#Looking forward to see the comments though

[neferaskingdom]

♡ Are You Always This Forward? | CL16

Pairing: Charles Leclerc x Reader

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Summary: Y/n meets Charles at a party, and what starts as a casual fling quickly becomes something more. As their connection deepens and feelings grow, Y/n begins to question— is it really casual? [Inspired by Casual by Chappell Roan]

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A/N: Also comment if you guys wanna be added to the taglist because I've written almost 7 chapters for this series and we're nowhere near done so buckle up

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Part 1 of my Is It Casual Now? series: Masterlist

You weren’t exactly thrilled to be here. The party was crowded, with people spilling out onto the balcony, laughter and music filling the room. It wasn’t really your scene, but your friends had convinced you to come out for a change, insisting that you “needed a night out.”

"Look, if nothing else, you might at least see some familiar faces," one of your friends said, nudging you with a grin. “Rumor has it Charles Leclerc is here.”

You rolled your eyes but couldn't help the little spark of curiosity that flared up. “Oh, please,” you replied with a laugh, though you glanced around the room. “Why would Charles Leclerc be at a random party like this?”

“Apparently, he knows the host,” your friend said, looking around too, as if he’d appear on command. “Besides, you know he’s got a thing for these parties. Always in the photos with some new girl hanging off his arm.”

“Right, the ‘playboy’ Leclerc reputation,” you muttered, trying to sound as uninterested as possible. But the truth was, you knew exactly who he was, and while the rumors weren’t exactly your thing, he was… undeniably attractive.

“Yeah, that reputation,” another friend chimed in, giving you a sly smile. “I mean, look at him—he’s practically a walking invitation for bad decisions. But I wouldn’t mind, honestly.” She laughed, and you joined in, the both of you glancing around in a playful attempt to spot him.

But in the next second, you felt it—a gaze that sent a small thrill up your spine. Your friends were still laughing and joking, but your eyes had locked onto someone across the room, and there he was: Charles, in the flesh, leaning against the wall with a drink in hand. And he was staring right at you.

A rush of heat crept into your cheeks, but you quickly looked away, brushing it off as a fluke. You barely knew him; it was nothing. And yet, a few minutes later, when you glanced back, he was still watching you, a lazy smirk pulling at his lips.

“Look who’s got Leclerc’s attention,” one of your friends whispered, nudging you in the ribs. “If I didn’t know better, I’d say he was eyeing you up.”

“Stop,” you muttered, laughing it off. “You guys are reading too much into it. He’s probably just looking around.”

“Yeah, right,” she teased, winking at you. “Seems like he’s only looking at you.”

You rolled your eyes, determined to ignore it. But Charles seemed to have other plans because, a few moments later, he began making his way over to your group. Your friends scattered, throwing you quick glances of encouragement, leaving you standing there as he came to a stop in front of you, his gaze warm and entirely focused.

"Enjoying the party?" he asked, his voice smooth, just a hint of an accent slipping through.

“It’s all right,” you said, trying to play it cool. “Wasn’t really planning on talking to anyone new tonight.”

He laughed, the sound deep and rich, tilting his head as he looked at you. “Well, that’s a shame. You’re the most interesting person here.”

“Oh, please.” You shook your head, letting out a soft laugh. “Don’t you have other people you could be charming?”

“Maybe,” he replied, his eyes flicking over you again, “but none of them seem half as interesting as you.”

The boldness of his gaze unsettled you, and you bit your lip, shifting your weight slightly as you tried to keep your cool. He was every bit as captivating as his reputation claimed, and yet you were wary, keeping your guard up despite the warmth spreading through you.

“Are you always this forward?” you asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Only with people worth it,” he said, his gaze unwavering. He took a small step closer, a glimmer of playfulness in his eyes. “So, can I at least buy you a drink?”

You found yourself nodding before you fully realized it. He waved down a waiter, ordering drinks as the conversation between you flowed easily, surprising you. He was funny, easygoing, and each small, accidental touch sent a jolt through you that you tried to ignore.

