciously rubbed against each other at the drooling sight, before you tore your gaze to match his, just the slightest bit curious how on Earth he made it down there without you noticing.

You could imagine him scaling the balcony wall, hopping down barefoot all primal-like.

Hugging yourself, you leaned down to yell-whisper, “Uh, no thanks. I think I’ll just get some sleep.”

He ran his tongue over his lower lip, eyes dancing across you. “Couldn’t get a room, huh?”

You shook your head in defeat.

“Alright, well don’t let your first night in La Dolce Vita go to waste just because you’re a little scared of talking to me,” he teased with an accusatory tone, adjusting his manspread. 

You rolled your eyes at his gall, ready to bite back. “I’m not scared of you, Fushiguro.”

“Prove it, bird.” He called out immediately, voice husky and resonating through the charged air.

You clicked your tongue, narrowing your eyes, the slightest bit pissed that Toji was unbelievably talented at riling you up. He knew you far too well, even after all this time.

“Give me five minutes.”

You turned on your heel, heading back into the room and parsing through your bag for your swim trunks.

You’d brought two.

One that you could wear around your boss and her boyfriend without feeling unprofessional—a basic white one piece with a few frills, modest enough. The second, however, was a black strappy two-piece that quite literally left nothing to imagination.

You’d packed the latter in case you’d had a night to yourself and would be able to possibly hook up with someone fun you’d come across, a bit of a reach of your expectations for the weekend but you always came prepared nonetheless.

That’s not what you were planning here though, with Toji—no way in hell, that was nowhere near the front of your mind… ahem.

You simply wanted to get back at the audacious man. Let him know if he could make you uncomfortable, you had no issue doing the same to him.

You grabbed a lotus claw clip and tied your hair up, slipping into the suit and adjusting it so that your cleavage was on full view before slipping your sandals on and padding quickly down.

[ms-demeanor]

do you have tips for working on a car when you have adhd?

YES. YES VERY VERY MUCH.

Part One: Prep

Purchase a tear-down manual for your car. For older cars these are books you can buy at auto parts stores. For newer cars these are subscriptions that you have to get and the primary producers are Chilton's and Haynes. If you end up getting a subscription, you are going to download and print out the manual. The entire manual. And you are going to put it in a three ring binder and then put that binder in a waterproof bag. And then you are going to cancel your subscription. Digital access to your car manual is not enough; someday you will be away from cell signal or with a dead phone battery and will need to fix your car. Someday you will need to fix your car and your hands will be either greasy or in gloves and you won't be able to scroll on a screen. You need a physical manual for your car. No matter where you keep your tools, the tear-down manual lives in the car.

Have an organization system for your tools. It needs to be a system that works for you. My system is a very organized toolbox where I put everything back as soon as the project is done. Wrenches are kept on carabiners, sockets are kept in dedicated boxes, the car tools stay in the car or in the car maintenance cupboard. Large Bastard's system is three five-gallon buckets full of wrenches and breaker bars and an ammo can full of sockets. Our systems are mutually exclusive. He is not allowed to use my tools. If he uses my wrenches they end up in the bucket and then the 14mm is missing from my set and the 14mm is the one I need for everything on this car and I have to go buy another fucking wrench no, absolutely not, stop taking my wrenches. So the deal is that you need to know what system works for you and how to navigate it; Large Bastard has many duplicates of things because he uses tools for a ton of things and has a really huge volume of tools. It's more effective for him to have ten places to search for a tool and will be likely to find one, and it's more effective for me to know exactly where the tool lives. Which brings me to my second tip:

Keep an eye out for tools at yard sales and secondhand stores. Tools are expensive. If you are a frequent tool-loser, don't invest in expensive tools. It's okay if Large Bastard steals and loses my SAE wrench set in a bucket because that was seven dollars at Harbor Freight.

No matter what your system is, have a designated general area where "car maintenance stuff" goes. This may be a box in a truck bed or a cabinet in a garage or a bag in your trunk, but you're going to end up buying brake pads that you mean to install but then it's raining for three days so you set them down somewhere and now you can't find the pads. You're not going to use the whole bottle of coolant every time you top off your coolant, so you need a space (that is INACCESSIBLE TO CHILDREN AND PETS) to store the half-bottle of coolant.

