#123 lets ask
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some stuff from Twitter that i havent posted here
#captain underpants#the epic tales of captain underpants#george beard#harold hutchins#bo hweemuth#migors funny doings#do not ask what happened to day 121#lets just say.......they twiddled their fingers /REF#also this is a reminder i havent done day 123 and i actually had a banger ideas 2 days before but i forgot what it was FUCK!!!!!!!!!!!!
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What does it say about me that my favorite parts of the Shadow Generations animations is Omega officially becoming my new favorite trigger-happy psychopath and unironically saying "I call dibs" in his usual monotone?
#sonic x shadow generations#e 123 omega#let this man slay#also just the whole thing in part three where the commander goes 'you could've just asked'#absolute peak
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After reading your post for spoilers 123 I can now see why I never saw their relationship being romantic from Aquas side. I agree Aqua is seen treating Kana the same way he treated Sarina as well. He supports both by encouraging them saying he'll be their fan. He calls them both cute kinda like teasing with them and their looks are so similar too. They are both shown to like him. Remember when Ruby said he acts more like his old self around Kana can that be why....they kinda interact the same as well? If it goes to a romantic route for Aqua and Kana I really wouldn't know how to feel it would kinda feel forced. Not to mention all the Ai connections to Kana also!
Allow me to add some panels to everything you've said anon!
I'm with you, it makes perfect sense to me and now I can not unsee it. It's also the one interpretation that triggers the less cognitive-dissonance for me, the only loose end being Kana's romantic feelings for Aqua and all the emphasis they've gotten.
But I'm starting to think I may have gotten my Ai-Kana thing backwards. I thought that by figuring out his feelings for Ai, he would figure out his feelings for Kana. Now I'm wondering if it may not be the other way around.
After all, remember the first chapter?
Goro's feelings for Ai were perfectly platonic in his mind, there was no doubt whatsoever to him. The doubt arises when the nurse asks him what he would do if Ai asked him out.
From there onwards, Goro is no longer sure of what he feels for Ai. I believe that the same ambiguousness may be present in his current feelings for Kana. And it just so happens that through Kana's romantic feelings for him—and through the way she seems to be his Oshi—Aqua could actually face the same question that was presented to Goro in the first chapter. If this happens, he may finally be able to confirm what he felt for Ai as his Idol.
#onk asks convos#me: aqua and kana#I ran really quick and grabbed all the panels from a follow-up post I have in my drafts#thank you anon for giving me an excuse to get all this out there because it's been living rent free in my head since 123#if we're wrong then we're wrong but let it be said that it makes sense lmao
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random tyt hc, will started the 123 lgb chant
OH MY GOD. YES. YESYSELKDJFLSDF I LOVE THIS. CANON.
#i honestly always found it kind of funny that like the whole rep era was essentially started by kanye calling her a bitch#like in its most simplified way obvi there was more than that#and then the chant that started at the rep tour was 123 lets go bitch#like idk it's kinda funny but i think that's so canon and it 100% happened#wrongcaitlyn#talk ur talk asks
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YOU CANNOT CONSUME EVERYTHING IF I DESTROY IT FIRST! HA. HA. HA.
-- @ask-e123-omega
Ruins and ashes are matter all the same. Destroy all you wish. I will consume nonetheless.
And, for the record....
You are just as mortal as the "meatbags" you look down upon. You, too, are doomed to rot.
#[omegaaaaaa lets goooooo]#-- mod nothing#Mortals. (asks)#ask the all consuming void#e-123 omega#e 123 omega#the end#caps tw#anonymous#🌑
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hiii! i absolutely love your username!!
Thank youuu!!! 🤧 but don’t even get me started on yours, it’s simply poetic 🥸🍷
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How did 123LGB start tho?
A fan at one of the Reputation shows filmed herself randomly screaming that during Delicate, it went viral amongst Swifties and the audiences started doing it during the song, and now it is both Swiftie and local canon 😂
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sera's kinktober masterlist 2024
𝐤𝐢��𝐤𝐭𝐨𝐛𝐞𝐫 𝐫𝐞𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐬 : 𝐜𝐥𝐨𝐬𝐞𝐝
how? send an ask, pairing a driver with the available day! ↳ example: "hi! can I request [driver] + [day #___]?"
𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫'𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐬
✮ the posting schedule will be from october to november. i was unable to write as much as i wanted to for this because of familial matters i can’t discuss, i hope you guys understand! 🥲
✮ AHHH!! my first kinktober ever, so please don't be too harsh :,) ✮ please note that some of these works/chapters contain content and kinks that might not be your cup of tea, please do not click on something that you're not comfortable with ✮ i will only write a maximum of 4 fics for each driver (so that there won't be too many of each driver) ✮ this list will be a mix of full fics and drabbles. ✮ some of the days here already have drivers assigned, but rest assured majority of these are up for grabs!
𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐞 𝐢𝐧𝐟𝐨 𝐮𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐜𝐮𝐭!
what days are available? ↳ i will remove the days that have already been taken. ✮ day 3 - biting (requested by anon) ✮ day 9 - lap dance (requested by anon) ✮ day 11 - temperature play (requested by anon) ✮ day 12 - mutual masturbation (requested by anon) ✮ day 13 - deepthroating (requested by anon) ✮ day 15 - begging (requested by anon) ✮ day 17 - dacryphilia (requested by anon) ✮ day 19 - bondage (requested by anon) ✮ day 20 - ass worship (requested by @cleopatrick-123) ✮ day 21 - breeding (requested by anon) ✮ day 22 - orgasm denial (requested by anon) ✮ day 23 - overstimulation (requested by @nandolonso) ✮ day 24 - voyeurism (requested by anon) ✮ day 25 - nipple play (requested by @bad268) ✮ day 26 - wax play (requested by anon) ✮ day 28 - public sex (requested by @menagerofmischief) ✮ day 29 - hair pulling (requested by @nepobbylver)
day 1 (october 1st) - humiliation kink with sebastian vettel | "don't cover your mouth, let them hear it liebling."
synopsis - sebastian rewarding his ever so hard-working secretary
𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝 𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞
day 2 (october 3rd) - threesome with lando norris & oscar piastri | "look osc, she's taking it so well"
synopsis - what happens when lando catches y/n and oscar in a rather... compromising position?
𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝 𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞
day 3 (october 5th) - biting with oscar piastri | “jesus fuck, are you are a vampire or something?”
synopsis - biting has weirdly always been a part of y/n's love language, what happens when she bites oscar where he's a little bit more than just sensitive?
𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝 𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞
day 4 (october 7th) - overstimulation with lando norris | "be a good girl f'me, i know you can take another round"
synopsis - win celebrations look a little different for lando norris this time around
𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝 𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞
day 5 (october 9th) - jealous sex with oscar piastri | "i don't have to be inside you to make you feel good."
synopsis - oscar and his jealous tendencies can lead to some... eventful consequences
𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝 𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞
day 6 (october 11th) - daddy kink with jenson button | "spread your legs for daddy, i wanna see you"
synopsis - art and money have always been the two constants in y/n's life, what happens when those two constants result in a sugar daddy who happens to own an art gallery?
𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝 𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞
day 7 (october 13th) - hate fucking with lance stroll | "this is what you wanted, isn't it? to prove you're better than me?"
synopsis - the fashion industry has always been a dog-eat-dog world or a rival-fuck-rival world (for lance and y/n, at least)
𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝 𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞
day 8 (october 15th) - sensory deprivation with fernando alonso | "don’t argue mi princesa, just put the blindfold on.”
synopsis - fernando always loved the way silk looked on y/n he loved how it hugged her figure, he loved how it would make her look like a goddess, whether it was the dress he bought for her or her wearing nothing the silk blindfold
𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝 𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞
day 9 (october 17th) - lap dance with daniel ricciardo | “fuck, keep moving like that and i’ll bend you over the bar.”
synopsis - what happens when y/n does a simple dance routine that turns into something dirtier?
𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝 𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞
day 10 (october 19th) - mirror sex with george russell | "look at yourself, so gorgeous."
synopsis - ever since y/n and george started spending some weekends on the boat, she has always wondered why he needed to have a mirror on the wall and on the ceiling of the bedroom
𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝 𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞
day 11 (october 21st) - temperature play with kimi raikkonen | “didn’t i tell you to stay still?”
synopsis - y/n knew that marrying the so-called "iceman" of formula 1 certainly has its hot and cold times, especially when it's kimi using ice cubes in the bedroom
𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝 𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞
day 12 (october 23rd) - mutual masturbation with charles leclerc | "show me how you like it, i want to see you squirm."
synopsis - who knew that watching 50 shades of grey with your best friend could end so well?
𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝 𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞
day 13 (october 25th) - deepthroat with max verstappen | “you look so pathetic like this.”
synopsis - max can't seem to escape the norris' after that terrible race in Austria. The only difference? Y/n was actually worth Max's time (and stamina)
𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝 𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞
day 14 (october 27th) - tattoos with lewis hamilton | "i didn't know you got a spine tattoo."
synopsis - a little rain never hurt anyone... not until lewis almost breaks y/n's back (in a good way)
𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝 𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞
day 15 (october 29th) - begging with charles leclerc | "you look so adorable like this, begging for me."
synopsis - a bad day at work and a good fiance would and will always end well
𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝 𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞
day 16 (october 31st) - lingerie with carlos sainz | "turn around, for me hermosa? i want to see the back again."
synopsis - spending 23 grand on a shopping spree? that's something only y/n can do, but of course the money spent will always be worth it, especially when she gets something that can benefit her and carlos
𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝 𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞
day 17 (november 2nd) - dacryphilia with ollie bearman | “you’re so pretty with tears in your eyes.”
synopsis
𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝 𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞
day 18 (november 4th) - spanking with charles leclerc | "feel that? that's for flirting with fucking team mate."
synopsis
𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝 𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞
day 19 (november 6th) - bondage with lewis hamilton | "look at you, all helpless and desperate."
synopsis
𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝 𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞
day 20 (november 8th) - ass worship with logan sargeant | “babe, just sit on my face oh my god.”
synopsis
𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝 𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞
day 21 (november 10th) - breeding with logan sargeant | "i'm going to fill you up so well baby"
synopsis
𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝 𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞
day 22 (november 12th) - orgasm denial with sebastian vettel | “you won’t be cumming, not unless i tell you to.”
synopsis
𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝 𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞
day 23 (november 14th) - edging with fernando alonso | "you can't handle this, can you?"
synopsis
𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝 𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞
day 24 (november 16th) - voyeurism with oscar piastri | “don’t let my presence stop you, keep going.”
synopsis
𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝 𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞
day 25 (november 18th) - nipple play with ollie bearman | “what’s that poking through your shirt?”
synopsis
𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝 𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞
day 26 (november 20th) - wax play with charles leclerc | "close your eyes and let me take control, mon cheri. i'll decide where the wax goes."
synopsis
𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝 𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞
day 27 (november 22nd) - size difference with ollie bearman | "i want you to feel every vein and every inch of my cock."
synopsis
𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝 𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞
day 28 (november 24th) - public sex with oscar piastri | “are you crazy? what if we get caught?”
synopsis
𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝 𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞
day 29 (november 26th) - hair pulling with carlos sainz | "you like that don't you?"
synopsis
𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝 𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞
day 30 (november 28th) - food play with lewis hamilton | "you taste so fucking sweet baby."
synopsis
𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝 𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞
day 31 (november 30th) - oral fixation with daniel ricciardo | "suck on it, show me how much you want it."
synopsis
𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝 𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞
#sera write's#f1#formula 1#formula one#f1 x reader#f1 x female reader#f1 imagines#f1 smut#f1 fic#f1 imagine#charles leclerc x reader#carlos sainz x reader#max verstappen x reader#fernando alonso x reader#ollie bearman x reader#lewis hamilton x reader#lando norris x reader#oscar piastri x reader#daniel ricciardo x reader#george russell x reader#lance stroll x reader#logan sargent x reader#jenson button x reader
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one night part 2
summary: one night with Max left a problem that you didn't talk to him about
warnings: nothing i think
word counter: 9788
author’s note: english is not my first language
tags: @seasonswinter @spngirl05 @seonghwaexile @sleutherclaw @hc-dutch @96mcobo @g3org1al33 @rawr-123s-stuff @callsignwidow @mid5nights @htpssgavi
After that first dinner and walk, Max became a constant presence in your life again, as if time hadn't passed and everything could be as simple as before. At first, you told yourself it was nothing, just chance encounters between two old friends who had met again after a long time. But, with every message that arrived on your phone, with every offer of coffee, a walk or even help with shopping for the baby, his presence slowly began to integrate into your daily routine.
Mornings, which used to be quiet and lonely, were filled with unexpected visitors. Max would appear with two coffees in hand, as if he had memorized your schedule and knew exactly when you needed him. Sometimes, you would find him waiting for you outside the store where you had spent the last half hour choosing clothes for the baby, with a smile that seemed to light up everything.
The days passed between small shared activities. Walks along the port of Monaco, strolls through the cobblestone streets of the old town, even visits to shops specialising in baby things, where he seemed to move with unexpected ease, commenting on how nice this or that would be. In those moments, everything seemed easy, almost natural, as if he had always been there, as if he had never left.
At first, you refused to think about what that meant. You didn't want to analyse it. It was easier to go with the flow, to enjoy the company without questioning it too much. However, the more time you spent with him, the more you began to notice the small changes around you.