Over the next hour, you laughed, your body leaning into his as the drinks made you both looser, the edges of the world around you softening. The subtle touches became less accidental—his hand resting on your lower back, the way he’d brush his fingers against yours whenever he handed you your drink. It was heady, electric, and you found yourself drawn to him in a way that felt both thrilling and a little reckless.

“So,” he murmured, leaning in close, his face just inches from yours. “Are you going to keep pretending you’re not interested?”

You laughed, looking away, your cheeks warming under his gaze. “Who says I’m pretending?”

He smiled, his fingers brushing your cheek as he gently guided your face back to his. “I do.” And then he closed the gap, pressing his lips softly against yours.

The kiss was light at first, testing, but when you responded, his hands settled on your waist, pulling you in closer. You could feel his warmth, his heart beating beneath your palms as you wrapped your arms around his neck, the kiss deepening as the tension that had been building between you finally spilled over.

You broke apart for a moment, catching your breath, and he smiled, looking at you as if he was just as affected. “Come back with me?” he asked softly, his voice low and inviting.

Your heart raced, but you nodded, the thrill of the moment drowning out any hesitation. The ride to his apartment was a blur, the silence filled with anticipation, the only sound the occasional brush of his hand over yours. And when you arrived, he barely waited for the door to close before he pulled you close again, kissing you deeply, his hands finding your waist as he guided you toward his bedroom.

In his arms, it felt like time slowed. Every touch, every kiss was filled with an intensity that left you breathless, his lips tracing a path from your mouth down to your neck, his hands warm and steady as he pulled you against him. The night was filled with whispered words and soft laughter, the thrill of his touch and the warmth of his presence pulling you into a heady, dreamlike state. When you finally drifted off, it was with a sense of contentment you hadn’t expected, his arm draped around you, his breathing even beside you.

The morning light seeped through the curtains, and you blinked, slowly becoming aware of the weight of Charles’s arm still wrapped around you. You shifted slightly, thinking you’d sneak out quietly, but he tightened his hold, murmuring sleepily, “Where do you think you’re going?”

You laughed softly, turning to face him. “I thought I’d slip out before I overstayed my welcome.”

He grinned, his hand moving to your waist. “And here I was hoping you’d stay for breakfast.”

You raised an eyebrow, trying to suppress a smile. “You really don’t have to play the gentleman.”

“Who said I was playing?” he replied, a playful glint in his eyes. He reached over to grab his phone, tapping in the passcode before handing it to you. “Just in case,” he said, his tone casual but his gaze soft, watching as you saved your number on his phone.

You arched a brow as you handed it back. “Right. As if you’re going to remember to call me.”

He shrugged, smirking. “Guess we’ll have to wait and see.”

With a laugh, you finally slipped out of bed, pulling your clothes back on as he watched you with a lazy, satisfied smile. “Don’t worry, you’ll be hearing from me,” he called out as you left, and you shook your head, chalking it up to morning-after charm.

A few weeks later, you found yourself at another party, the memory of that night with Charles lingering somewhere in the back of your mind. But it wasn’t until you felt a familiar hand on your waist, warm and steady, that you turned and saw him, his grin as mischievous as ever.

Without a word, he guided you down a hallway, slipping into a quiet bathroom and closing the door behind you. “Miss me?” he murmured, pressing you back against the door as he leaned in close, his breath warm against your skin.

Your heart raced as you looked up at him, barely able to suppress a grin. “Didn’t think I’d see you again.”

“Well,” he replied, brushing his lips over yours in a way that made your knees weak, “I couldn’t just let you disappear.”

Before you could respond, he kissed you, and just like before, the spark ignited instantly. It was the start of something unspoken, casual but thrilling, each encounter leaving you wanting more, yet content with the moment.