Okay. So now you've got your tool system and your car-based junk-drawer. Before you start any car project, make sure you've got all the tools that the project calls for. That means BEFORE you start working on the project, you look through your tear-down manual and watch a youtube video or two and make sure you know what tools are required, because if you get halfway through a repair and realize that you need some vacuum hose you are going to stop doing the repair to go buy hose and it's a total crapshoot whether you're going to get back to the task. I'll repeat again: IF YOU ARE DOING CAR MAINTENANCE WITH ADHD, DO NOT START A PROJECT OR REPAIR UNTIL YOU ARE CERTAIN YOU HAVE ALL THE TOOLS, PARTS, AND CONSUMABLES THAT YOU WILL NEED TO COMPLETE THE JOB. You are going to mis-en-place this thing. Get a tool caddy or a plastic bin or something, read or watch the instructions for the repair all the way through and put each required tool or part in the bin. If you need to order parts or if a tool is lost, write that down as you're adding things to the bin. Then set the bin aside and acquire those things before you pop the hood. Once you have acquired those things, put them in the bin too, and then check the instructions again to verify that you have all the necessary equipment to do your repair.

As a corollary, before you make any car maintenance purchase, check and make sure you didn't already buy it and forget. Do you need oil for this oil change? Or did you buy five quarts three months ago when there was a sale and forget it? This is why you have your car-related storage area. Go through the instructions for the repair when you are able to look in the car-stuff-pit and see if you already have the car stuff.

Okay. You have your repair in mind. You have all the tools you need. You have all the parts purchased. You have your tear-down manual. Now you need to: Make sure that you have an open space to work and that you are following good car maintenance safety procedures - Never work on a car that is up on a jack, use jack stands - If you have a wheel off, put the wheel under the frame - Disconnect the battery if necessary (the manual will tell you what repairs to do this for) Check the weather and make sure you will be able to accomplish the repairs safely - If you need to get under a car, don't repair that car in the rain - If it is hot, make sure that you have some shade for your workspace; an easy-up is an oft-neglected car maintenance tool - If it is very, very cold, make sure you are protecting your hands from frostbite (you are going to be getting your hands wet and messy and then touching cold metal; you may not realize it if your fingers turn blue or lose feeling) Make sure that this is the correct time to start a repair project - Will you have enough light to get the project done in the daylight or do you need artificial lighting? - Do you have obligations that will cause problems if this repair runs long? - Are you hungry or exhausted? Wait to start until you have eaten or rested. You don't want to be too tired to think when you're working on a car.

Part two: Project (these are the answers you were probably looking for)

Every repair is going to be different, but all repairs are going to have some things in common. They're going to require some kind of equipment or tools, they're going to take some amount of time, they're going to require some amount of focus. Here are the things you can do to guard against your ADHD sabotaging you in regard to those things.

Equipment:

Use your phone to take a photo of what the repair area looked like before you started - make sure the photo(s) demonstrates where pins, screws, nuts, bolts, hoses and clamps were when you started.

Use a tool caddy or a plastic bin to keep your tools, parts, and consumables together as you are preparing for the repair.

Get a work blanket or a tarp to set your tools on top of as you're working if you're working under the car, or a bin to set tools in if you're working in the engine compartment; this prevents you from having to chase down that wrench that you set on top of the airbox and that promptly became invisible.

Have a container handy for screws, nuts, bolts, etc. Paper bowls are good for this purpose, as are old prescription bottles and peanut butter jars. Don't use a glass jar or a ceramic mug or anything that can shatter. Sometimes something that's relatively flat that you can lay parts out in is best for this purpose (for example a paper plate or a shoebox lid) and sometimes the best thing is something with a lid so you won't lose nuts if you knock it down (plastic jars or pill bottles). When you are finished taking apart whatever it is that you're taking apart, count the number of nuts and screws and pins you've removed and make sure that's how many you put back.

Time

How long a repair will take is difficult to predict; maybe it's super easy to get at a part you thought would be harder, maybe some dipshit decided to JB Weld a nut in place. Have some idea (from your manual or instructional video) of how long the task *should* take and assess whether you have the focus for a task of that length on that day. If you take meds, consider timing them to best facilitate the repair.

You know you better than I do; know if you will need a break. If you know you will need a break, prep your break ahead of time so that you won't have to stop for an hour to make lunch. Have a sandwich ready, have water nearby, have a comfortable place to sit set up close to your workspace so that you don't go inside, wash your hands, and suddenly remember that you needed to clean the grout in the kitchen and get distracted into a different task.

Focus

Obviously the last point is related to focus as well, but minimize potential distractions. Tell people you aren't available, set your phone to do not disturb, don't turn on the game on a TV in the garage. I find that I do well listening to stuff when I'm working on cars, but I don't do well with anything that I could watch or with having people around to talk to. I like music and podcasts when I'm working on cars.