The time you used to spend by yourself was filled with his presence. The moments of solitude in which you used to think about your baby's future were now coloured by his voice, his gestures, his laughter on those night walks in which the silence between you became comfortable, but charged with a tension that you both pretended not to notice.
At the same time, the closeness began to awaken something in you, something you had tried to bury since that night when everything changed. Every time his eyes fell on you, every time his attention focused on your pregnancy, a part of you was torn between the need to protect that secret and the almost uncontrollable desire to tell him the truth.
But you resisted. You knew you shouldn't let the illusion grow. He had a life, a stable relationship. You didn't want to be the person to tear that down, even inadvertently.
Despite your efforts to maintain an emotional distance, there were times when you found it impossible to ignore how easy it was to be with him. Max had become a constant. He was there in the small moments and the big ones, offering you support without you having to ask for it, reminding you, unintentionally, of what once was and what, in a different world, could have been.
However, as the days went by, you began to notice a change in him as well. There was something in his gaze, a mix of nostalgia and curiosity, as if he was looking for something in you that he couldn't quite find. It was subtle, almost imperceptible, but it was there, beating in every encounter, in every gesture, in every word you shared.
And although you tried to convince yourself that everything was temporary, that he would soon realize that he had to return completely to his life, you couldn't help but wonder how long that fragile routine could hold up before something, or someone, broke it completely.
During those days between coffees and walks, the specific day arrived when you had decided to start decorating the baby's room. You wanted it to be a reflection of you, of your story, of everything you loved and that you would one day share with your son. And Max was not far behind.
Max appeared just as you began to move boxes and unpack small objects that you had been accumulating in the last few months. Without even asking you, he took off his jacket, rolled up his shirt sleeves, and started helping you. “You don’t have to,” you wanted to tell him, but he was already there, moving furniture, opening cans of paint, and asking where you wanted to put everything.
The room, which until then had been an empty room with white walls and a light wooden floor, slowly began to transform into something warmer, more personal. You had chosen soft shades of blue, a mix between the clear sky and the calm sea, a palette that reminded you of freedom and speed, of your love for cars, that same love that had been with you since childhood.
Max helped you measure the walls, choose where to hang the pictures of small classic cars you had bought at a local store, and even offered to assemble the crib, a piece of light wood that you had chosen for its simplicity and elegance.
“Are you sure you want everything to revolve around cars?” he asked you at one point, with an amused smile as he held up a small mobile with figures of tiny cars and stars.
“Completely sure,” you replied, also smiling. To you, there was nothing more symbolic than that. Cars represented movement, speed, freedom… everything you hoped your son would find in his life.
Hours passed between laughter, conversation and work. Max seemed to enjoy the process as much as you did, even suggesting ideas you would never have considered. It was his idea to put up a bookshelf shaped like a racetrack for the children’s books you had already started collecting. And he was also the one who insisted on putting down a dark blue rug with details of racetracks, which fit perfectly with the theme of the room.
As the afternoon progressed, the room began to take shape. The crib was in the center, next to a white dresser in which you had already started to store small clothes and blankets. On the main wall, you placed a mural of a starry sky, with a racing car crossing the horizon, something that Max had suggested when he saw your sketches.
“It’s perfect,” you said quietly, looking at the final result. The room was no longer just a room; it was a space filled with life, with dreams, with promises for the future.
Max was silent for a moment, standing next to you, looking around the room with an expression that was a mix of pride and something else, something you couldn’t quite put your finger on. His eyes scanned every corner, as if he were trying to memorize it, as if that place meant something more to him than he was willing to admit.
“It’ll be fine,” he finally murmured, breaking the silence. “All this… being a mother. I can tell you’re ready now.”
His words made your chest tighten. You weren’t sure if you really were, but hearing that from someone who knew you so well, who had been by your side through so many important moments, gave you a sense of calm, that maybe, just maybe, everything would work out.
The afternoon began to turn into night, and as you gathered up your tools and cleaned up the last traces of paint, you realized how natural it all felt. As if it had always been this way, as if Max had always been by your side to help you build something bigger than yourself.
But you knew that the reality was more complicated. That, as much as you both enjoyed those small moments shared, there was a latent truth between you, a truth that would one day have to come to light. For now, however, you allowed yourself to enjoy the moment, the warmth that filled the room and Max's constant presence.
And although everything seemed to be peaceful for both of you, in Max's case it wasn't like that. The change didn't happen overnight, but Kelly, with her keen intuition, began to notice Max's absence from home more often than usual. At first, she didn't give it much importance. Max had always had a busy schedule, between meetings, events and commitments related to his career. But this time, something was different.
The “meetings” outside the house began to become more constant. It wasn’t just about professional commitments anymore. There were nights when he came back late, with a lame excuse, a quick smile, and a distracted kiss.
“Max, meeting again?” she asked one night, her tone casual but her eyes attentive as she watched him adjust his watch in front of the mirror.
“Yeah, nothing important. Just a couple of things pending with the sponsors,” he answered, without looking up. The excuse came out too easily, as if he had already prepared it.
Kelly nodded slowly, but her eyes followed him as he collected his keys and walked out the door. She knew something didn’t fit. Work meetings usually happened during the day, not at this time.
The days continued, and with them, the distance between them became more evident. Max was no longer spending as much time at home, and when he was, he seemed distracted, his attention divided between her, Kelly's stepdaughter, and something or someone else that Kelly couldn't see but felt more and more intensely.
One night, after Max came home late again, the inevitable argument erupted in the kitchen, where silence used to be their refuge but had now become a battleground.
“What’s going on, Max?” Kelly asked, her voice firm, though she tried to remain calm. She was leaning against the edge of the counter, her arms crossed and her gaze fixed on him.
Max, surprised by the direct confrontation, looked up from his phone, where he had been absentmindedly checking messages. “What do you mean? Nothing’s wrong.”
“Don’t lie to me. You’re going out more and more often, you’re late, and your excuses don’t make sense. Are these really “meetings”? Because it doesn’t seem like it.”
He sighed, running a hand through his hair in a gesture that betrayed his discomfort. “You’re overreacting. You know how it is. There are always things to be resolved.”
“There have always been things to be resolved, but you’ve never been so… absent. You’re not even here when you’re home, Max.” You're distant. Is there something you're not telling me?
The words hung in the air, charged with a tension that Max tried to dispel with a tired smile.
"You're imagining things. There's nothing more."
But she wasn't convinced. The arguments began to become more frequent, small daily battles that undermined the relationship. Kelly watched him closely, every look, every gesture, looking for answers that he wasn't willing to give her.
Meanwhile, Max continued to spend more and more time with you. The baby's room was almost finished, and casual walks had become common. The connection they shared had strengthened, as if the months of distance had never existed. For Max, those moments were a respite from the tension he felt at home, a refuge where things seemed simpler, more real.
Kelly, however, was not oblivious to those changes. She knew something was happening, and although she had no concrete proof, she could feel it in every fiber of her being. Suspicion became a constant presence, a shadow that accompanied her during the day and kept her awake at night.
One evening, while Max was out, Kelly checked his phone. It wasn’t something she usually did, but the uncertainty was consuming her. She found no compromising messages, but something that caught her attention: a couple of recent map searches, all directed to the same address… yours.
Kelly slowly closed the phone, her mind racing. She had no clear confirmation, but something inside her clicked. She knew there was something more between Max and you.
That night, when Max returned, she didn’t say anything. She watched him silently, trying to read him, looking for a sign that would confirm her suspicions. But he, as always, was calm, as if everything was under control.
Kelly wasn’t one to give up easily. She knew time would give her the answer she was looking for.
Days later, the sky had turned gray early in the morning, and the rain fell with a calm persistence, hitting the windows of your house. The sound was almost soothing, a constant accompaniment as you and Max worked on the final details of the baby's room. The room was almost finished, soft blue tones filled the space, and car-inspired decorations hung precisely on the walls.
It had been your idea to include a small shelf with miniature cars, a subtle reference to the passion you both shared for speed and racing. He had brought some from his personal collection, something you hadn't expected but that excited you more than you wanted to admit.
“This one will be perfect here,” Max commented, holding up a silver car that gleamed under the soft lamplight.
“Yeah… perfect,” you murmured, your attention more on him than on the shelf.
It was inevitable. There was something about him, the way his hands moved with precision as he adjusted every detail, that caught you. And the worst of all was the closeness, the familiarity that had blossomed again between the two of you. It felt like it hadn’t been months since you were last like this: comfortable, in sync, like two puzzle pieces that fit together perfectly.
Max reached over to place the car on the shelf, right next to your hand. His fingers brushed yours, barely a touch, but enough for an electric current to run through your skin. It was a brief touch, insignificant to anyone who had seen it, but to you, it was so much more than that.
You looked up, meeting his blue eyes. They were close, too close. You could see the intensity in them, that glow that had always captured you and now seemed stronger than ever. The space between you was filled with a palpable tension, one that made the air in the room seem thicker.
For a moment, neither of you said anything. The silence became complicit, letting the rain be the only sound that filled the room. Max's breathing mixed with yours, and you could feel the heat of his body so close to yours.
One more step.
You knew that if either of you took one more step, if you crossed that thin line that separated you, there would be no turning back. And part of you wanted it. You wanted to lose yourself in that moment, to let everything else disappear.
Max looked down, watching your lips for a fraction of a second. It was subtle, but you noticed it. You felt your heart race, your hands tremble slightly as you tried to keep yourself busy with the cars on the shelf.
“Max…” you murmured, breaking the silence. You weren’t sure what you were going to say, but you needed to say something, anything to cut that tension before it was too late.
“I’m sorry,” he said, taking a step back, though his voice sounded hesitant, like a part of him didn’t want to walk away. His eyes didn’t leave yours.
“It’s okay,” you replied, forcing a smile that didn’t reach your eyes. It wasn’t okay. Nothing was okay, because you both knew what had happened in that instant. What had almost happened.
You focused back on the cars, lining them up perfectly on the shelf, though your hands were shaking. You felt Max’s gaze on you, like he was waiting for something more, like there was still a part of him that was resisting leaving the room.
“Maybe I should go,” he finally said, his voice low, almost a whisper.
You nodded without looking at him, because you knew that if you did, if you looked into his eyes one more time, all that self-control you had managed to muster would crumble. “Yeah… maybe that’s for the best.”
Max stayed a few more seconds, silent, before finally walking towards the door. You heard him open it, the sound of the rain intensifying for a moment before he closed it behind him.
And when you were left alone, with the rain as your only company, you allowed yourself to breathe. A deep, shaky breath, as if you had been holding your breath all this time. You knew that things were getting more complicated than you had anticipated.
When Max arrived home the air still smelled of rain, and a few drops remained on his jacket as he closed the door carefully, trying not to make noise. He didn’t want another argument. Lately, things with Kelly had been tense. Too much. Every little absence, every exit, seemed to become the trigger for a new fight. And though he insisted that everything was under control, she knew things were far from okay.
Kelly sat on the couch, her gaze fixed on her cell phone, but Max knew immediately that she was waiting. She always did. She waited for him to arrive, as if every night was a test, a chance to confirm her suspicions. Hearing the click of the door, she raised her head and watched him.
“You’re late again,” she said, not raising her voice too much, but with that tone that Max knew well. It was the calm before the storm.
“Yeah, I was just fixing some stuff,” he replied, taking off his jacket and leaving it on a nearby chair. He walked into the kitchen, looking for something to drink, any excuse not to stay still under that scrutinizing gaze.
“What stuff?” Kelly insisted, putting his phone aside and crossing his arms.
“Just… some pending stuff with a friend,” he said, trying to sound casual. But he knew he wouldn’t succeed. Kelly always had a way of seeing beyond, of noticing when something didn’t fit.
The silence stretched for a few seconds, and Max felt the air become thicker. Finally, Kelly got up from the couch and walked towards him with the phone in her hand.
“A friend?” she repeated, her tone now tinged with disbelief. Her blue eyes were fixed on him, but this time not with affection, but with a mix of distrust and something deeper, something Max wasn’t sure he wanted to identify. She picked up her phone, screen lit, and showed it to him.
Max felt his stomach tighten at the sight of the image on the screen. It wasn’t a compromising photo, there was nothing objectively wrong with it. It was a simple snapshot, taken without much thought, during one of the days he’d spent helping you decorate the baby’s room. In the picture, there was you, in profile, placing some small cars on the shelf while he watched from the background. The soft light of dusk came through the window, giving the scene an unexpected warmth.
“What’s this, Max?” Kelly asked, her voice firm but restrained, as if she was trying to remain calm.
Max took a breath. “It’s just a photo. It doesn’t mean anything. I was helping a friend.”
“The one from the other day?” he repeated, raising an eyebrow. His gaze grew sharper. “Since when do you spend so much time with that ‘friend’? Since when do you stay up late helping her?”
Max closed his eyes for a moment, feeling the situation crumble in front of him. “It’s not what you think, Kelly. I was just helping with her baby’s room.”
“The baby?” The word seemed to hang in the air. Kelly took a step back, looking at him with a mix of surprise and suspicion. “Why do you care so much about that baby, Max? Why are you so involved?”
Max ran a hand through his hair, sensing that the conversation was taking a dangerous turn. “Because she’s someone who was important to me… and still is. I’ve known her since we were kids, that’s all.”
Kelly watched him in silence for a few seconds, her gaze searching for something in his eyes, some sign, some hidden truth. Finally, she put the phone down on the table with a thud.