The next few weeks went by in a blur. Somehow, Charles found his way into your life again and again, just as casually as that night at the party. You didn’t think too much about it. He’d message you when he was around, a simple “Hey, what are you up to?” that always had a certain charm to it, like he’d genuinely missed your company. You didn’t mind, and maybe part of you even looked forward to it.

One evening, you found yourself back at his place, sprawled on the couch together, a movie playing in the background though neither of you were watching. Charles was close, his arm slung over your shoulders, and you could feel the warmth radiating from him, his fingers tracing light patterns along your arm in a way that felt natural and maybe a little more comfortable than you’d expected.

“So, what happened this time?” you asked, glancing at him. It had become a bit of a game between you two—he’d tell you a funny story or some little anecdote, always skirting around any real details about his life but sharing just enough to keep you intrigued.

“Oh, nothing too dramatic,” he replied with a lazy grin, “just an embarrassing incident in front of the team principal. Tripped over a power cord, nearly brought the whole simulator down with me.”

You burst out laughing, nudging him. “So much for that smooth reputation of yours.”

“Oh, I’m smooth when it counts,” he shot back, his eyes dancing with that familiar cheeky glint as he leaned closer. “I haven’t heard any complaints from you. Also being smooth is more of my teammate’s thing”

You felt your cheeks warm, and you looked away, laughing softly. There was something about him, the way he moved so effortlessly from humor to something more intense, that always had your heart racing. When his hand moved to brush a strand of hair from your face, lingering just a moment longer than necessary, you felt that familiar spark between you.

The kisses started slow, a mix of laughter and warmth as his lips met yours. You’d gotten used to the way he’d go from teasing you to pulling you close, his hands trailing along your back as he deepened the kiss, his touch growing more insistent. Somehow, even though you both kept things light, there was a weight to it, an intensity that left you breathless every time.

But no matter how intense it got, the mornings were always easy. He’d hand you a coffee, tease you about how you liked it, and insist on making breakfast—even if that breakfast was sometimes just a couple of slices of toast or a quickly scrambled egg.

One morning, you woke up with him lying next to you, his arm draped over your waist, his face relaxed in sleep. You tried to slip out of bed, but as you moved, he tightened his hold, his eyes opening just a sliver. “Going somewhere?” he murmured, his voice rough with sleep.

“I’ve got things to do,” you whispered back, though you were reluctant to move from the warmth of his arms.

“Stay,” he mumbled, pulling you back down, his head finding the crook of your neck as he nuzzled against you. “Just a few more minutes.”

You rolled your eyes but settled back into his embrace, a soft laugh escaping you. Moments like these, the playfulness and ease, were what kept you coming back. And every time he brushed a kiss over your shoulder or laced his fingers with yours under the covers, it felt like he was daring you to let your guard down just a little bit more.

It was a pattern—casual, yet consistent. You never really talked about what you were doing, and maybe that was part of the appeal. There were no promises, no declarations, just the simple thrill of seeing him and the warmth of his company.

Then one night, at yet another party, you spotted him across the room, his eyes lighting up the moment he saw you. He excused himself from his conversation and strode over, his usual smirk in place.

“You just can’t stay away, can you?” he teased, his hand resting on your lower back as he guided you out of the crowded room, into a quieter hallway. His gaze dropped to yours, a familiar heat sparking between you.

“Oh, please,” you replied, trying to keep your voice steady. “I’m here because my friends dragged me out again.”

“Sure,” he murmured, a hint of amusement in his voice. He took your hand, leading you down the hallway and into a closet, closing the door behind him. Before you could say anything, he pulled you into his arms, pressing his lips to yours, and the familiar thrill washed over you, as strong as ever.

“You know,” he murmured between kisses, his voice low, “I missed you.”

You raised an eyebrow, a smile tugging at your lips. “Oh, really?”

“Maybe a little,” he admitted, his lips grazing along your jawline, sending a shiver down your spine. “You’re hard to forget.”

He kissed you again, his hands roaming over your waist, your body responding with the same intensity as if this had been brewing since the last time you’d seen each other. The kisses were heated, a rush of warmth and urgency, the world outside fading away as you lost yourself in the moment.