Limit your scope. Maybe you're replacing rotted-out hoses and you remember that you were feeling some squishiness in the brakes. The brakes are a problem for later you. You are not working on the brakes now. You do not have your tools gathered for brake repair. You are working on the hoses now. (Aside from preventing you from losing tools, this is another reason to collect the tools you will need for each project instead of bringing your entire tool set out to work on the job - you can't work on the brakes, you only have the tools out for working on hoses right now)

Limit reasons to walk away from the repair. Go to the bathroom before you start. Have extra sets of gloves and shop towels handy. Climate control the area and yourself as much as possible (do you need a sweater? do you need a hat? do you need sunscreen? get that squared away before you start so you don't have to walk away in the middle and risk getting distracted)

Part 3: Post

When you're getting the thing buttoned up, make sure you use all of the parts that you took out. Compare against the photo you took at the start and count the screws.

Read back through the instructions step by step and make sure you did each step. Do this twice.

Manually check tightness of every part you worked on and visually check fluid levels (shoutout to the sketchy mechanic offering $15 oil changes who was surprised as fuck when I came back ten minutes after my oil change because I'd checked and the oil pan plug was only finger tight; turns out he was running a scam)

Clean up your workspace, both to get things tidy and to make sure you didn't overlook any parts.

Take the vehicle for a test drive. Make sure things are running well. If they are not running well, go back to your workspace and go through the troubleshooting steps in the manual to see if you can identify the problem (shoutout to the saturn dealership for the time they got water in my plug wires on my station wagon, shoutout to me for the time i got the order wrong on my saturn coupe plug wires)

If your car is working fine and you don't find yourself with seven extra hoses and a mystery solenoid, good job, you're done, put your tools away and pat yourself on the back.

TL;DR -

Get a teardown manual for your car

Keep your tools organized in a system that makes sense for you

Don't invest in expensive tools if you lose tools frequently

Before you start a project, make sure you've got all the necessary tools, parts, and fluids; before you buy tools, parts, or fluids check and see if you already have it.

Use a tool caddy or bin to keep the parts, tools, and fluids in one place while you're getting ready to start

Make sure that you have the space, time, and physical safety to start a project

Take a photo of the repair before you start to mark the position of bolts, pins, etc.

Have a designated space like a bin or a tarp to set down tools while you're working so that you don't set them down and lose them

Have a container to old fasteners and small parts so you don't lose them; count the parts you take out and make sure you put that many back in

Figure out how long the repair might take and realistically assess whether or not you have time to start

Plan breaks that will minimize your need to walk away from the project

Minimize distractions

Work on one thing at a time, making sure each thing is complete and tested before you start another repair.

Limit reasons to walk away (see my write-up of Success Traps for more details)

Make sure you put back all the fasteners you took out

Mentally walk through the instructions at the end of the project to make sure you did each step

Verify that everything you worked on is properly tightened and filled

Clean up your workspace and make sure you didn't overlook any parts

Test drive the car to make sure it's working well and troubleshoot any problems that come up

Put your tools away so you can find them next time

Good luck!

[viktateapot]

PROBLEM IN THE MORNING (Batboys)

Dick Grayson:

The warm morning light gently seeps through the not-quite-closed blinds, spreading across the room and outlining the sleeping figures on the bed. You wake up first, feeling the weight of an arm lying across your waist. It's Dick.

He's holding you tightly in his sleep, pressing you close as if he's afraid you'll disappear the moment he lets go. His breathing is even and peaceful, and his dark hair is scattered across the pillow in a picturesque mess. You can't help but smile as you look at him.

You carefully try to slip out from under his arm, but he wakes up immediately and pulls you back to him. "Where do you think you're going?" he mumbles sleepily, his voice raspy and slightly hoarse.

"I need to get up, Dick. I have a lot to do today," you reply, gently stroking his cheek. He opens his eyes and looks at you, squinting. You can see surprise in his gaze, followed by a hint of disappointment.

"But pleeease, just five more minutes..." he begs, like a little kid, and you can't help but laugh. Dick has always been like that – energetic and cheerful, but sometimes he just needs a little warmth and affection.

You snuggle closer to him, inhaling his scent – a mixture of freshness and light cologne. "Okay, five more minutes. But then we're getting up, deal?" you say, and he nods happily in response.

You lie there for a while, just cuddling and enjoying the silence. Dick starts gently stroking your hand, intertwining his fingers with yours. You feel his warmth spreading throughout your body, and you feel so good and peaceful.

Suddenly, Dick starts tickling you, and you flinch in surprise. "Hey! What was that for?" you ask indignantly, laughing. "Just checking to see if you'd fallen asleep," he replies with a mischievous smile.