“You’re not telling me everything,” she stated, her voice now laden with a certainty that made him feel uncomfortable. “There’s something else. I know.”
Max tried to get closer, but she took a step back, creating a physical distance that seemed to symbolize something much deeper.
“There’s nothing more,” she insisted, but even to him it sounded weak. He knew the seed of mistrust had already been planted, and was now beginning to take root.
She looked at him for a moment longer, and then, without saying anything, she turned and walked out of the room, leaving Max alone, the rain still pattering softly against the windows.
She slumped into a chair, resting her elbows on her knees and rubbing her temples with her hands. He knew this was just the beginning. The tension in his relationship with Kelly had been building for weeks, and now, with that photo, it had all come crashing down.
And the worst thing was, he couldn’t blame her. Because, deep down, Max knew his feelings for you weren’t as innocent as he’d wanted her to believe. And even though he hadn’t crossed that line, he was getting closer. Too close.
The next afternoon you were in your apartment, organizing some things in the baby's room, when your phone vibrated on the nightstand. It was a text from Max:
"Can I see you? I need to talk to you."
You knew something wasn’t right. You had felt the tension growing over the past few weeks. The outings, the talks, the closeness they had regained… it had all been an escape for both of them, a bubble in which the outside world didn’t exist. But reality always finds a way to break in.
You answered with a simple “yes” and minutes later, Max was knocking on your door. When you opened it, you found him with a tired face, his eyes duller than usual and his hands in the pockets of his jacket. He wasn’t the confident and serene Max you knew, but someone who was struggling with something he couldn’t control.
“Come in,” you said softly, stepping aside to let him in.
Max crossed the threshold, but didn’t move beyond the hall. He stood, looking around the room as if looking for something to give him peace, something that could sort out the chaos inside him. You closed the door and turned to him, waiting for him to speak.
“Kelly and I…” he began, his voice low, almost a whisper. “Things aren’t okay.”
It wasn’t a surprise, but still, hearing those words made your chest clench. You knew your presence had contributed to that tension, even though you didn’t mean to. Max ran a hand through his hair, a gesture he made when he was nervous.
“She confronted me about a picture… one of the times I was here,” he continued, looking at you with a mix of frustration and sadness. “It was nothing, you know. But for her it was enough. She thinks there’s something more.”
You crossed your arms, leaning against the door frame. You had waited for this moment, and now that it was here, you felt like everything was falling apart. You couldn’t allow yourself to be the cause of any more problems in her life. You couldn’t allow this situation to continue to progress.
“Max…” you began, your voice soft but firm. “This isn’t working.”
He frowned, taking a step towards you. “What do you mean?”
You took a deep breath, searching for the right words. “I mean… we should stop seeing each other. At least for a while.”
Max looked at you as if he hadn’t heard right, as if your words didn’t make sense. “Stop seeing each other? Why? We haven’t done anything wrong. I’m just here to help you.”
“I know,” you admitted, feeling the weight of each word. “But your relationship with Kelly is on the verge of collapse, Max. And my presence isn’t helping. I can’t be the reason why everything in your life falls apart.”
“You’re not the reason,” he replied quickly, almost as if he wanted to convince you as much as himself. “What’s going on with Kelly is… complicated. But it’s not your fault.”
His eyes searched yours, as if with one look he could change your mind. But you had already made up your mind. You couldn’t go on like this. You couldn’t be the cause of more pain, not for him, not for yourself.
“Max, you need space to sort out your life,” you said, standing your ground. “We can’t just keep going like nothing’s happening. Not when everything around you is falling apart.”
For a moment, it looked like he was going to insist, like he was going to find a reason to stay. But something in your gaze, in the firmness of your voice, stopped him. His shoulders slumped slightly, as if the weight of reality had finally caught up with him.
“I don’t want to lose you again,” he murmured, his voice heavy with emotion.
You felt your heart clench. You didn’t want to lose him either, but you knew it was for the best. For him. For you. For the baby.
“You’re not going to lose me,” you assured him, a small lump in your throat. “We just… need time. To think. To heal.”
Max nodded slowly, though his eyes reflected the internal battle he was fighting. He didn’t say anything else, just staring at you for a few more seconds, as if he wanted to burn your face into his memory.
Finally, he turned to the door. Before he walked out, he paused, one hand on the knob.
“If you ever need anything… I’ll be here,” he said, not looking at you.
“I know,” you replied softly.
And then, Max was gone, leaving behind him a feeling of emptiness that filled the entire space. You stood in the doorway, listening to the echo of the door closing, feeling the silence envelop you.
You leaned against the wall, closing your eyes for a moment. You knew you had made the right decision. But that didn’t make it hurt any less.
The weeks after your separation from Max were a whirlwind of emotions and silences. You had tried to keep yourself busy, focusing on the final preparations for the baby’s arrival and avoiding thinking about everything you had left behind. Every corner of your house seemed to be filled with recent memories: his laughter, his hands helping you hang the blue curtains in the baby’s room, the conversations you shared late at night while the world slept. But now, everything was quiet. Too quiet.
Then, one cold morning, the world you had been rebuilding changed forever.
You had been experiencing discomfort throughout the night, but you ignored it, thinking it was just signs of the end of pregnancy. You had read that many women experienced false alarms before the actual moment. However, when the pain became more intense and frequent, you knew it was time.
You took a deep breath, sitting on the edge of the bed, as the clock read 4:12 a.m. Your suitcase was packed, weeks in advance, in a corner of the room. You grabbed your phone with shaking hands and called your mother. Her voice, always calm, immediately calmed you down.
“I’m on my way,” she said with a firmness that made you feel like everything would be okay.
In less than half an hour, she and your father arrived to take you to the hospital. The streets of Monaco were deserted, the glow of the lights reflecting off the wet pavement from the nighttime drizzle. Everything seemed unreal, like the world was on pause as you headed into one of the most important moments of your life.
The hours at the hospital were a mix of anxiety, pain, and anticipation. Your best friend arrived shortly after and stayed by your side, holding your hand when the pain was unbearable. Doctors and nurses came and went, their faces kind but focused. You felt each contraction like a wave, bringing you closer and closer to the moment you would meet your son.
Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, you heard the first cry.
A loud, clear, life-filled cry. You gasped, tears filling your eyes as you looked at the little being who had just entered the world. Your son. Miles Emilian.
“He’s a healthy boy,” the doctor informed you with a smile as they placed the baby in your arms.
You looked at him, and in that instant, everything else disappeared. His small, pink face, his tiny hands clenched into a fist, his half-closed eyes that seemed to seek you out. You felt an immediate, deep connection, as if your whole life had been destined for this moment.
“Hello, little one,” you whispered in a broken voice, caressing his soft cheek. “Welcome.”
Your mother, at your side, couldn’t hold back her tears. Your father, always stoic, had his eyes shining with emotion. Your best friend took a photo, but not to publish it, but to keep it as an intimate memory of that moment.
The next few days in the hospital were a whirlwind of doctor visits, check-ups, and learning how to care for Miles. Your mother was with you the whole time, guiding you with the experience that only the years could give. Camille spent the afternoons with you, helping you plan how you would organize your new life.
You knew that this moment would change everything. Miles would become the center of your world, and you were prepared to face it alone, at least for now. You didn’t want anyone else to know. You didn’t want awkward questions, curious glances, or the inevitable murmur that would rise in Monaco if people found out you’d fathered a child without a known father figure.
You’d decided to keep this between those who truly mattered: your parents and Camille. The only family you needed right now.
One afternoon, as you cradled Miles in your arms in the room lit by the soft light of dusk, you thought about everything you’d gone through to get here. About Max, about what you’d shared, and how things had changed. You wondered if he would ever suspect the truth. But you shook your head. It wasn’t the time to think about that. Now, only Miles mattered.
You watched him sleep, his little chest rising and falling rhythmically, and you knew you had made the right choice.
This little being was your life now. Your greatest adventure. Your greatest love.
A few weeks after Miles was born, life was still slowly falling into place. You were at home, surrounded by the smell of freshly washed bottles and diapers, your head still reeling from the experience of being a first-time mother. Every day brought something new: Miles’ first bath, the first night he managed to sleep for two hours straight, and the first smile that barely appeared on his small, pink face.
Sometimes, as you cradled him in your arms, you wondered if you had done the right thing by keeping his existence a secret. But you quickly dismissed those thoughts. You had done it for everyone’s peace of mind, especially Max’s. You couldn’t afford to be another complication in his world.
As you sank into that bubble of motherhood, away from you, something was about to change.
Max was in his apartment, enjoying a quiet moment after an afternoon full of commitments. Kelly was out with his daughter, and he was taking advantage of that time to relax, answer some pending messages and review the preparations for his next race. He had tried to concentrate, but his mind kept coming back to you. Since you had decided to distance yourself, something inside him had been put on hold. A strange feeling that something important was being hidden from him.
Then, the phone rang.
It was Leo, a mutual friend of both of them. Max answered without thinking too much, imagining it would be a quick call about some event or meeting.
“Dude, how are you?” Leo greeted in his usual tone. “Are you still in Monaco? I heard that your life is pretty busy.”
“Yeah, you know, always running around.” Max smiled slightly, resting the phone on his ear while checking some emails. “What's new?”
“Nothing special… although, well, I found out something.”
Max arched an eyebrow, pushing the screen aside.
“Oh, yeah? What thing?”
Leo hesitated for a second, as if he wasn’t sure if he should say it. But in the end, curiosity won out.
“It’s about… Y/n. I heard she finally had her baby.”
Max’s heart skipped a beat.
“What?”
“Yeah, she had it a few days ago. I thought you knew.” Leo sounded confused. “They said the baby is beautiful… and everything went well. His name is Miles Emilian.”
Max fell silent, processing the information. You hadn’t mentioned anything. You hadn’t told him you’d already given birth.
“Are you sure?” he asked, trying to stay calm.
“Totally. The funny thing is… no one knows much about the father. Some people say the baby is from a night you never mentioned afterward, before you moved to London.” Leo laughed softly. “Maybe someone who preferred not to get involved.”
The words hung in the air, and something clicked in Max’s mind. A night you never mentioned. A night where things between you changed forever.
“Leo, thank you. I have to go.”
Max hung up before he heard a reply, his mind racing. Could it be possible? He’d been with you that night, and then… you walked away. And now, there was a baby. A baby you never talked about.
Without a second thought, Max walked out of his apartment, his heart pounding. He knew that if he wanted answers, he couldn’t go to you. You were too protective, too secretive. But your mother… she might know something.
He drove quickly to your parents’ house. The light rain was beginning to fall, covering the streets of Monaco with a thin layer of water. When he arrived, he knocked on the door harder than he intended. Anxiety and fear mixed within him.
It was your mother who opened it, surprised to see Max in the doorway.
“Max… what are you doing here?” she asked in a worried voice.
“I need to talk to you,” he said, bluntly. “It’s important.”
Your mother invited him in, closing the door behind him. Max walked into the living room, his mind full of questions and possibilities. He turned to her, his blue eyes shining brightly.
“I know she had the baby,” he said directly, without preamble. “And I need to know the truth. Is it mine?”
Your mother looked at him in surprise, but also with a look of guilt that she couldn’t hide.
“Max…”
“Please,” he interrupted her, his voice almost pleading. “I can’t go on without knowing.”
She sighed, crossing her arms over her chest. She had tried to protect you, but she knew this moment would come sooner or later.
“Yes, Max. Miles is your son.”
The words hit Max like a wave, stealing his breath. He stood still, taking in what he had just heard. He was a father. You had kept something so big, so important from him.
“Why didn’t she tell me?” he asked in a whisper, his eyes searching for answers.
“She thought it was for the best. She didn’t want to complicate your life… knowing you already had so much going on.”
Max clenched his fists, feeling a mix of anger, sadness, and confusion. He didn’t know what he would do now, but one thing was certain: he couldn’t walk away anymore. Miles was his son, and he would do everything in his power to be in his life.
From the moment he left your parents’ house, Max couldn’t think of anything but you. The revelation left him devastated, furious, and most of all, betrayed. How could you hide something so important from him? He had been willing to support you, to be present in your life, but he never imagined that behind that distance there was a secret that would change everything.
The car moved quickly through the streets of Monaco, crossing avenues wet from the recent rain. Night had fallen, and the city lights were reflected in the puddles that covered the asphalt. Max barely noticed the journey; his mind was focused on one thing: facing you.
When he arrived at your house, he didn't hesitate. He parked the car abruptly, got out in the light rain, and quickly climbed the stairs until he reached the door of your apartment. His heart was pounding, a mix of adrenaline, pain, and rage. He knocked hard on the door, almost as if demanding an immediate response.
Inside, you were rocking Miles in your arms, trying to calm him down after a long day. The sound of knocking on the door made you jump. You looked towards the entrance, out the window, a feeling of unease running through your body. You saw it.
With your heart racing, you left Miles in his crib and walked to the door. When you opened it, there was Max, soaked by the rain, his hair plastered to his forehead, his eyes lit up by a mix of fury and anguish.
"Max..." you whispered, but he didn't let you continue.
"How could you?" he said, his voice low but full of tension. He took a step forward, forcing you to step back into the apartment. He closed the door behind him without taking his eyes off you. “How could you hide from me that you had a son?”