This was supposed to be just casual, just fun. But as you felt the way he held you close, his fingers tracing light patterns on your skin as if memorizing every detail, you wondered if maybe—just maybe—this was starting to mean something more. For now, though, you were content to leave it unspoken, savoring each moment with him as it came.

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[cailinsblog]

Homecoming Hugs-

Quinn hughes x reader

No warnings but this one is one of my favourites

The clock ticked to 2:00 a.m. when Quinn Hughes finally arrived home after a long, four-day road trip. Exhausted but grateful to be back, he quietly turned his key, slipping through the door with a practiced stealth. The house was dark and quiet, and he smiled to himself, hoping he wouldn’t wake anyone.

With soft steps, he set down his bag and took off his shoes, padding his way to the bedroom. As he passed down the hallway, he paused outside Charles’s room, peeking in at his son’s small figure tucked under a mountain of blankets. Charles was just five years old, full of boundless energy and wide-eyed wonder, and Quinn always looked forward to coming home to his bright little smile.

Finally, he slipped into his room, seeing Y/N curled up in bed. She looked so peaceful, her breaths even and steady. He knew she’d probably stayed up late herself, waiting up until she couldn’t keep her eyes open any longer.

Quietly, he changed into more comfortable clothes and began to settle in when he heard a soft, sleepy voice.

“Daddy?”

Quinn nearly jumped, turning to see a tiny figure standing in the doorway, rubbing his eyes with a chubby fist. Charles, with his tousled hair and sleepy expression, looked up at him with a half-awake smile.

“Charles, buddy! What are you doing up?” Quinn whispered, kneeling down so he was eye-level with his little boy.

“I heard you, Daddy,” Charles murmured, walking closer and reaching out for him. “I missed you.”

Quinn’s heart melted. He scooped Charles up, pulling him close. “I missed you too, little man. I didn’t mean to wake you up.”

Charles nuzzled into his dad’s shoulder, his tiny arms wrapping around Quinn’s neck. “S’okay,” he mumbled, already half-asleep again but unwilling to let go.

Y/N stirred awake at the sound, her eyes fluttering open as she took in the scene. She watched them with a soft smile, feeling her heart swell at the sight of Quinn and Charles together.

Quinn sat on the edge of the bed, gently rocking Charles, who was already nodding off in his arms. He kissed the top of his son’s head, feeling the warmth and weight of him, grateful for this quiet moment. He looked over at Y/N, giving her a tender smile.

“Hey, you’re home,” she whispered, reaching over to squeeze his hand.

“Yeah, finally,” he said, his voice full of warmth and relief. “I missed you both so much.”

Charles stirred slightly, peeking up at his dad. “Daddy, can we go to the park tomorrow?”

Quinn chuckled softly, smoothing his son’s messy hair. “You bet, buddy. I’ll take you to the park and push you on the swings as high as you want.”

Charles’s face brightened, his eyes shining with excitement, though sleep was quickly winning him over. “Okay, Daddy. Love you…”

“I love you too, Charles,” Quinn whispered, his heart full.

He tucked Charles back into bed, brushing a gentle hand over his head. Y/N leaned against him, resting her head on his shoulder as they watched their little boy drift back to sleep.

Quinn wrapped an arm around Y/N, pulling her close. “Feels good to be home,” he murmured, pressing a soft kiss to her forehead.

She smiled, looking up at him. “We missed you more than you know.”

They stayed like that for a while, soaking in the warmth of being together, knowing that even on the longest, most tiring nights, this was the best place they could be.

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[undead-supernova]

Prologue - Chapter 1

pairing: eddie munson x fem!reader

plot: you and Mr. Munson are freshman english teachers at south jefferson high school and it seems that some of the kids think he's a better teacher than you. and, yeah, you're a little bit pissed

wc: 3.9k

no cw for this prologue - (lighthearted enemies to lovers)

a fun 2000s idea i had after watching the tv show English Teacher

title reference: We Are Going To Be Friends by The White Stripes

You were a curious moth to a smoldering flame. If anyone accused you of such a thing, you’d tell them they were crazy. And yet, here you were, staring at a piece of lined paper sticking out of a locker. 