You start tickling him in return, and soon the whole bed is shaking with your laughter and playful fighting. You tumble on top of each other, gasping for breath, and Dick hugs you tightly, preventing you from falling off the bed.

Suddenly, Dick freezes and looks at you, his eyes becoming serious and a little pensive. He leans in and kisses you softly on the lips, first lightly and timidly, and then – more passionately and confidently.

You return his kiss, surrendering to the power of your feelings. His arms hold you tightly, pressing you so close that you can feel his heart beating. Time seems to stand still, and in that moment it's just you and Dick.

But, as they say, all good things must come to an end. Breaking the kiss, Dick looks at you regretfully and sighs. "Alright, time to get up. Otherwise we'll just lie here all day," he says, and you nod in response, knowing that he's right. But in your heart of hearts, you hope that someday you can just stay in bed, forgetting about everything else in the world.

Jason Todd:

A cold morning light filters through the poorly drawn curtains, making you shiver under the thick woolen blanket. You wake up, feeling the weight of a strong body pressed against you from behind. Jason.

He always sleeps like the dead, as if trying to make up for all the sleepless nights he spends patrolling the streets of Gotham. His arm lies across your waist, holding you captive in his warmth and strength.

You carefully try to slip out of his grasp, knowing that he needs to get up and attend to his own affairs. But he only pulls you closer, muttering something unintelligible in his sleep.

You smile and snuggle closer to him, inhaling his scent – a mixture of tobacco, leather, and something subtly dangerous. Jason has always been like that – a mixture of opposites, and that's what you find so appealing about him.

You run your hand over his cheek, feeling the rough stubble, and he grimaces slightly but doesn't wake up. You admire his face, so peaceful and serene in his sleep.

Suddenly, Jason wakes up abruptly and grabs your hand. His eyes are wide, and you can read anxiety in them. You look at him, startled, not understanding what's happening.

"What's wrong?" you whisper, trying to calm him down. He's silent, trying to catch his breath and compose himself. You feel his body trembling with tension.

"I had a nightmare," he says quietly, as if afraid to say it out loud. You hug him and press him close, trying to transmit your warmth and support to him.

"It's okay. I'm here. I'm with you," you whisper in his ear, gently kissing his temple. He relaxes a little and presses himself closer to you, as if afraid you might disappear.

You lie there for a while, just cuddling and enjoying the silence. Finally, Jason lets go of you and looks you in the eyes. His gaze is no longer anxious, only grateful and tender.

"Thank you," he says quietly. "For what?" you ask. "For being you," he replies, and gently kisses you on the lips. You return his kiss, feeling his love and warmth warming your heart.

You get out of bed and start making breakfast. Jason is, as usual, grumpy and taciturn, but you know that he's happy you're there. And you're happy to be there with him, knowing that together you can overcome any difficulties.

Alright, here's the translation of that version of the Tim Drake (Red Robin) fic:

Tim Drake:

A cautious light, seeping through the cracks in the blinds, barely touches the room, drowning in twilight. You are warmed only by the soft blanket, and of course, by the warmth of the person who fell asleep next to you. You open your eyes and see Tim. He's asleep, pressed close to you as if seeking protection, his breath quiet and even. His brow is furrowed even in sleep.

You involuntarily smile as you look at him. He's so focused, so purposeful when fighting crime or solving complex puzzles, and so vulnerable and defenseless in his sleep. You know that it's not easy for him, that he has been through a lot, but he never complains and always tries to be strong.

You cautiously try to slip out from under his arm so as not to wake him, but you don't succeed. He reacts instantly, grabbing your wrist and pulling you back towards him.

"Where are you going?" he mumbles sleepily, his voice raspy and slightly hoarse after sleep. You smile gently at him and stroke his cheek. "I need to get up, my soul. I have things to do," you reply.

He opens his eyes, and you see confusion and pleading in them. He doesn't want to let you go, doesn't want to be left alone. You know that it's hard for him, especially after everything that's happened to him.

"Just lie with me for a little longer," he asks, and you can't refuse him. You snuggle closer to him, feeling his arms embrace you.

You listen to his breathing, so quiet and even, and you feel calm. You know that he is strong, that he can cope with everything that is in store for him, but sometimes he just needs you to be there and support him.

You lie there for a while, just cuddling and silently looking at the ceiling. The room is quiet, only occasionally you can hear cars passing by outside the window. You feel his body relax, as the tension leaves.

Finally, he lets go of you and sits up on the bed, rubbing his eyes. You sit up next to him and hug him, kissing his shoulder. "Everything will be okay, my Robin. I'm here," you whisper in his ear.