The words fell like a slab on you. You knew this moment would come, but you never thought it would be like this, so sudden, so emotionally charged.
“Max, I…”
“No!” he interrupted you, raising a hand to stop any explanation. “I don’t want excuses. I want the truth.”
You took a deep breath, trying to stay calm as tears began to burn in your eyes.
“I thought I was doing the right thing…” you murmured, your voice breaking. “I thought it would be better for you. You have a life, Max. You have Kelly, her daughter, your career… I didn’t want to complicate things for you.”
He laughed, but it was a bitter laugh, full of disbelief.
“Better for me?” he repeated, taking a step closer to you. “You don’t think I had the right to decide that? He’s my son! He had the right to be here from the beginning, to see you go through all of this, to know him…”
You closed your eyes, feeling the weight of his words. You knew he was right, but you also knew you had acted with your heart, believing you were protecting him.
“I didn’t want you to feel trapped,” you said quietly, looking into his eyes for the first time. “I didn’t want you to feel forced to be here.”
Max stared at you, and for a moment, the fury in his eyes mixed with something deeper, something more painful.
“You would never have caught me,” he whispered. “Because I would have been here. I wanted to be here… with you.”
The silence stretched between the two of you, thick and charged with unresolved emotions. You could feel the tension in the air, every unspoken word, every repressed feeling.
“Max… I just wanted to protect you.” —Tears began to run down your cheeks. —I never wanted to hurt you.
He ran a hand through his wet hair, trying to calm himself, but his chest kept rising and falling rapidly. Pain. That was what he felt. Pain for having missed the first moments of his son’s life, for not being there for you when you needed him most.
—You didn’t have to protect me —he said at last, his voice softer but still firm. —You were my friend. I was always willing to be there for you… and now, I want to be here for my son.
His words were a promise, but also a declaration of intent. No matter what happened, no matter how complicated it was, Max wasn’t going to disappear from his son’s life.
You stood there in silence, heart pounding, knowing this was the point of no return. Max was here, and he wasn’t going to leave.
“He’s asleep,” you whispered, breaking the silence. “Do you want to see him?”
Max nodded slowly, his eyes still shining with a mix of emotions. You led him over to where Miles was sleeping peacefully in his crib, wrapped in a blue blanket. Max walked over, watching the little boy with a gaze that combined love, wonder, and a silent sadness for all he’d missed.
Max stood there, standing over the crib, watching Miles with an intensity that made you hold your breath. For a few seconds, the world seemed to stop as he took in every detail of the sleeping little face.
Miles had soft, light hair, a small, upturned nose, and those rounded cheeks that still held the blush of a newborn. His small hands were relaxed, resting next to his face, completely oblivious to the storm of emotions his arrival had brought.
After a long silence, Max spoke, his voice low and heavy with emotion:
“He looks like me… when I was little.” An almost imperceptible smile curved his lips as his eyes remained fixed on his son.
You looked at him, and even though you had noticed it before, you were still amazed at how much Miles reflected his father. You nodded softly, your eyes filling with tears once again.
“Yes…” you whispered, your voice shaking. “He has your eyes… and that little wrinkle on his forehead when he frowns.”
Max let out a soft laugh, more of a sigh. He didn’t take his eyes off Miles, as if he were trying to memorize every feature, every little detail that had been taken from him during those first few weeks of life.
You stood by his side, watching the scene you had imagined so many times but feared would never happen. And then, guilt took hold of you again, so strong that you could barely breathe.
“Max…” you murmured, breaking the silence.
He looked up at you, his blue eyes filled with a mix of feelings you couldn’t quite decipher: pain, tenderness, confusion.
“I’m so sorry.” The words came out in a whisper, full of sincerity. “There is no excuse that justifies what I did. I took you away from something that was also yours, and I know I hurt you… I never wanted to do it, but I did, and I’m sorry… with all my heart.”
Max watched you in silence for a moment, his eyes searching yours, trying to understand the depth of your words.
“You thought you were doing the right thing, didn’t you?” he said finally, with unexpected calm.
You nodded, biting your lip to hold back your tears.
“I thought I was protecting you… and that I was protecting Miles too. But now I know I was wrong. I should have told you the truth from the start.”
Max sighed, running a hand over her face as she moved away from the crib a little, crossing her arms over her chest.
“I don’t know if I can forgive you right away…” she admitted honestly. “This… is a lot. But I want to try. For him.”
His words were a blow, but also a hope. You didn’t expect everything to be fixed in one night, but the fact that he was willing to try meant more than you could express.
“That’s all I can ask for…” you said quietly, with a mix of relief and sadness.
Max nodded, her gaze returning once more to the crib, where Miles shifted slightly, letting out a small sigh before settling back into deep sleep.
“He deserves us to be here.” “Both of you.” Max looked at you again, and this time, there was a determination in his eyes that you hadn’t seen before. “And I’m going to be here. No matter what happens, I’m his father, and I’m going to be there in his life.”
You stayed silent, letting his words sink in. He stood a moment longer by the crib, watching Miles as if the entire world revolved around that tiny being. Then, with a deep sigh, he moved away slightly and leaned against the wall, crossing his arms. You could see the conflict on his face: the internal struggle between the pain you had caused him and the decision he was about to make.
Finally, he spoke, his voice firm but tinged with vulnerability.
“I can’t keep living a lie.” His words were direct, almost like a whisper, but heavy with weight. He looked at you, his blue eyes holding yours with an intensity that made you hold your breath. “Kelly and I… it’s over.”
Your heart stopped for a second. You hadn’t expected that, not so soon, not under these circumstances. You gripped the edge of the table next to you, seeking some stability as you processed what he had just said.
“Max…” you started, but he held up a hand, stopping you.
“Let me finish.” He pushed away from the wall and took a couple of steps towards you. “I’ve been thinking about this for weeks. Even before I knew the truth about Miles. Kelly is a good person, but our relationship has been falling apart, and now I understand why.” He paused, his gaze darkening for a moment. “I can’t be with her while my heart is here… with you and our son.”
His words hit you like a storm. You had dreamed of this moment, but not under these conditions. You didn’t want to be the cause of a breakup, or the reason for her pain.
“Max, I don’t want you to make a hasty decision…” you said cautiously, your voice shaking. “I don’t want to be the reason you break up with Kelly. It’s your life, and I don’t want you to feel like you have to do this out of obligation.”
He shook his head, moving even closer, until he was just a step away.
“It’s not because I have to. It’s because I want to.” His voice was low but full of conviction. “I love you. I loved you before, even when things got complicated between us. And now, more than ever, I want to be here, with you. I want to be a father to Miles, and I want him to know that his parents love him and are in this together.”
Your eyes filled with tears again, this time from the mix of emotions overwhelming you: fear, relief, hope. You didn’t want to allow yourself to dream of a perfect future, but Max was offering it to you, even in the midst of all the confusion.
“But what if it doesn’t work out?” you asked in a small voice. “What if all this just makes things worse?”
Max moved a little closer, until his hand found yours. He held it firmly, as if he wanted to assure you that he wasn’t planning on letting go.
“I don’t know.” “He was honest, and that somehow reassured you. “But what I do know is that I don’t want to move forward without trying. I want to be a part of your life, Miles’, every step of the way.”
His words cut deep, but fear still resided in your chest. You knew that nothing would be easy, and that you would both have to work hard to repair the wounds and build something new. But at the same time, his determination and love were an anchor that kept you firm.
“Max.” You took a deep breath, looking at your joined hands. “If this is what you really want…”
He nodded, squeezing your hand gently.
“One step at a time,” he said, his lips curling into a small smile. “I’m still angry, though.”
The weight of the decision seemed to have lightened a little with those words. Max was willing to do whatever it took to be by your side, and you, for the first time in a long time, allowed yourself to believe that maybe, just maybe, you could have the family you’d always wanted.
After that, it wasn’t more than a week until Max told you. It was a quiet afternoon, one of those where the rain fell softly and the world seemed slower. You were sitting on the couch, with Miles asleep on your chest, his rhythmic and calm breathing filling the silence of the apartment. You had lit a vanilla-scented candle, trying to give your home a warmth that sometimes seemed elusive.
Max arrived as he did lately, unannounced but always welcome. He knocked on the door softly before entering, as if he knew that any loud sound could disrupt the peace that reigned in the small space. He found you there, with the baby in your arms, and a tired smile appeared on his face.
“I’m done with Kelly,” he said, his voice calm but firm, as if he were releasing a burden he had carried for too long.
You didn't say anything at first. You just nodded slowly, looking into his eyes that searched for a reaction in yours. You knew that moment would come, but now that it was here, you didn't feel the need to say much. You weren't going to keep getting involved in it. It was his life, his decision, and although you knew the situation was complex, you also understood that it wasn't your place to intervene more than necessary.
"Do you want to hold him?" you asked softly, changing the subject as you pointed at Miles, who was still sleeping peacefully.
Max nodded and approached with a gentleness that always surprised you. He took Miles in his arms as if he were the most fragile and precious thing he had ever held. The baby moved slightly, but didn't wake, settling against his father's chest naturally.
The next few days became a silent but comforting routine. Max began to spend more and more time with you and Miles, almost as if he had never been away. He would arrive in the mornings with coffee in hand and a bag of food or things he thought might help you: diapers, bottles, even toys that Miles was still too small to use.
You watched him transform before your eyes. Every day he spent with Miles, he showed you what a good father he was, even in those little details that you had previously underestimated. He would get up when the baby cried, rock him until he calmed down, and look at him with a mix of love and wonder that broke your heart.
One afternoon, while Max was on the floor playing with Miles—although the baby was just beginning to notice the toys in front of him—you stopped for a moment to watch them. Max was talking to him, although Miles only responded with laughter and babbling. It was a scene so simple, but so powerful, that you couldn't help but feel a pang of regret.
Why didn't you tell him before?
That question had become a constant shadow in your mind. You had your reasons, you knew. You thought you were protecting him, yourself, everyone. But now, watching Max give himself over to his son, you understood that you had stolen something priceless from him.
There was one night in particular that you couldn’t forget. Max was in the kitchen preparing a bottle while you cradled a restless Miles. When Max returned, he took the baby in his arms and whispered something to him, as he often did to calm him.
“You’re so strong, little one,” he said, with that look of tenderness that disarmed you every time.
You stayed silent, leaning against the bedroom door. You felt small, vulnerable. You had made a decision that had left him out of this for months. And even though he didn’t mention it, you knew that deep down it still hurt. It hurt you too.
One night, as Max said goodbye, he stopped at the door and looked at you for a long moment.
“Thank you for letting me be here,” he said softly.
“It’s your place, Max,” you replied sincerely, trying to hide the emotion in your voice. But you knew he could tell.
“I didn’t always feel that way,” he admitted, almost in a whisper, before he walked out.
As you closed the door behind him, you leaned against it, feeling the weight of his words. You knew you had a lot to make up for. But you also knew Max was willing to stay.
When racing resumed, so did the frenetic routine Max knew so well. Airports, photo shoots, interviews, team meetings… everything resumed as if time had been paused. But this time, something had changed. Max wasn’t the same driver who went out into the world a year ago. Now, he had a much more important reason to return home after each Grand Prix: Miles.
You, meanwhile, were adjusting to the new normal. But the nights were the hardest. Max had promised you he would be there, and he made daily calls from all over the world. He told you about training, team meetings, and how, despite everything, his thoughts were always with you and his son.
However, there was something in your heart that just didn’t quite fit. You had kept your pregnancy and birth private for so long, but now, you realized you couldn’t hide it anymore. You didn’t want Miles to grow up in the shadows.
It was a difficult decision, but after days of thinking about it, you decided it was time. One quiet afternoon, while Miles was sleeping in his crib, you grabbed your phone and opened the Instagram app. You looked through the photos you had taken since he was born: simple but meaningful moments, like his first smile or the way he slept peacefully in Max’s arms.
You picked a special photo: Miles, with his curious eyes and a smile that melted hearts, sitting on your lap while Max, behind you, held his little hand. It was the first photo that showed not only your baby, but also the life you had begun to build with his father.
The caption was simple but meaningful:
“Miles Emilian. The love of my life. Our adventure together is just beginning.”
You took a breath before posting it. You knew that once you did, there would be no turning back. The comments, the questions, the curious glances... it would all come with it. But you were ready.
The reaction was immediate. Your followers, family, friends... they all started commenting with messages full of love and surprise. They had suspected your absence, but now they understood everything. The words “congratulations,” “beautiful,” and heart emojis flooded your phone.
But what you didn't expect was that, within minutes of your post, Max did the same.
On his profile, he shared a different photo: Miles in his arms, both dressed in personalized racing jerseys, with the name “Verstappen” embroidered on the baby's back. The caption was short, direct, but full of meaning:
“Welcome to the world, Miles Emilian Verstappen. My son, my pride.”
The impact was instantaneous. The news spread throughout the motorsport world and beyond. Sports media, celebrity magazines, even his teammates and other drivers commented on the post. Some were shocked, others couldn’t believe it, but most of the messages were positive, congratulating Max on his new stage as a father.
That night, as you watched the avalanche of reactions on your social media, Max called you. His voice sounded different, more serene but also excited.
“It’s done,” he said, with a mix of relief and pride. “The world knows I have a son. That I have a family.”
You stayed silent for a moment, letting his words settle in your mind. There was something deeply liberating about that. No more secrets. No more hiding. Now, the entire world knew that Miles was his, that you and he shared something much deeper than a passing romance.