It belonged to Dustin Henderson, obvious from the Weird Al sticker stuck next to another of a retro baseball hat that read This is my thinking cap! Yeah, undoubtedly Dustin’s.

You thought about trying to push it back in so he could avoid some stupid bully ripping it. There was no reason for anyone to do that, but Dustin was a freshman and, well, he wasn’t exactly the most popular guy here. 

Fuck it, you thought before taking a step forward.

As you touched the worn corner, you spotted your name poking out from the page. Next to it was…Mr. Munson’s?

You couldn’t help yourself from pulling it out just a little further.

I just think Mr. Munson is better

Huh?

You yanked the paper from the slit, fisting it with both hands as you scanned the page. That was undoubtedly his handwriting, haphazardly written like he was always thinking faster than he wrote. 

So what the hell was Dustin Henderson doing saying that Mr. Munson was a better teacher than you? Dustin was in your class, not his! How the hell would he know?

A sudden flood of panic washed through you, causing you to throw a glance over to Aisha sitting farther up the hallway, scribbling away at something.  She was always here before everyone else, begging you to give her homework early. Most days the answer was no. Most days.

But today, her attention seemed far away. 

You looked back down, noticing a bunch of tally marks in pencil and pen. Even one was made with…an Expo marker? What the fuck?

she’s hot though, someone responded under Dustin’s comment, taunting you in red ink.

dude I’m dating Suzie 

that doesn’t mean you can’t look

Mr. Munson is super fucking cool

Why did this feel like betrayal? Why was the word gnawing at your gut? Why was it bringing that bagel you’d scarfed down this morning up to the surface? 

“Find anything good?”

You startled, instinctively jumping backwards and into the chest of the person behind you. Whirling around, you were face-to-face with Mr. Munson himself. 

This was the first time he’d spoken to you. Ever. You’d been here since last spring, subbing for a teacher on maternity leave before she decided to become a stay at home mom. The hiring process was much easier after that. You’d see him at staff meetings and watch him holding the door open for the students after school like he was herding zoo animals off of his arc. 

And now here he was, looking way too put together for a Monday morning. He had a crisp white button down with a noticeably ironed black tie and his long hair skillfully tucked into a low bun. His shaggy bangs were freshly trimmed with little tendrils framing his face. You couldn’t help but think he was the only teacher here without dark circles under his eyes. 

“I…” you trailed, trying to parse through everything that’s just happened. The tally marks. The comments. The other candidate standing in front of you. The sheer amount of tally marks declaring you inferior to said candidate. 

Mr. Munson’s eyes flickered down at the page, eyebrows shooting up. Before you could respond, he plucked it from your fingers. He mouthed the words as he read, scanning intently.

And then he let out a wheeze of laughter.

“Dustin fuc—freaking, excuse me, Henderson. You know, he’s just—” He looked back up at you, grin fading as he noticed your deflated expression. “Woah, hey. Sorry, I didn’t mean to, like, hurt your feelings or whatever.”

“It’s fine.”

It wasn’t fine and you hated that it wasn’t fine. 

There was an image that flashed briefly before your eyes, of a note stuck to your locker with gum. A love letter from your crush, the one you held to your chest with a death grip as you floated through the cafeteria to his table. The great swell of hope before the roar of laughter that ensued. Before he high-fived his friends and let you down hard. 

But this wasn’t your hometown. The walls weren’t flecked in vertical lines of blue and gold. The lights didn’t signal a death sentence.

And standing in front of you was your colleague, stuck with you in this limbo between the past and the present.

“Don’t let it get you down or whatever. They’re just kids.”

You could’ve sworn he saw the swirling fog that lingered in your eyes. Was this him letting you down easy? 