He smiles back at you and takes your hand in his. "I know. Thank you for always being there," he says. You feel his words warming your heart.

You get out of bed and start getting ready. Tim turns on some music, and the room becomes more cheerful. You dance, goof off, and laugh, forgetting about all the problems and difficulties.

You know that life with him will not be easy, that there will be difficulties and trials, but you are ready for it. You love Tim, and you will always be there for him to support him and help him overcome everything.

Damian Wayne:

In the vast bedroom, bathed in bright sunlight, you wake up feeling a strong arm wrapped around your waist. It’s Damian, asleep beside you. His face, usually haughty and focused, seems almost tender in sleep.

Carefully, trying not to wake him, you attempt to pull away. You know he has intense training scheduled with his father today, and then probably patrolling the city. But as soon as you move, his grip tightens.

"Don't leave," he mumbles, his voice raspy with sleep. He pulls you closer, so that you feel the warmth of his bare body. You smirk. Even in his sleep, he tries to control the situation.

"I need to get up, my golden one," you whisper in response. "I have things to do." He makes some unintelligible noise, but doesn't let go. You know he's not going to make this easy.

Damian opens his eyes, and you see a slight annoyance in them, mixed with something deeper that he usually hides. "What could be more important than lying with me?" he asks, his voice full of certainty.

You roll your eyes, although deep down you are flattered by his jealousy. "Well, for starters, I need to help Alfred with dinner for your big family," you answer, mentioning his favorite dog.

For a moment, his face softens, but he quickly reverts to his trademark inscrutable expression. "Alfred can wait," he cuts off. "I cannot."

You laugh, unable to suppress a smile. He’s so serious when he tries to command, although it almost always comes off as rather cute. You run your hand through his perfectly styled hair.

"I promise to be back as soon as I can," you say, and he seems to soften a little. He reluctantly lets you go, but still holds your hand.

"Will you miss me?" you ask playfully. He rolls his eyes, but you see the corners of his lips lift slightly. "Of course not," he says. "But I surmise that my day will be somewhat less… tolerable without your presence.”

You laugh and get out of bed. "I'll be back before you have a chance to miss me," you tease. Damian frowns. "Don't get any ideas, woman. I never get bored.”

You giggle and head towards the door. "See you later, Robin," you say, winking. With those words, you leave, leaving Damian alone in the room, wondering why you so easily slipped out of his control.

HERE'S A LITTLE SURPRISE FOR YOU, MY DEARS

Conner Kent:

A timid dawn peeks through the not-quite-closed curtains, painting the walls of your room in soft pastel hues. You wake up, feeling the warmth of a strong body pressed against your back. Conner.

His arm is around your waist, his fingers lightly fluttering on your skin. You feel his breath on your neck, and a light shiver runs down your spine. Conner is still asleep, but you feel his presence, his strength, his warmth.

You try to quietly slip out of his embrace, knowing that he needs to get up early and attend to his "superhero" duties. But he only holds you closer, as if afraid you might disappear.

"Don't leave," he whispers in a sleepy voice, and you feel his lips brush against your neck. You smile and close your eyes, savoring the moment. You feel so cozy and peaceful in his arms that you don't want to get up at all.

You snuggle closer to him, feeling his muscles tense beneath your hand. He strokes your stomach, and you feel goosebumps rise on your skin. His touch has always stirred a storm of emotions within you.

He begins to slowly kiss your neck, and you feel your breathing quicken. You know that if you don't stop him now, you'll both end up lazing in bed all day. And, honestly, that doesn't sound like such a bad idea.

You turn to face him and look into his sleepy, blue eyes. "We need to get up," you whisper, though your voice doesn't sound very convincing. Conner smiles and kisses you on the lips.

The kiss becomes more passionate and demanding, and you feel your knees weaken. You return the kiss with equal fervor, surrendering completely to his touch. His hands move to your back, and he pulls you even closer.

You kiss for so long that your head starts to spin. Finally, you break away from his lips, breathing heavily. "My sunshine," you say, a warning note in your voice.

He looks at you with adoration and guilt. "I'm sorry. I just can't get enough of you," he says. You laugh and kiss him on the cheek. "I know. Me too," you reply.

You both get out of bed and start getting ready. You feel Conner's gaze on you as you change, and the goosebumps return to your skin. You turn to him and give him a playful look. "What?" you ask.

Conner smiles and approaches you. "Nothing. Just admiring you," he says. He embraces you and kisses you on the lips. "I love you," he whispers. "And I love you," you reply, knowing that with him, you are ready for anything.