“Are you okay?” Max asked, his voice soft but concerned.
“I’m fine,” you replied, with a smile he could feel even through the phone. “Ready to start this life with you.”
That night, as you rocked Miles to sleep, you felt a calm you hadn’t experienced in a long time. You’d been through so much to get here: difficult decisions, secrets, fights, reconciliations. But now, with Max by your side and your son in your arms, you knew you were where you were meant to be.
Max returned a few days after his last race, and this time, when he walked through your door, he was no longer just the star driver or the man who had been an important part of your past. He was the father of your son, your partner, and the person you were ready to build a future with.
The three of you, together, ready to face whatever came.
#fanfic#oneshot#imagine#x reader#max verstappen x yn#max verstappen x you#max verstappen x reader#max verstappen fanfic#max x reader#max verstappen#f1 x you#f1 x reader#f1 imagine#f1 fic#f1 fanfic#f1
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A Night to Forget
Summary: Mingi wakes up to a feeling he's never experienced before, and he's pretty sure he's dying.
Genre: a reverse hurt/comfort Mingi x reader oneshot
Word count: 1 123 (8-9 min.)
Trigger warnings: descriptions of a panic attack (shortness of breath, feeling nauseous and scared, crying)
A/N: Somehow, the biggest struggle while writing this was the concept of puke bowls?? I thought that was a universal thing but once I started googling the proper term for it I found out it's not?? So if you're one of those people who don't have a designated bowl for throwing up at home, now you do, lol.
You awoke with a startle, eyes blinking rapidly as they tried to focus in the dark room. You didn't remember having a nightmare, so why were you suddenly awake?
The answer to your question came in the form of a sharp, deep inhale from beside you. Immediately, a shaky exhale followed, just as loud and forceful.
"...Min?" You called out quietly, turning to your right. You could see the rough outline of your boyfriend, lying on the bed with his back to you. The sheets he usually liked to bury himself in were pulled down to his waist, revealing his broad, pajama-clad back.
Despite the darkness, you could see his chest and shoulders rise and fall with every tight breath, looking almost painful with the clear tension in each movement.
You quickly sat up, leaning over to place a gentle hand on his hip. "Mingi? Baby, are you okay?"
All you got in return was a small, watery whine, making you that much more concerned. Worrying at your bottom lip, you leaned back to turn on your bedside lamp. With the room now cast in a warm, soft, yellow light, you shuffled closer to peer over Mingi's shoulder.
If the labored breathing wasn't enough cause for concern, the tears rolling down his cheeks definitely were.
"Honey please, talk to me. What's wrong?"
Mingi's breath stuttered as he tried to get his voice under control, eyes squeezed shut. "I- I think I'm gonna be sick."
"Fuck," you muttered, quickly straightening back up. "Can you stand up? No, wait, let me go get the bowl-"
"No!" Mingi suddenly caught your hand before you could remove it from his hip, grip surprisingly tight considering the tremors in his arm. "Please, please don't leave, I don't want to- I can't- I'm scared."
You quickly put your hand back on his hip, holding him securely while you lay back down. Even if Mingi's frantic behavior gave you an idea of what might be happening, it didn't ease your inner panic whatsoever. "Okay, okay, I'm sorry. I'm right here, alright? It will pass soon, don't worry."
Mingi just weakly nodded in return, clearly unconvinced. His breaths slowed down just a bit but grew that much deeper in turn. "Y/N, I-" his voice cut off as he choked on something between a gag and a sob, making him heave even more. "I can't breathe."
Despite the fear in his statement, Mingi's words further confirmed your suspicions.
"Honey, are you having a panic attack?" You asked softly, watching his body exhaust itself with more labored breaths. The sight pained you, but you knew you couldn't give in to your own panic right now. You had to be here for your lover.
"I don't know," Mingi whimpered, bracing himself as another wave of nausea hit him, "maybe?"
Okay, you should be able to work with that. Hopefully.
You moved to lie right against him, chest pressing into his back. The hand on his hip traveled upward, resting against his waist and stomach. Like this, your fingers felt every rise and fall of his chest, keeping track without putting too much pressure on his ribcage.
"Try to breathe with me, love," you whispered into his neck, pressing a chaste kiss to the skin. "I know it feels like you're suffocating, but you'll be okay, trust me."
Despite his inner doubts, Mingi replied with the tiniest "Okay". The room fell silent again, save for your slow, calm breaths and Mingi's hard, tight ones. For the first minute or two, Mingi couldn't match you for the life of him. Every time he tried to slow down, he felt like he was going to pass out, throw up, or both. Only after you spoke up again, whispering small words of love and encouragement, did his breathing finally start to calm down.
"There you go," you cooed in his ear. "I'm so proud of you, baby, keep going."
Mingi's heart warmed at your praise, easing the nauseous anxiety churning within. The feeling that he was going to throw up began subsiding, along with the tightness in his lungs.
"Thank you," he muttered a few moments later, relaxing into the mattress. At last, the worst of it seemed to be over, easing his panic about possibly dying.
"There's nothing to thank me for," you replied softly, snuggling further into his back now that he was less likely to be uncomfortable by your touch. "How are you feeling?"
He hummed to himself as he assessed his state, grabbing your hand on his waist to fully wrap it around his middle. "Definitely a lot better. It's still a bit hard to breathe but it's going away, I think."
"Good," you sighed into his neck. "I'm sorry you had to go through that in the first place, though. Waking up to a panic attack is anything but pleasant, but you did really well."
"...You really think it was a panic attack?" Mingi questioned, turning around to look at you. "I mean, it would certainly be one of the better reasons for why this all happened, but still... What is there to panic over in one's sleep?"
You chuckled at his question, squeezing him tighter in your hold. "I don't know, babe. You have been pretty stressed lately, so maybe something in your dreams triggered it, who knows. I'm just glad you got through it."
"That makes two of us," Mingi agreed absent-mindedly, too focused on the bright moon outside. "Not gonna lie though, I'm kinda afraid to fall asleep again after this."
The tone of his voice and the small chuckle told you it was supposed to be a joke, but you knew better than that. Despite the tough-guy persona your boyfriend often liked to put on, deep down, he was just as sensitive as everyone else, if not more.
"Don't worry, love," you consoled him, nuzzling your nose against his shoulder. "I'm sure everything will be fine now. And even if not, I'm right here to calm you down again. I've got you, always."
Mingi didn't respond for a while, too busy fighting the tears suddenly springing to his eyes. How did those few words from you bring him so much comfort? And what did he do to deserve such a beautiful, loving person by his side?
Mingi didn't know and didn't dare ask. All he needed to know right now was that you were here - with him, for him.
Please, don't hesitate to reblog or comment!! Any kind of feedback is much appreciated!! <333
#ateez x reader#ateez comfort#ateez imagines#ateez reactions#mingi x reader#ateez oneshot#ateez fluff#mingi fluff#ateez angst#mingi angst#mingi oneshot#mingi comfort#ateez hurt/comfort#ateez fic#ateez scenarios#atz x reader#atz fluff
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✩ CHAPTER SUMMARY : Firefly and Silver Wolf return from Penacony, bringing souvenirs of all kinds alongside them.
✩ SERIES SYNOPSIS : Following the catastrophe of the Charmony Festival, rather than in one of Penacony's hospitals or prisons, Sunday awakens right in the base of one of the most notorious criminals in the galaxies. With nowhere else to go, he's left to follow you, the Stellaron Hunters' medic, in his attempts to become accustomed to his new life.
✩ WORD COUNT : 6.3k
✩ TAGLIST : @vynicity , @vxnuslogy, @https-mika, @greyrain23, @red-ninja15, @arienic , @immahuman , @sund4ykisser , @mysteriaqueen , @kiopanxp , @isa-l0v3r , @hesper-houkai-kat , @gamekillera , @nayukiyukihira , @randomidk-123 , @universetrash , @forevernyeong , @thedepartedcryptid , @heyhazelnut101 , @1000-leaves , @lowkeyren , @zhayur , @jellofishuu , @kascar-chronicle , @azaleaflowerr , @neigee , @fallintothechasm , @veritusratio , @astolary , @xphantasmagoriax , @semi-orangeapple , @ezra1yn , @xynthevoid , @apinu , @crysangria , @shenwi , @louchive , @mave-in , @mutiachan , @meerpea , @tetrxctys , @emiken-070907 ( send me an ask off anon if you want to be added !! remember to specify that it is for this series )
✩ ADDITIONAL NOTES : mentions of alcoholism in this chapter !! also check out the tags, i've added something that needs to be looked at but tldr the reader will be dealing with themes of alcoholism, addiction, escapism, and survivor's guilt. it'll be tackled in later chapters, but just putting that as a warning now! sunday's pfp art is by @/thotep
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Weeks have passed since Sunday had first arrived at the Delphi.
With Silver Wolf and Firefly busy with their mission on Penacony, life is relatively mundane. If you don’t have a script to fulfill, then Elio lets you run free to do whatever your heart desires - ironic, considering the nature of your work.
Every Hunter has their own way of passing the time between scripts. Kafka often goes shopping for fancy dresses or yet another velvet coat to add to her increasing collection of them. Silver Wolf, on the other hand, shrinks away from the real world and into the comfort of her room to game - you know this because her room’s right next to yours, so you can hear whether or not she wins or loses.
Firefly never spends too long on the Delphi; rather, she takes up her suit and flies off to visit nearby planets, eager to experience their wonders as any normal tourist would. As for Blade, he sulks off into the training rooms, either sharpening his sword or perfecting his technique.
But what about you? What do you do in these torturously boring times? What is your way of keeping yourself entertained?
Drinking. It’s drinking.
Because apparently making candy-flavored drugs isn’t bad enough.
Simple piano played in the background of the Delphi’s bar, where it came from you’ve long given up on trying to figure out. Golden lights hanging from the ceiling clash against chestnut wood, filling the bar with a hazy, warm color.
You’re alone in the bar, sitting laxly in one of the many stools that line the countertop. Lazily, you spin a jigger in your hands, absentmindedly adding and shaking and tossing until you’re left with a clear, peach-tinted cocktail topped with creamy white foam and mint leaves.
The drink is known as a White Sand, a cocktail you discovered when visiting a tropical planet known for its tourism. You’re still new to mixology, preferring to just drink wine straight from the bottle, but you can’t deny that trying out different combinations of recipes, some delicious and others diabolical, is a surprisingly great way of passing the time.
Just as you’re about to take a sip of your drink, your phone dings. You’re tempted to ignore it, but after the second, third, and consequential pings, you begrudgingly take it out with a sigh.
You roll your eyes a bit despite the smile on your face. Drinking your cocktail with a little more spite this time, you type out a response.
Spinning around on the stool, you uncross your legs and, taking your drink with you, make your way to the training room. Thankfully, the walk isn’t too long - just an elevator ride down and after a few minutes of walking through the facilities, you’ve arrived.
You take a deep breath as you come to the doors of the training rooms, mentally preparing yourself for what was to come. Just to be safe, you summon your sword in your dominant hand and hold your cocktail in the other.
Your sword isn’t anything impressive when compared to the others’ - it isn’t as flashy as Silver Wolf’s or Firefly’s, nor is it as intimidating as Blade’s. It supports a simple yet elegant design, and it’s thin, tapering to a sharp point.
But what makes it unique are the bright veins that run through it, filled with a deadly poison that you’ve personally curated through testing and researching natural poisons found across the stellar seas. Just one graze or prick of your blade, and your victim becomes paralyzed within seconds, dead with a few more.
Normally, you wouldn’t bring it out - you prefer your rifle and bayonet over your sword - but what lay behind these doors required a little more agility than what could be accomplished with one hand and a rifle.
With a sigh, you step through the doors and brace for impact.
“[Name]-?” Sunday looks behind him as you enter, only to curse and bring up his rapier as Blade lunges at him once more. It’s a fatal mistake, being distracted in the middle of a fight, and Sunday learns this the hard way when he’s caught off balance (rapiers are NOT good at blocking, especially if you’re a beginner) and Blade mercilessly drives a kick into his stomach.
You narrowly jump out of the way as Sunday flies past you and into the wall with a crash.
“Don’t let your focus wander.” Blade barely finishes speaking before he lunges at Sunday again with a swing of his broken blade.
See, you’re technically supposed to break up the fight and tell them of Firefly’s message. Technically.
But you kind of want to see where this goes.
And so you lean back against the wall, swirling your drink idly and watch the show without lifting a finger to help Sunday.
Sunday manages to dodge Blade’s attack, which is better than when you saw him a few weeks ago. Last you saw him, he was getting beat left and right both physically and mentally (Blade does not know what sugarcoating is).
See, as of late, Blade’s taken up a new hobby to entertain himself - that being training the newbie in the ways of combat. While it’s arguably true that Blade is the best suited for this (Kafka is Kafka, Silver Wolf can’t be bothered, Firefly doesn’t know what’s within a normal person’s capabilities, and you would treat it like a chore), his methods are… less than ideal.
Basically, he teaches you the basics for the first two weeks, and then makes you fight to the death against him until you get better not because you want to, but because you have to if you want to live.
You know this, because you went through this too. So did Silver Wolf. Firefly didn’t have to because one, she was already a capable warrior and two, she’s Blade’s senior, as weird as it sounds.