Then why does it feel like a jab?

Mr. Munson was acknowledged as the favorite teacher of the freshman class last semester. You’d caught the tail end of this recognition, watching him laugh and roll his eyes as he gave a quick salute and sat back down. Mr. Munson, who already had everything figured out within the first year of teaching here. 

You opened your mouth, pathetically suppressing the urge to ask, How did you do it? What am I doing wrong?

But the wave of students coming through brought you back to the current moment, stifling any admittance of weakness.

“Yeah, you’re right,” you said. “Gotta run, bye.”

You turned.

“Isn’t your classroom that way?”

Wincing, you turned back around, watching a smirk fill Mr. Munson’s stupid face. His eyes flickered toward your classroom three doors down from his before back at you.

“Yep, thanks. I know where my classroom is.”

“Yeah, I bet you sure do.”

“Great.”

That was the last time you would ever speak to Edward Munson.

Two weeks after you two found the list, you’d decided to sit in the empty break room for lunch. Every time you went to the cafeteria, you saw Mr. Munson there, laughing with the music and band teacher, Chelsea Jennings. 

The numerous times you’d tried sitting even slightly near them, you always heard Mr. Munson talking loudly about his Creative Writing elective. He’d rattle on about the short stories he’d assign them as models with authors even you didn’t know. Names that flew past your head, some even being professors from the local university you hadn’t attended. Professors that he still talked to.

You had taken up the Poetry elective, quickly updating the curriculum to include more female poets and sprinkle in some of the moderns. You’d desperately wanted to talk to someone else about it, but insecurity spread the second you realized all of your poets were well-known. But how could you ignore Emily Dickinson, Annie Finch, Pablo Neruda, and Mary Oliver?

Chelsea wasn’t the only one who talked to him so casually. The other teachers would greet him with such warm demeanours that it made you feel sick. George Bedding, the junior geometry teacher and Mathletes coach, ruffled Mr. Munson’s hair and pretended to punch him before sitting next to him. The fucking P.E. teacher and football coach, Shaun Atkins, even clapped a hand on his shoulder while heading towards the line for pizza day.

The few teachers that had been more than welcoming to you were never around for lunch. Angela Bradbury, one of the senior English teachers, was always helping students or hidden away in her room, nibbling on her Wonder Bread sandwiches while reading the latest romance novel. Sarah Stewart, an art teacher, was your closest ally but spent her lunches working on her own projects. 

See? There was no need to be jealous of him. You weren’t stuck on the outs. You fit in just fine.

Or, at least, that’s what you once thought. Now you had no idea how you were being perceived. And if you hadn’t come to the break room today, you would’ve spiraled. Again.

The room was small, coated in depressing beige with flimsy cabinets filled with powdered creamer and Folger’s coffee that expired two months ago. The refrigerator could barely keep anything cold. 

So, yeah, no one really came in here. 

(The other teachers hid a coffee pot in one of the supply closets with the good creamer in a mini-fridge you’d all chipped in for. Rumor has it that even Principal Scott used it.)

You sat down at the folding table, lower back already aching from the lack of support the metal chair gave you. At least you wouldn’t run into Mr. Munson again.

He’d just laughed while you were in the throes of humiliation. You supposed he didn’t have to think much about it because he was the one who was winning. Even if he was just some guy in his mid-thirties who must’ve taken this job as a last resort.

As if you hadn’t done the same.

But that was irrelevant. 

And, yes, you looked at Dustin a bit differently after the incident. Every time he raised his hand, which was a lot, you couldn’t help but see his penciled scrawl. 

Mr. Munson is super fucking cool

You wondered dejectedly if they wrote that during your class. 

Before you could let out a frustrated groan, you noticed Mr. Munson in the doorway with a metal lunchbox covered in band stickers. He paused, wide eyes locking with yours. You couldn’t help but glare. 

Should the opinion of fourteen-year-old boys affect the way you treat another adult? No, probably not.