[rawme-price]

Johnny is, first and foremost, an artist. Its in everything he does. This ofc means he cand find the most mundane thing abt you to fixate on and become horny over.

His favouritr part of your body? Not your ass or your chest or even ur thighs, no, those are too obvious (though he does love them). Hes focusing on the slope of your neck, the way the muscle of ur calf squished when you prop it on ur knee. Hes spent hours fantasizing about the little divot from where you hipbone crests and dives down only to swell back up at ur stomach, able to jerk off just to the thought of covering that small valley with his cum.

He loves little actions, too. When you shift ur weight while holding groceries, or when you lean forward while playing Mario kart. The way your body moves naturally, with not thought behind it, it really gets him going. He sees beauty in it and only wants you more. Hed spend hours in bed with you if he could.

You could be laying on the floor in one of his ratty old shirts and boxers and hed get caught up in the bunch of the fabric where ur chest meets abdomen. Seriously, hes done that before. Dropped to the floor and mouthed at you through boxers and all.

All im saying is hes got the unique ability to get off to anything if he can look at it right lol.

[edensrose]

꒰ ݁ ꫂ᭪ ꒱ 𓂃 Heart Eaters Event

featuring ᝰ.ᐟ✧ 。。。“ i won't cry for you ”

˚₊‧꒰ა ex husband.ᐟ satoru gojo ﾉ gn reader ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

he always knew he'd choose the life of a sorcerer over you. but when that life promises him ruin at the centre of shinjuku, he wishes to hold you. just one more time.

broadcast ᝰ.ᐟ✧ divorced spouses, mentions of death, fear of death, broken marriage 𓂃 wc ⌇ 1.4k

sweetheart host ᝰ.ᐟ✧ kicking off this event with a big blow, i wanna die art cred ⌇ tansan__mizu (twt)

Instead of your snuggle sofa paired with your favourite fluffy black blanket, white obscured both. The only black being that damned uniform.

"What the hell are you doing here, Gojo?"

"Please, not that again."

"Don't you know how to knock? I can call the authorities right now."

"Sweetheart—"

"I have a name. First and last. Don't."

The keys drop in a bowl together with your mood. Kicking off your shoes at the door, you jerk your coat tighter. Maybe the wool would keep you together. Keep you safe from the cold and those begging blue eyes.

Tall as ever, Satoru stood in the living room's centre. Instead of hands stuffed in pockets, they dangled aimlessly at his side. Rather than a blindfold, blue greeted you. Pleaded you. He never obscured them when it came to you; he remembered how you loved them. How you drowned in them on your wedding day, wedding night— avoided them after signing icy ink.

Signing away the certificate, the ring on your finger, him— only this house remained. Satoru refused to settle for any less. In exchange for a peaceful divorce, he only had one condition: stay here. Stay safe. You accepted. On the condition of one more stay. Him. Away from you.

"I told you, I can't do this anymore." The threshold to the living room was your boundary. You didn't dare step closer. You wouldn't. Couldn't. "We had an agreement. You stay the hell away from me, I live my life."

"I understand—"

"Then why are you here? You couldn't even knock? How long have you been here?"

"You wouldn't have let me in."

"Then that should've been your first warning."

Warning. Away. Hell. Each of these more rigid than the frost rimming your windows. His heart warned him. Staying away from you would be hell. And hell? It wasn't blistering; but a blizzard. Cold, lonely, a wasteland. Satoru knew hell all too well. Ever since you threw those documents in front of him, hell became his livelihood.

"Please," his voice was soft, uncharacteristically. "I just wanna talk. I need you." The imaginary threshold bound him too. The gaping gorge spread between you both was imminent danger. One step, two step, and he'd fall. You'd evade. Throw a fit.

Had he truly been such a horrible husband? Satoru prided himself on being textbook perfect for marriage. Kind, considerate, compassionate, the type to make sure you never lacked. Materials, affection, emotion, whatever your pretty heart desired. And he was perfect, apart from one thing.

"Need me? Don't you have some mission that's more important?"

That. For all his pros, Satoru came with one boulder of a con. He was never around. Too busy, too dedicated. That kindness and compassion extended way beyond you. Twisted into senseless duty for a hopeless cause. He wasn't just the kindest. No, Gojo Satoru was the Strongest.

But the strongest felt at his Weakest when it came to you. Standing there, stiff, unwilling. Glaring daggers colder than ice and speaking frostier. Winter raged outside, but in this humble home was where the true blizzard brewed.

"I don't." He broke code. Stepped over that threshold. You stepped back. He went forward. Back. Forward. Back. Forward— until you stood at the foot of the kitchen and him the same distance as before. Now closer to the door. You hoped he'd change direction and find himself out of it.