For the most part, Sunday seems to be doing relatively well, being able to parry, dodge, and attack the best he can. Obviously, he’s unable to land a hit on Blade (it would be impressive if he did), but being able to hold his own is more than enough.
The rapier he wields is a gift from his master. Although Blade can no longer craft weapons as he used to, his eye is still as sharp as ever. The rapier itself is an elegant thing, sporting a silver handle with a sapphire embedded near the handguard. It still holds considerable weight, but is light enough so that Sunday can wield it despite not having any prior training.
Every so often, the Halovian’s halo glows, indicating a mental attack of some kind. But the glow is faint, meaning that it isn’t anything that could seriously debilitate Blade, who is especially sensitive to attacks regarding the mind.
You smile to yourself. Always thinking of others, wasn’t he?
The mental attack creates only a momentary stagger in Blade’s movements, a brief falter, but Sunday seizes the chance. His wings, which have gotten stronger with every visit to your office, flare out in a cape of night. He still can’t fly, but they’re strong enough to propel him out of Blade’s range.
His wings tuck, and he strikes his rapier again, but this time it isn’t with the intent of piercing Blade with his sword. Instead, his halo glows stronger, and small staffs of music shoot like miniature missiles at Blade.
Of course, Blade slashes through each music note easily. Even as Sunday conducts his personal choir with his rapier as his baton, there’s still a slight tremble in his hand, still not fully used to the weight of the rapier.
Not only that, you notice, the staffs aren’t exactly strong either. They waver, and they’re thin, as if one pull of your finger could break them into ribbons.
Your phone dings again, reminding you of why you were here in the first place.
Right. You’re supposed to stop them. How many minutes has it been? At least two.
You gulp down the rest of your cocktail (there wasn’t much left), relishing the taste for just a moment before you lunge and intercept Blade’s attack. Your sword meets Blade’s in a flurry of sparks. You grunt, planting your feet on the ground and push off, throwing Blade off of you and forcing him to skid back.
Blade is less than pleased by your interruption despite expecting it. You can see that he’s half a mind to turn the training onto you. Before he can try anything, you point your sword at him, stopping him with a warning look.
“Sorry, but class is going to have to end early today.” You twirl your sword mindlessly in your hand before summoning it back into your inventory. “The girls are coming back from Penacony, and Firefly wants us in the living room in ten. And before you ask, if I have to go, so do you.”
The last part is directed at Blade, who grumbles in response.
“Fine.”
His sword disappears from his hands as he straightens. You almost don’t catch Sunday sighing in relief behind you. A laugh bubbles in your chest as you turn to him, crossing your arms.
“Old man’s been hard on you, hasn’t he?”
Sunday sighs, rolling back his shoulders as his rapier dissolves into nothing.
“I should be used to it by now,” he admits, “but Blade’s teaching style is more erratic than what I’m used to.”
“You’re getting better, though. At least you can actually hold the rapier now.”
Sunday chuckles. “That’s true. It doesn’t feel as heavy anymore; I suppose I’ve gotten stronger.”
“You sure have.” You look him up and down.
He’s wearing a long-sleeve compression shirt and simple joggers so as not to ruin his other clothes with the sweat and tear that comes with Blade’s training sessions. His body is still relatively slender like it was when he first came to the base, but you can see hints of his labor beginning to bear its fruits. His arms are definitely more toned, and while he still predominantly wears gloves, you spy a callus on one of his right hand’s forefingers.
Ever since he’d first stretched his wings, it was as if a light had returned to his eyes. He is still reserved, still quiet to a degree, but his presence has become brighter, in a sense. You see it in the tiniest changes - the lift of his eyes, the genuine crinkle in his smile, the gradual relaxation of his shoulders.
In your opinion, he’s never looked better.
Then again, your only visuals of him prior to now were when he was at his lowest, so maybe it wasn’t a good comparison.
You realize you’ve been staring for longer than what’s socially acceptable. Meeting Sunday’s confused smile, you playfully stick your tongue out before waving him off.
“Don’t just stand there. Go wash up and change, you smell.”
Sunday blinks. “I do?”
The genuine worry in his voice almost makes you feel bad. In an effort to make him feel better, you pat his head in two heavy movements, earning a high-pitched squeak with each pat.
“I’m just messing with you,” you tease, ruffling his feather-like hair before finally releasing him. Sunday huffs, slightly puffing out his cheeks as he immediately starts fixing his hair. He reminds you of a baby bird.
Resummoning your wine glass, which you had put away before intervening in the spar, you pull out a vintage wine bottle from nowhere and pour out some red wine. Sunday wrinkles his nose.
“Drinking again, I see,” he sighs. “Isn’t it a bit early for that?”
“For you, it is,” you say, throwing the wine bottle back into your inventory. “I, however, am not like you.”
“You’re destroying your liver.”
“My liver can handle it. Ask Blade, he knows. Isn’t that right, Blade?”
“Don’t bring me into this,” mutters Blade, in the middle of changing back into his normal clothes. You shrug.
“See? He didn’t deny it.”
Sunday crosses his arms. “He didn’t confirm it either. [Name], I cannot in good faith let you go on about this self-destructive path-”
“And on that note, I should get going,” you cut him off, pointedly ignoring the look he gives you. But before Sunday can start up his thirty-minute lecture, you’re already turning your heel and walking off with a cheeky wave. “See you up top!”
“Hey-!” Sunday shakes his head as you saunter out the doors, pressing a hand to his forehead. He already feels a migraine forming. “What am I going to do with them…”
Blade hums sympathetically, wordlessly offering Sunday a bottle of water and a towel, which he accepts gratefully.
“Don’t bother,” says Blade, looking at the doors where you’ve just left through. “They’ve always been like that. Trying to reason with them is fruitless.”
Sunday turns his head slightly to glance at Blade, his brow creased with worry.
“Still, this habit of theirs…”
Blade sighs. “It may look bad to you, but trust me. This is better than what they were doing before. At least with alcohol, their body can recover quickly.”
“What do you mean by that?” Sunday turns fully to face the other Hunter. “Surely, alcoholism can’t be a better alternative.”
For a long, heavy moment, Blade merely stares at him silently, waiting for him to come to his own conclusion. The air turns suffocating the longer the silence drags on, but Sunday endures. He meets Blade’s gaze calmly, and waits.
It isn’t too long before Blade relents. Maybe it’s because they have an appointment soon, or maybe he doesn’t feel like playing mind games with Sunday - or both.
“Have you ever seen them get alcohol poisoning?” he finally says, a little breath to his voice like a sigh.
Sunday blinks, caught off guard by the question. “No, but-”
“There’s your answer.” Blade begins to walk off. Before he disappears, he glances back. “Save your concern. Don’t pry where you aren’t welcome.”
The doors slide shut, leaving Sunday alone with the echo of the Hunter’s words. He squeezes the bottle tightly.
Don’t concern yourself, huh?
How could he not? In Penacony, his ears were meant for hearing the woes of his kin, and his heart forever cut to bleed for them. Sympathy is carved into his skin; it was second nature to him already.
But he remembers that moment in your office, the sudden coldness that came with an attempt of sympathy. And he remembers that he isn’t on Penacony anymore.
His eyes shut, a sigh escaping him. His wings tremble restlessly, referencing his thoughts.
Sunday opens one dark wing, and flaps it.
It’s frustrating, constantly being told to sit still and mind his own business. You’ve already helped him so much, but whenever he tries to do something for you, whether it be small, such as helping out with a chore or something more serious like this, he’s always shut down.
He feels useless, like a leech or a freeloader. All he’s done is take and take and take, unable to give.
He buries his face in the towel Blade gave him with a groan.
He hates it.
He should be doing more - he should be more.
“Still here, I see.”
Sunday flinches. He looks around wildly for the source of the voice, but he sees no one. Was he already beginning to hallucinate? He shouldn’t be, he was sleeping enough thanks to your medicine, but maybe four hours a night still wasn’t enough-
“No need to panic. I’m down here.”
Sitting at the foot of the doors is a familiar black cat with familiarly unnatural blue eyes.
Sunday relaxes. “Ah, Elio.”
Out of respect, he bows to his leader. The Destiny of Slave tilts his head, soundlessly leaping onto a nearby bench.
Sunday tries his best not to be unnerved by his gaze, but he can’t help it. Despite being on the Delphi for a little more than a month now, he’s rarely seen Elio, and as such hasn’t gotten used to his piercing eyes.
A small surprised sound leaves him as Elio jumps onto his shoulder, perching himself on him snugly. The seer’s back brushes against his wings as he readjusts himself.
“What addles your mind?” Elio asks. Sunday wants to lean away from him, but it’s impossible with the seer on his shoulder. “Firefly will be arriving in two system minutes. You will be late.”
Right, the meeting- meeting.
Sunday’s mind jumps at the word, dragged back into its own habits. Late, late- he can’t be late, that is unbecoming of someone like him, shouldn’t he know better? Instead he wasted time by asking useless questions- Stop thinking, stop thinking, you’re taking up valuable minutes- Get a move on, move, or they’ll hate you, they’ll take it as a disrespect, they’ll never accept you as their own-
“That’s enough.”
A paw baps the side of his head gently, snapping Sunday out of his thoughts.
Dull pain pricks at his palms. With a start, he realizes that his nails are digging into them, as they always do whenever his mind starts racing. He quickly relaxes his hands with a sigh.
Elio hums knowingly.
“You think too much,” says the seer. He stretches on Sunday’s shoulder, letting out a small meow as he does. He looks and acts so much like a real cat, Sunday has to remind himself not to pet him.
“I apologize,” is Sunday’s automatic response. Internally, he winces. You’d scold him if you heard him.
Elio shakes his head.
“The others won’t ostracize you,” he says matter-of-factly, in a tone that leaves no room for argument.
“Is that a part of your prophecy?” Sunday asks, eyes glittering with dull mirth.
“Perhaps. It is also their nature. One doesn’t need to be a seer to know that.”
The seer lashes his tail. Sunday doesn’t know how to feel about being comforted by a cat, but knowing who Elio is, and the absolute certainty behind his words manages to quiet the noise in his mind enough to let him think clearly.
“I… I see. Thank you,” he says sheepishly. Elio shrugs.
“It’s nothing,” he assures. “If you need further consolation, you can pet me.”
Somewhere a record screeches to a halt. Sunday stares blankly at Elio, who stares back innocently as if he hasn’t said anything wrong.
“Absolutely not,” Sunday says flatly, with half a mind to shove the seer off just to see what would happen. “You’re a grown man.”
Elio’s eyes gleam. “Am I? Or am I a cat who has learned to disguise as human?”
Sunday doesn’t bother entertaining him. Rolling his eyes with an amused sigh, he begrudgingly gives Elio a small scratch on the chin.
“Happy now?”
Elio closes his eyes, the beginnings of a purr rumbling in his chest. The vibrations are soothing against Sunday’s skin, like how white noise aids one in sleeping. One of Elio's ears flicks, and Sunday has to bite down a smile.
“This isn’t for my happiness,” Elio says despite clearly enjoying the scratch. He blinks his eyes open, forcing Sunday to look into the sky. “You are feeling better.”
The seer tilts his head, looking past Sunday in amusement. Before Sunday asks what exactly it is he’s looking at, he hears a distant flutter, and his wings brush against fur. His face flushes.
Elio chuckles, his tail flicking back and forth. “Come on now, the others are waiting.”
Pinching the bridge of his nose, ears burning, Sunday nods.
He really needed to fix this wing problem of his.
—
Three floors up, you wait with Kafka in the main living room.
The Spirit Whisper user has only arrived recently, having sped back to the Delphi from whatever corner of the universe she was shopping at. Her recent escapade shows on her outfit, a brand new velvet coat (this one a dark red) draped over her shoulders.
Her gloved fingers fly expertly across the neck of a violin, a mahogany bow in her other hand as she maneuvers the violin into an eerie melody. Her shoulders sway as she does, her pupiless eyes fluttering closed every so often with the music.
“They’re here,” you announce, crossing one leg over the other and leaning back in the plush sofa chair in which you sit. Your eyes are focused on your phone, which tracks Firefly’s and Silver Wolf’s location on an app the latter had designed herself.
Kafka hums, her deft hands never stilling. “Is that right?”
There’s a creak as the door opens behind and Blade walks in. With a simple nod to both you and Kafka, he slinks off to his corner of the room and summons his sword to hug against his chest. Kafka smiles demurely.
“Say,” she says, finally setting down the violin, “Bladie, how’s Birdie’s training going?”
Blade shifts the sword, looking up. “He needs to work on his footwork.”
Kafka hums. “Do you think he’s ready for a mission?”
“He can hold his own,” Blade admits, “but I wonder if he has the heart to kill. He could easily incapacitate me with his attacks on the mind, and yet he chooses not to.”
“It’s because he cares,” you jump into the conversation, setting your phone aside. “He may not act like it, but he’s rather soft-hearted. He probably doesn’t want to hurt you.”
Blade scoffs. “That kind of foolish sympathy will only debilitate him on the battlefield.”
“I wouldn’t say that,” says Kafka. “Who knows? Maybe Birdie will surprise us. One doesn’t nearly become an Aeon without some kind of moral ambiguity.”
Blade doesn’t look convinced, but he was never one to argue. He merely shrugs with a grunt, accepting whatever Kafka decides is the truth.