But you weren’t always known to be a rational person.

It could’ve been minutes. You couldn’t say. The two of you locked in a stare that seemed more like predator and prey than two teachers just trying to make it through another Tuesday. His dumb expression, dark eyes as wide as a deer caught in the fluorescence. You, a mountain lion trying desperately not to devour your sandwich, chips, and Coke in one bite. Including the aluminum can.

What was worse was the longer you stared, the more you noticed how attractive he was. Properly attractive, with lips coated in what seemed to be tinted chapstick. There was no way his lips were that pink, right? And he had to be using some kind of mascara with how dark his eyelashes were. Then there was his hair, seemingly still stuck in the Eighties with the waves. At least he brushed his hair at all, which was more than any of the greasy-haired teenage boys that frequented the halls. Maybe he could be something to aspire to.

Maybe he already was.

Mr. Munson moved silently, only heard as he pulled out the chair across from you, the legs screeching against the dirty linoleum. You surveyed his lunch, an already cooked ramen cup with a Dr. Pepper. He must’ve found a better microwave in Sarah’s closet.

The teachers of South Jefferson High School had a lot of secrets hidden in their closets. 

You finally dug into your sandwich, nearly moaning in relief. The school had implemented some new rule that the kids couldn’t bring snacks or they’d be “confiscated.” This rule applied to the teachers as well which was fucking cruel. You’d said your tearful goodbyes to apple slices with caramel and coughing fits between periods because you’d tried to choke down packets of Cheez-Its.

However, you weren’t prepared to watch Mr. Munson heave noodles into his mouth with a plastic fork, slurping and sucking the entire time. You couldn’t help your grimace, desperately trying to hold back the sound of disgust in the back of your throat.

Until he looked up, stray noodles plopping back into the styrofoam.  

“Uh, what kind of sandwich is that?” 

He only swallowed after he posed his question. Jesus Christ, this was the guy the kids were deeming their favorite? If only they saw him like this.

“Turkey and provolone,” you responded curtly. 

He lifted an eyebrow. “Really? ‘Cause I see other stuff on it.”

You narrowed your eyes. “Banana peppers and onion.”

“And lettuce.”

So much for that scared little deer. Now he was some annoying warthog or a fox trying to slither through chicken wire.  

“Why are you interested in my sandwich?”

He shrugged, a hint of a smile growing in the corners of his lips. You hated it. “It, uh, looks good.”

“It’s Jersey Mike’s,” you said bluntly. 

Mr. Munson only shrugged again. “I only have ramen at my apartment.”

“Right.”

“And that fridge is a piece of shit.”

“True.”

“Woah!” he exclaimed, a huff of laughter leaving his lips. “Did we just agree on something?”

You rolled your eyes, unable to stop the feeling of being a teenage girl again. It figures you’d revert after being in this environment for so long, with the stinging scent of cleaning supplies and hormones spreading like diseases. But nothing prepared you for this to transport you back to a time once easily forgotten.

On instinct, your tongue grazed the front of your teeth, laving over the missing braces that hadn’t been there for nearly twenty years. 

“Why do you care?” you snapped. 

Something flickered across his eyes, too quick for you to distinguish. “Oh, I see,” he started, pointing his fork at you. It was then you noticed that it was in fact a spork. “You’re still pissed off about the list.”

You feigned a snort, waving him away as you took the final sip of your Coke. “What? No way.”

Another pearl of laughter flew out of him. “Has anyone told you you suck at lying?”

“Has anyone told you you’re annoying?”

As soon as it flew out of your mouth, you realized just how mean it sounded. You winced.

Mr. Munson let out another laugh but this one didn’t sound the same as the last. “If I had a penny for how many times I’ve been called annoying, I think I’d be, like, the wealthiest guy alive.”

“You’d surpass Bill Gates?” you asked, trying to lighten the mood.

He pretended to think about it before nodding. “Oh, yeah.”

“Wow.”

You couldn’t help the ease you felt when he played along. But the irritation started right back up as he reopened his mouth.