"I just— please, listen to me."

He took your silence as a green light. Even with your eyes roaring red.

"I just need to see you. One more time. One more night."

"Then refuse to leave in the morning? Pass."

"I won't exactly have a choice."

You paused. Squinted. "Why's that? Oh! Let me guess." Your laugh was cold, your eyes were colder, your words hissed as your shoulders shook off snow and you leaned into the kitchen doorway. "Mission, right? That's the only thing more important than me anyway."

"Nothing was ever more important than you." Satoru snapped.

"Didn't feel like it when all I woke up to was the same empty bed I cried myself to sleep in."

"I had duties. I have duties. What about that made you think you were less important?"

"Hmm. Dunno. Maybe the fact you risked your life every day?"

"That's my damn job— hell, my life!"

"And what's mine? Grieving over you when you finally kick the bucket for a society that doesn't give two shits about you?"

You needn't raise your voice. Your glare screamed. Frozen daggers, a hateful wasteland. For him? For the people who moulded him? You married Satoru. But Gojo Satoru would be the man in the coffin. Young, like his widowed. Strung over, crying their eyes out over a man who was never truly theirs. Never truly their husband; but a weapon.

Silence formed a rink. Both rooted in this frozen graveyard you once called love. This home you once called ours.

He lifted the first sledgehammer. Not a slam, but shiver. "I need to be with you." Desperate, whispered. "Just one more time. I need to hold you in my arms, feel you, know you're real. Know that we were real. Just. . . once, please."

His heart called to drift closer, but he stood strong. Even in this weakness.

"You're right, there is a mission." Satoru murmured. "One I'm not sure I'll come back from."

You tensed.

He faltered.

"I get it, okay? I couldn't give you what you deserved. I tried. I wanted to— hell, I loved you." Trembled hands tore through his hair and gaped at the ceiling in search of mercy. "I love you. With all my heart. You made me feel like. . . like Satoru. Toru. Even when you refuse to call me either now. And I know I don't deserve this, but I can't go out there knowing there's a high chance I won't see you again."

His gaze lowered. Glossy. Shades hid his eyes when you signed the divorce papers. You imagined they looked like this when you picked up that pen.

"I hated every minute being apart from you. I don't know where I'm going. Don't know if you'll come there. I don't even know if there is a there to go to. All I know is that I missed you. I'll miss you. And that I—"

Gojo Satoru. The Strongest. Stood trembling before you. Crystalline tears slowly dripping from his shattered eyes. The sign of his strength. Now weak. The Weakest.

"I love you."

He faced you. Even when every fibre of his being told him to run. Even when you gaze remained unchanging.

"I love. You." He croaked. "Please. Just let me love you one more time."

Silence drowned him. His lungs burned, eyes stung. Frost clung to his skin. Outside would be kinder. Anything but this cruel house he found himself in. Not a home, but a house.

Still he hoped it could be one. Just for the night. One more time.

You sighed. Shoulders drooped.

"Satoru. . ."

His hope soared—

"I can't."

—shattered.

His heart in your hands. And still you squeezed it. Ripped it to shreds with your pretty palms he'd still get down on his knees and kiss in his dying breaths.

"This is exactly what I was talking about." The chill in your voice became a croak of your own. Instead of leaning, you held onto the doorway for support. One arm hooked around yourself. Grounding. Shaking.

You couldn't look at him. Wouldn't.

"You'll love me and leave me. Go out there and make my every fear a reality."

Your eyes shimmered. He instinctively stepped closer. Violently, you brushed the tears away. Shot him a look that froze him once more. Not sorrow, but a scowl. Not cold. But cruel.

"Leave."

"Sweetheart."

You ducked from the word. Both arms wrapped around your person tight. He didn't deserve your glare anymore, so you stared to the floor.

"I said leave."

"You won't see me again."

"And you know what?"

At last you shouted. Heaved. Your tears fell and you wiped each furiously. Then pointed with an aggressive hand to the door.

"I won't cry for you."

You broke.

Satoru? He shattered.

"Leave. I won't cry for you. Not any more. I won't shed a single tear for a man who was never mine to begin with."

Silence. Not a banter, not a breath. You snapped your head forward with a scream on your tongue.

"Didn't you hear me!? I said l—"

Nothing. No white hair. No blue eyes. Only the wide window.

And the cold, lonely winter. On a fateful day in Shinjuku.