It isn’t like the conversation is set to continue either, as soon a portal made up of multicolored pixels spawns in the middle of the living room, and out walks Firefly, shopping bags hanging from all over her arms. Silver Wolf follows soon after, closing the portal behind her with a pop of her bubblegum.
“Welcome back,” Kafka greets, leaning on top of the backrest of your sofa chair. “Had fun at Penacony?”
“Fun is… one way of putting it,” Firefly chuckles bashfully. “It was definitely eventful. Speaking of which,”
She looks around the room for a certain someone.
“Where’s Sunday?”
“Probably changing,” you say, standing up from your chair. “He was in the middle of getting beat by Blade when I told him.”
“Ah, I see…” A small, nervous laugh leaves her. She quickly brightens, however, once you go in for a one-armed hug, the other hand still holding your wine glass. “That’s okay. His gift can wait. Here, let me give your guys’s.”
She rummages around in her shopping bag before pulling out what looks to be a large bubble, purples and blues glistening on its surface with the occasional person or place flashing.
“Here’s yours, [Name].”
You stare at it, dumbfounded. “A bubble?”
“It’s a dream bubble,” Firefly clarifies, gently placing it above your open palm. “Basically, they’re little memories or stories stored in a bubble - like a movie! There was this one vendor in Oti Mall who sold them, and, well… When I saw it, I knew I had to get it for you.”
Her shoulders jump, as if remembering something.
“Oh, and… Maybe it’s best if you don’t open it here.”
Raising a brow, you tear your eyes away from the strange bubble. “Why is that?”
Firefly shifts. “Well… you’ll know.”
That doesn’t sound reassuring. “Now I’m getting worried. Is there a trigger warning, or..?”
Firefly waves her hands hastily. “No, no, nothing like that! It’s just that, well… dream bubbles leave you unconscious, so…”
“Ah.” You blink. “That makes a lot more sense.”
“That wasn’t all I got you, though,” Firefly adds. She takes the shopping bag that she’d pulled the dream bubble from and hands it to you. “I know you like collecting drinks, so…”
At her words, you immediately forget about the dream bubble. Throwing it away somewhere, you eagerly reach into the bag and feel the familiar touch of cold glass. Your eyes gleam with excitement.
The bottle you pull out is tall and fat towards the bottom, the glass tinted a dark caramel while what seems to be liquid amber sloshes inside. Stamped on the front of the hefty bottle is a green and orange logo that tells you just exactly what this beverage was.
“SoulGlad, is it?” you read aloud, holding the bottle up to the light. “So this is the famous ‘beverage of dreams’.”
“I know you prefer wine,” says Firefly, rubbing the back of her neck, “but Siobhan recommended this - also it’s a staple of Penacony, so I figured, why not try that wasn’t alcohol for once?”
You pointedly ignore that last part. “Siobhan?”
“She’s a bartender I met on Penacony! Speaking of which, Blade,”-Firefly fishes out another shopping bag, this one smaller and darker in color- “Siobhan said that this drink is good for people like you. It’ll make you feel a little better.”
Blade raises a brow. He unhands his sword only for a moment to accept the bag. Briefly peeking at whatever’s inside, he raises a brow and closes the bag, nodding his thanks to Firefly.
The biggest bag turns out to be Kafka’s, as Silver Wolf had already received her souvenir prior to arriving on the Delphi.
The hacker’s gift currently sits on her head as she plays yet another game in the chair that used to be your. The holographic Origami Bird bears a striking resemblance to her, occasionally cocking its head and chirping every so often, the three large feathers on its head swaying with each movement.
“Wow~” Despite having just gotten a new coat, Kafka’s perfectly painted lips curve into a delighted smile at the sight of black and magenta velvet and bronze buttons. “Did you get this specially tailored?”
Firefly tucks a white hair behind her head, her cheeks flushed with joy. “Yes, I did. It was only a small extra fee, so I didn’t mind.”
“How thoughtful.” Kafka swiftly abandons her current coat and slips on the new one. “Thanks, I’ll be sure to use it often.”
Kafka pats Firefly’s head gently, smiling down at her like a mother would her daughter.
“Congrats on your mission, by the way,” she says. “Quite the stir this time, I wish I was there to have seen it all.”
Firefly chuckles nervously. “Yeah, Penacony was definitely… interesting.”
And then, as if summoned by his homeland, two doors slide open and Sunday enters with Elio nestled snugly in his arms.
“I apologize for being late,” says the Halovian, bowing slightly. Kafka laughs.
“Don’t worry about it,” she assures, waving a hand carelessly. “What matters is that you’re here, Birdie.”
Fuchsia eyes narrow amusedly at the seer comfortably cradled against Sunday’s chest.
“Having fun there, Elio?” Kafka teases. Elio squints at the woman for a second before letting out a disturbingly cat-like meow and nuzzling back into the warm wool of Sunday’s turtleneck.
As much as you want to laugh at the seer, your eyes are somewhere else. Besides you, Firefly has seized up, her posture stiff and awkward at the sight of the former Oak Head. Figures, she probably had… a lot of conflicts, to put it lightly, with Sunday, and seeing him so soon - not to mention with her boss - must be jarring.
You decide to give her a bit of comfort. Nudging her lightly, you offer her an encouraging smile. She returns it gratefully, before taking a deep breath and greeting her now-junior.
“Hi, Sunday,” she says tentatively with a shy smile. Sunday’s eyes soften.
“Ah, Miss Firefly.” He nods politely. “It’s good to see you again.”
“Yes.” Firefly shifts her feet. “How have you been?”
“Better. You Hunters have been far more accommodating than I had ever anticipated, although rather eccentric.”
“That’s good,” Firefly chuckles. She pulls out a light-blue gift bag, and, walking up to Sunday, extends it to him. “This is your initiation gift. I really hope you like it.”
“Ah, thank you.”
Elio jumps off Sunday so that he can accept the gift, and opts to climb Kafka instead. In the meantime, Sunday handles Firefly’s gift as one might handle a baby. Once he opens it, however, his eyes widen in shock and his breath hitches.
“This is…”
Firefly smiles softly. “I asked your sister personally.”
Grasped in Sunday’s shaking hands is a gleaming album of red and purple. His sister’s face smiles up at him from the recording booth as she sings to the hearts of millions across the universe. Signed in the corner in a pastel pink pen is her signature.
“I…” Sunday’s voice is choked in his throat. He sounds like he’s about to cry. A part of you wants to reach out and give him a hug, but you don’t think that’s the right course of action right now.
“There’s a note inside,” Firefly offers. “And as for the album itself, it’s like a mini phonograph, so you can play it whenever you want.”
Sunday’s hand clasps tightly over his mouth as to hold back the tears that threaten to break from his eyes. Golden rings scan Robin’s face, again and again, rechecking her signature to make sure that he isn’t seeing things.
“I don’t know what to say,” he whispers. “I…” He inhales deeply to calm himself and reign back his composure. “...Thank you, Miss Firefly. I can’t tell you how much this means to me.”
“You should be thanking your sister,” says Firefly. “She put some other things in the bag there for you, and- Silver Wolf? Did you give him your gifts yet?”
Silver Wolf doesn’t even look up from her game. “Nope. Give me a sec, I just gotta beat this level aaaaaand- done.”
She jumps up, her Origami bird fluttering in surprise as she does. Twirling her fingers, a phone materializes in her hold.
“Here’s your phone, newbie,” she says, stopping in front of Sunday. “I cleared it of all its tracking malware and transferred your frozen accounts from the IPC. Everything else should be the same.”
“Damn, you had tracking malware?” you comment, stealing back your seat now that Silver Wolf has left. Sunday sighs.
“Yes, the Dream Master was rather… paranoid.”
“That doesn’t matter though,” chirps Silver Wolf as Sunday takes back his phone. “I already got rid of it all, so it’s useless now. I also added you to the groupchat. Your sister’s been texting you like crazy, though. You might want to answer her.”
“...I’ll think about it,” says Sunday. The hacker shrugs.
“Do what you want, it’s not my business.” She starts up another level, evident by the 8-bit music playing from her phone. “Your old clothes should be in your room now; I put them on your bed for you.”
“You did? When?”
“Just now.”
You shoot a confused Sunday a smile. “Silver Wolf’s specialty lies in altering the data of reality.”
“Ah. Well, thank you Miss Silver Wolf.”
The hacker wrinkles her nose. “Just Silver Wolf is fine. Although, I have got to ask-”
She looks up, excitement and curiosity glittering behind her nonchalant facade.
“Why did you have so many copies of the same outfit? Are you like, an NPC?”
Sunday doesn’t seem to know what to do with Silver Wolf’s expectant gaze. He tilts his head.
“It’s merely a matter of convenience. I can’t wear the same clothes every day, that would be unsanitary. But the public has a certain image of me, and I had to uphold it - hence the clothes.”
“Oh.” Silver Wolf deflates. “That was significantly less interesting than I thought it’d be.”
“I’m sorry?”
“Don’t mind her,” you butt in. “She just likes to over exaggerate things so that she gets disappointed by them because she sets her expectations too high.”
“I do not!” Silver Wolf kicks you childishly, nearly spilling your wine in the process. You shoot her a glare.
“Yes, you do, I have receipts- do you want me to pull them out? I will pull them out.”
“Yeah, right. Screenshots? Recordings? Please, you know that’s useless against a hacker like me.”
“I’m not that unprepared you heathen-”
Elio sighs as the two of you begin bickering. Kafka chuckles, patting him on the head while Blade has already started napping standing up. Sunday glances at the two senior Hunters nervously.
“Are they always- like this?” he asks. Elio shakes his head in disappointment.
“You’ll get used to it.”
—
Later that night, Sunday sits in his room. There’s little to no light, save for the small lamp that sits on his bedside table. Soft piano music plays in the background, accompanied with the soft soprano of his sister.
“In candlelight, as time unwinds, I find myself, lost in your eyes.”
He closes his eyes, leaning his head back against the still-white walls of his room. He welcomes the melody into his ears, allowing it to consume him in its song.
“In midnight tolls, as darkness folds, I see your tears, when we say goodbye.”
Flashes of Penacony’s scenery as he had fallen reemerge in his mind. He remembers the sunrise, the piercing light of the sun as it touched upon Golden Hour for the first time in years.
“Watching stars, as we drift on by.”
He remembers his sister’s embrace, the confusion and the fear, but also the relief and comfort of family.
“A touch,”
If he loses himself enough…
“A glance,
If he forgets enough…
“Fly away.”
He could almost believe that it’s his sister standing next to him that’s singing, not a recording.
“Will our paths converge, ‘neath the sun?”
Robin’s voice swells, and strings jump in to accompany it. Goosebumps chill his skin and his breath catches in his chest. His eyes squeeze, a strangling emotion he doesn’t recognize squeezing at his heart.
“A silent desire, in melody sung.”
For a moment, he sees her, he sees his sister, he sees Robin. It is almost as if she is speaking to him, singing to him, asking him of what fate has in store for them.
“Beyond this stolen night, we share a cherished dream.”
Indeed, they did. Her dream, their dream. A dream to fill the skies with their songs, to dance for the people they loved so much.
“Between souls whispered that it ‘seems’.”
But only one of them could make that dream a reality.
“Will shooting stars align ‘neath the sun?”
His eyes peek open, glossy and aching. The music heightens, and the dark ceiling blurs into the beginnings of a beautiful nightscape, full of twinkling stars and kissed by the retreating sun.
“In whispered hopes where journey's begun.”
Penacony smiles down at him, the home to which he’ll never return to. All twelve hours have passed, and a new day has begun.
“In dreams, we waltz the sky,”
His hand twitches. It flexes against the blankets, grasping for something, someone who isn’t there.
“You watch me drift on by,”
Oh, how he wishes he could hold her again, see her smile again, watch her sing once more. His heart aches to cradle his baby sister one last time, even if it’s for a second, just so that his last sight of her wouldn’t be of a smile with tears.
“In your memory, a whispered song,”
“A seed of hope where we belong.”
The song ends, leaving Sunday with a husk of a heart. A singular tear breaks free and slips down his cheek. For the first time, Sunday doesn’t think to wipe it.
His chest hurts, yet lighter, as if a weight has been lifted, leaving his heart to deal with the repercussions of bearing said weight for so long. He can breathe, painfully so, yet it is clear, crisp, rejuvenating.
He wants to see her again, but not now. Not yet.
But one day, they will.
His phone pings, snapping him out of his thoughts. He almost doesn’t want to check it, but it pings again and he picks it up reluctantly.
It’s you, he realizes, a small smile slipping onto his face.
Sunday grimaces at the memory. Last week, he’d made the mistake of admiring one of the flowers that grew over your door. Well, that flower turned out to be carnivorous, and very territorial, and it nearly took off a chunk off his finger had he not blasted it out of panic.
He still has to buy you a replacement.
He shakes his head, sighing with a smile. Out of reflex, he flexes the finger that had been bit. Had it not been for you, it would still be wrapped in bandages.
A soft laugh escapes him at your sticker. He scrolls up for a bit through the conversation, rereading it over and over again. Why? He doesn’t know. It just feels right.
His scrolling stops just over the attachment you sent. So this is his part of the script - Elio’s infamous prophecy that contains details of the future, down to the very second. He clicks on it.
Reading over it briefly, his brows furrow.
“Alfeasa-VIII, is it?” he murmurs.
He’s heard of the planet before; a prosperous kingdom with loyal and loving subjects that worshiped the Preservation. He’d never paid much attention to it, though, as the most interaction he’d ever gotten from it were a few of its nobles who came to Penacony for vacation.
His fingers stop just above a paragraph in his script that seems all too out of place.
At 22:38:10 system time, the reigning kingdom of Alfeasa-VIII will fall. [Name] will dispense multiple gas bombs at the banquet. They will give you one gas mask to give to a person of your choosing. Whoever you choose will become the next ruler of Alfeasa-VIII. I trust that you will choose wisely.
—
Bonus (left on read):
<< previous || series masterlist || next chapter >>
reblogs w comments are appreciated !!
#—stellaronhvnters.#honkai star rail#honkai star rail x reader#hsr#hsr x reader#hsr sunday#sunday hsr#honkai star rail sunday#hsr sunday x reader#sunday hsr x reader#honkai star rail sunday x reader#sunday x reader#x reader#reader insert#y/n#━━ series : on the other side of morality#honkai star rail series#archives 🏵️
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sneeze - @jegulus-microfic - word count: 123
"Reg?"
His head was pounding, congestion causing the entire room to spin and undulate.
"Baby? Are you okay?"
The bed dipped, and he felt James sit down behind him on the small mattress. "Who let you in?" he grumbled, trying not to betray his current condition by talking to loud.
"Barty. He told me you're sick," James murmured gently, his warm hand resting at Regulus's shoulder.
"M'not," Regulus mumbled, stifling a sneeze.
"Yeah?" James asked softly, a smile in his voice, wrapping his arms around Regulus and pulling him against his chest. "Suppose you want me to leave, then? Let you do some homework?"
"No," Regulus groaned, turning to curl into James's embrace. "Stay."
"Or course, darling. Drink some water for me, please."
#marauders#marauders era#harry potter#fanfic#marauders fandom#harry potter marauders#the marauders#the maruaders#the marauders fandom#the marauders era#james#james fleamont potter#james potter#james x regulus#james and regulus#james potter/regulus black#james potter x regulus black#regulus black#regulus arcturus black#james loves regulus#regulus deserved better#jegulus#jegulus microfic#jegulus fanfiction#starchaser#sunseeker
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The condom in their wallets is brilliant 😭 I love it a lot. I want to ask in your head canon, what sizes are they and which types they prefer? 🫣
Sorry to disappoint, nonnie, but I wouldn’t know the first thing about condom types‼️💔 Howeverrrrrr, as for my general (human) dick headcanons, they were already in my drafts a while back, so here you go!! NSFW warning, obviously🙏🏽
To anyone else reading this, my requests are still closed!! These are just my ramblings, or old requests I had🫶🏽
Tip jar!
Masterlist
Zayne: I’m sorry but this man needs a prayer and intense foreplay before anyone can take him. He’s an (unsurprisingly massive) 7 inches long, and his girth is no joke either. A pretty straightforward cock, no curves to be found, but the nicest thing about him is the two veins running down the sides. Dark tip too, if you ask me. He cums a lot all in one go (poor pent up guy), and it’s of average consistency and practically no taste. He’s pretty healthy, after all, even despite his sweets intake. Carpets perfectly match the drapes, but no one knows because he regularly—and canonically, btw!—shaves all the time and doesn’t let it grow out.
Rafayel: More length than there is girth, actually. I’d say a perfect 6 inches, with a slight upwards and right curve that hits the spot perfectly. His tip gets SO red when he’s aroused, and it’s what you can call “pretty” imo. No prominent veins, and his skin is SO soft too. His cum is a little on the thin side, and he doesn’t cum a lot, but it does taste a bit salty. I firmly believe he trims regularly. I wouldn’t say he shaves completely, but he likes keeping things neat and tidy. Carpets are only slightly darker than the drapes; think of a darker shade of purple. All the above changes if we’re talking about his Lemurian form, though.
Xavier: Coke can dick truther🙏🏽 This man is GIRTHY. Like, stretch-you-out-so-well-you-can-cum-from-that-alone girthy. In terms of length, I’d give him a lovely 6.5 maybe, but nothing will ever beat how full he makes his lover feel. One vein at his base, and a fat tip to match his cock too <3 Very thick cum I believe, considering his diet, and is the absolute king of creampies because he loves seeing it spill out. It’s pretty bitter though, fair warning. Carpet doesn’t match the drapes at all; his curls are a rich brown and he usually doesn’t do much about them. If his lover dislikes it though, he’d shave or trim or whatever they like.
Taglist: @angry-and-yandere @nxx-jordiepord @honestlyjustablog @dawnbreakersgaze @tartartagliaboo @lucis-noctiana @mushriiin @flurrina @reika-desu @randomidk-123 @tikitsune @cofijelli @roll-of-royces @lemonsupernova @loveyoutodeep @belovedof @obiwanmcprobie @hawtlineblingz @kalatipunan @eurekazz @bifedebruxa @thescribeswife @mysticangel123 @xenasolos @jvnluvr @dann-acalle @rosariymchapter @rin-sv14 @yololesgo @an-ever-angry-bi @semi-orangeapple @lavanderbliss @myturnwhen @winterlvod @carsonology @deepzombieyouth @respitable @stellisangelicus-world @kvsqkiii @bitchynightmarepost @snoozeflare @spotted-salamander @cindywasneverhere @ladyparamount @sncrly0urs @huntersmoon1 @musiclover2119 @girl-who-lives-in-delusion @milktsukii @sartorialcannibal @hrhmimieucliffe @icedunderwaterroom @granddearduck @skriblobz @honeyshoney149 (more in replies!)
Sign up for my taglist here!
#maya talks#imagine#oneshot#smut#otome#zayne#zayne x reader#zayne love and deepspace#zayne lnds#zayne l&ds#rafayel#rafayel x reader#rafayel love and deepspace#rafayel lnds#rafayel l&ds#xavier#xavier x reader#xavier love and deepspace#xavier lnds#xavier l&ds#love and deepspace#lnds#lads#l&ds#li shen#qi yu#shen xinghui#hcs#headcanons
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˗ˏˋ 𝐅𝐋𝐔𝐅𝐅 + 𝐒𝐌𝐔𝐓 | 𝐏𝐑𝐎𝐌𝐏𝐓𝐒 𝐏𝐓. 𝟐 ˎˊ˗
ೀ amira speaks! : part two of my fluff + smut prompt lists for requests, check them out here! requests are currently closed. remember to specify who says what to who when requesting! 彡 last updated : 08/03/2024 — ♡
116. (character) is talking to someone about you. they try to hide how they feel about you, but it’s quite obvious. “I like them a normal amount.” character says, “we get along, we’re just friends.” “and you’re a friend... who stares at them smiling to yourself like an idiot?” “shut up, you know nothing.”
117. lazy morning kisses and cuddles.
118. “so wet already? I barely even touched you. You must be quite needy.” (smut)
119. “Can I touch you over here?” (smut)
120. “Do you like it like this? Or should I go slower?” (smut)
121. “You’re blushing, that’s cute.” “Shut up, stupid.” (specify who says this to who)
122. “Can I please hold your hand?”
123. “You’ll have to beg for that.” (smut, specify scenario if possible)
124. “Please, if you could stay with me for the night, I would be grateful. I need you.”
125. (character)’s friends discreetly playing matchmaking by placing both of you in places where you can be alone together. You’re both oblivious to your mutual pining, so at one point they force (character) to ask you out for once and for all.
126. “They gave us... One bed?” “Don’t pretend you don’t like it.” (could end in smut, or simply fluffy teasing)
127. “I think I might be dying... These may be my last words.” “It’s a small fever. If you don’t quit whining, the only thing killing you today will be my bare hands around your neck.”
128. “Touch yourself for me.” (smut)
129. “Your breasts are cold. Can I warm them with my hands?” “No.” “Pleeeeeeaseeeeee?” “Fine, but stop staring at my with those sad puppy eyes.” (smut)
130. Pillowfighting with (character). (Character) is better at it than you, but when you complain about it, they let you win because they genuinely feel bad.
131. Drunken love confessions to you.
132. Same as 131, but with you being drunk and confessing your love to (character).
133. “Don’t you like being all marked by me? Look at you, everyone will know you’re mine.” (smut)
134. “Someone might see us!” “Isn’t that the fun of it, love?” (smut)
135. “You are one pretty little whore. My pretty little whore.” (smut)
136. (character) gently removing your hands from your very flustered face after you give each other your first kiss, finding them smiling to themselves at how adorable you are.
137. “Who hurt you? I’ll get my revenge on them.”
138. “I could warm you up... From the inside.” (smut)
139. character introduces you to someone. “this is my girlfriend/wife!” (specify). you turn to them in confusion, becoming flustered. “yeah... your girlfriend/wife.”
140. “Stop stealing the blankets!” “Gods you’re so oblivious- I want you to come closer and cuddle me to seek warmth!”
141. “Why should I look up at the stars, when you have a whole constellation in your pretty eyes?” (so cheesy, woops)
142. “How come you were in love with me all this time?!” “I THOUGHT I HAD BEEN OBVIOUS ENOUGH ALREADY!”
143. “Look elsewhere, and I stop.” (smut)
144. “You have such a pretty, delicate little mouth. You surely take my cock so well.” (smut)
145. (character) lifting you from the floor, taking you in their arms, and happily swriling you around the place after not seeing each other for quite some time.
146. “We should film this.” (smut)
147. “Go fuck yourself.” “Only if you watch.” (could be smut or not, specify!)
#might add more later. post number 7001!#fluff prompt#romance prompts#smut prompts#smut prompt#prompts#writing promp#dialogue prompt#dialogue prompt list#writing prompt list#writing prompt#writing prompts#prompt list#prompt lists#fluff prompts#amira’s prompts
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Do I Look Like Him?
S2!Jinx x Fem!reader(ft.Isha🩷, & Vi)
A/n: This contains spoliers to the 2nd season of Arcane( also this writing may not be 'inline" with the episode im basing this off of, S2 EP6). Use of 'Y/N' a few times!(Also this is a request from lola-hernandez-123, hope you like it!(i did my best🩷🤗)
Summary: Reader arrives just in time to save Isha but get really hurt in the process and reveals something shes been hind from Jinx and Isha
Just as everthing seemed to be going great. Vander's back (just not in the way you'd imagine), Vi's 'darker' than before, and Jinx and Isha are Jinx and Isha. Wondering around this place gave Y/n a culty yet cosy feel, not a dark abandond aircraft in a cave cosy but cosy. "Hey toots, whacca thinkin about?" Jinx asked before taking a bit out of the strangley tastey fruit, as she looked around with her scope. "I don't alot i guess." Y/n explain but not really. "Yeah i get it, with Vander and Vi back a-and now Isha it feels like were kinda one big family again, yeah know?" Jinx asked still looking around. "Yeah and i-i just think tha-" Bingo slippery as an eel" Jinx interupped without realising, spotting Isha hinding something in her hat. "Their ya are,i knew you could do it!" Jinx praises Isha, taking her gun out of her hat. "Hey,i'll be right back." Y/n said getting up, ready to walk out of the 'treehouse' " Huh-Oh okay toots" Jinx said, turning back to tell Isha a something.
After a short while of Y/n just walking around with now Isha tailing her, they heard a few crashes coming from where Vander was staying. And instinctivly running to it, catching up with Vi on the way. "You." They heard as Vi pushed open the door, and Y/n and Isha run over to hug Vander. "Are you okay? Wh-what happened?" Y/n ask as Jinx fixed Ishas hat. "Yeah it was nothin just a-" BOOM. A giant blue light filled the sky for a secound then. Everything seemed to go quiet, until all the 'followers' fell over and let out a horrid scream.
We all ran outside to see what was happening, it was awfull, they all seemed like they were in a painfull trance as they just stared up into the sky. There then was a low roar coming from behind us. And as we turned, we saw Vanders 'pod' glowing a bright orange. Just as Y/n and Jinx began to shield Isha. What seemed to no longer be Vander emgered for the pod, eyes and mouth now burning orange lava . "Vander" Vi questioned, slowly walking toward him, shielding everyone behind her. Vander letting a roar before puking up lava, unknowing scaring Isha.
It was a bloodbath, Vi had a deep cut to the stomach, Y/n laying on her side with mutiple deep cuts on her body, Jinx cant get up and theres no sight of Isha, untill, Jinx notices a little blue blur past by her with her gun i hand. "Y/n?!" "Isha!" Jinx yelled as she was hed back by Vi. And just as Isha's about to pull the trigger, a big, bright purple lighting struck Vander down and revealed a fully head Y/n, carring a pasted out Isha in her arms.
A/n: So sorry if this is a mess and a bit all over the place, i edited at like 11 at night🤫 Also if yall what a diff version of this let me know!🩷 (requested by. lola-hernandez-123)
#arcane#wlw post#arcane act 3#jinx arcane#arcane season 2#arcane act two#request#jinx x reader#isha is alive
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One of my biggest fantasies is being paraded in front of a group of my Mommy or Daddy's friends in my little clothes with my diaper showing obviously and being asked to do like super easy things and messing them up. Like being asked to show my ABCs or 123s or a nursery rhymes I learned and messing it up to only get laughed at by these strangers... and then having them help me figure out how to do it and not letting me stop trying until I get it right. Blushing more and more with every repetition...
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