© 𝒆𝒅𝒆𝒏𝒔𝒓𝒐𝒔𝒆 . no copying, translation or plagiarism authorised

[accessible-tumbling]

VD by @dracini-rambles: A person wearing a black long sleeve shirt and light grey trousers, sitting in a hand propelled wheelchair speaks to the camera. "When you sit down all day, regular clothing just doesn't meet your needs". There is an edited cut in the video to allow the speaker to have changed their clothes. They are now in a grey hoodie and light grey trousers.

"This is an adaptive line of clothing that not only meets my needs but exceeds them". Their clothes change again to a larger maroon and grey hoodie with a large front pocket visible on its chest and then again to them sitting inside in a dark grey hoodie. They pull their phone out of their trouser pocket with ease. A voice-over then continues to speak.

"The pants have pockets that I can actually use while sitting in my chair, They even have zippers on the bottom to make them easier to put on" The camera cuts to the same person demonstrating the zipper at the bottom of the trouser leg, unzipping it for the camera view and sliding it up their leg all while sitting in their chair.

"The sweatshirts have huge pockets in the front where I can store all of my essentials with me without fear of losing them because the pocket is facing up" the view changes to show the person unzipping their hoodies front pocket pouch and removing a beanie hat and warm gloves. They pull the hoodie forward to show the large inside of the pocket.

"It also has side access that is separate from the zippers, You still have a comfortable place to put your hands." The footage changes to show the speaker rolling themself along a road and then cuts back to the previous location "Spoonie clothes are great for wheelchair users, they also have zippers buttons and hidden pockets for those that need port access."

The speaker then displays 3 different shirts, one with a zipper running diagonally from the neck line to the upper right arm and then another with popper buttons in the same location, then showing off their jackets larger front pocket once more, revealing further hidden pockets within for holding charging banks or ports. "These clothes are comfy, versatile and everything I need as a wheelchair user. You can find them at Spooniethreads.com and I'll have a link in my bio".

/End VD

[theabigailthorn]

Just wanted to share some thoughts and just how much your NHS video has impacted me and just philosophy tube on the way I think. I Saw the Tv Glow hit with me cause of Tara/Maddy cause I’ve been going why do trans narratives and trans content hit so hard with me if I’m not trans. I’m a cis woman but I’ve always felt like when I look in the mirror something just not quite right. When Owen says maybe there is a strong and pretty me inside me that’s the real me it was like yeah thats the feeling. I’ve always struggled with my look, feeling like clothes don’t look on me the way I want them to, hair not quite right, feeling like on the masc to femme spectrum I’m just not quite hitting the marks. And then I became friends with a group of straight women and they all get their nails done and I have never done my nails and since getting gel x nails and fun looks and colors and that almond shape , I look at my hand and go this is how I want them to look. Whenever they get switched out and I see my nails missing them they look wrong to me, short and bare and missing the vivacity of the color. So then I go let’s give a pedicure a try. I’ve never liked my feet, hence why I never did pedicures cause it’s like why doll up my feet no one’s looking, why draw attention to something I don’t like. Now seeing my sparkly green toes I go “this is how I’m meant to look” and suddenly my too big non feminine size 11 feet feel more mine. My mom never let me dye my hair when I was younger when all my friends experimented with streaks of blue pink purple. So I go “why do in every game with a character creator do I give myself dark cherry red hair” so I dye my hair and now go “this is the hair I was meant to have” . My mom never wore makeup so I never learned. Now when I put on my mascara and see the pop I go this is what it’s supposed to be. And my friends say I seem different, more confident. I feel this surge of joy when they go omg I love your hair I love your nails. Which brings us finally back to glow and NHS. Tara knew Maddy wasn’t her, there was a different girl that wasn’t who she was. It wasn’t gender dysphoria it was body dysmorphia. If a trans woman looks at herself in the mirror and doesn’t like what she sees and then makes changes to be more femme, then the only difference between a trans and a cis woman on that femme to masc scale is the starting point. So I feel like I’ve had a an egg crack on “oh this feeling you’ve never been able to quite name is body dysmorphia” and like you said in the video the only reason they make a distinction is “cause you’re trans”. A cis woman gets a boob job a man makes himself taller or gets hair implants, it’s all the same thing, it’s changing things to affirm your presentation, but the world draws this distinction on what changes count as “gender affirming”. They harp on where you’re starting and what’s in your pants. So yeah when I had that eureka moment and thought of your section in the NHS video I was like “I don’t know if I would have gotten to this conclusion without Abbi” and now that I recognize it …. There’s still time, I can make myself look the way I want to look. I can find the pretty confident me that’s been in there all along.

this rules haha, you're FTF, cisgender in a transgender way, congrats lol!