“I know you’re impressed,” he teased. “It’s okay. Go ahead and gawk.”

“Yeah, I’m absolutely starstruck.”

“Don’t worry about the list.” When you rolled your eyes again, he added, “Seriously! Those guys are just bored. I bet you’re a great teacher.”

“Thanks.” You didn’t even pretend to mean it.

After another shovel of noodles, he said, “But, just between us, I am kinda the best English teacher here.”

You couldn’t help a third eye roll. “I sincerely doubt it.”

A smug grin filled his face. “If I wasn’t, I wouldn’t be sponsoring the new book club next semester.”

A flare of anger flooded your veins.

“What?”

“Don’t get too jealous there,” he teased.

You shook your head. “No, I’m sponsoring the book club.”

He let out a hum and tilted his head. “You sure? ‘Cause I didn’t see your name on there.”

You scoffed. “I didn’t see Edward Munson on that list.” You said his name with a certain amount of venom that you knew wasn’t lost on him. His resulting scowl said it all.

He stood up, smoothing out his shirt and fiddling with his tie. “Well, I guess you’ll just have to deal with us being partners then.”

You were at a loss for words, unable to do anything but watch him move towards the door. “Been great talkin’ to you,” he said. He threw his napkin in the trash can before glancing at you over his shoulder. “I’m Edd-ie, by the way. Don’t wear it out.”

He walked away but you couldn’t help but throw a napkin at his fading figure. It made it as far as the end of the table.

That was the first moment you wondered why he’d decided to eat here in the first place.

“There must be some kind of mistake!” you exclaimed.

Principal Scott shook her head for probably the fourth time in two minutes. “I don’t see why you can’t work with Mr. Munson on this. If anything, that makes the club stronger.”

“It’s my chance to try and connect with these kids,” you explained, desperation leaking through your professional demeanor. “Ed—Mr. Munson has been here way longer than I have—”

“Only by a year,” she corrected, but you were far from over.

“ —and he has a leg up on me with them! I want to start making an impact! Kids these days are less interested in reading than ever before. It stopped being cool. What if I could inspire them to care? What if I could get them to read things that change their point of view on the world, to inspire them to think further outside of the little box their environment puts them in?”

Eddie was impressed by your speech, even if he wasn’t supposed to witness it. He’d actually been on the way here to talk to Principal Scott himself to try and keep his spot as the club’s head sponsor. Maybe keep you there but reduce your authority.

But then. Well. He heard you talk like this.

“And that’s great,” Principal Scott continued. “I just don’t see why you and Mr. Munson can’t do that together.”

“The kids like him,” you said before coughing. “At least, that’s how it seems.” Eddie rolled his eyes. “How am I supposed to do this work if he’s taking the spotlight? I’m just supposed to stay sidelined?”

He thought about the first time he saw you, at that first staff meeting you’d attended. You fidgeted a lot, all flustered and nervous like all new teachers were. Even in your fear, he thought you were pretty. Standing there, shifting from one heel to the other like you’d rather go barefoot than stand in the opposite corner.

You’d looked over at him at the same time, caught up in an awkward staring contest where both contestants refused to stop blinking and had no idea when to call it quits. It didn’t help that you seemingly relaxed at the connection. It was kind of adorable.

When he saw you in the halls after that, he found himself pausing to observe you. You were always there to wish the kids a good morning and a good rest of their day with a certain amount of sincerity that he could never muster. If there was a hyperventilating kid in the hallway, you were the first one to huddle them into your room to help them down from whatever ledge their raging hormones put them on that day. 

Once, he’d walked past your room to see you opening a drawer while saying, “Don’t tell anyone about my secret stash, okay?” You pulled out a bowl of candy that even had his mouth watering. The student nodded her head, puffy-eyed but already reaching in. “If you promise to keep it a secret, you can come get candy whenever you want. How does that sound?”

If you were outside directing carpool, the worst of all the roulette wheel of responsibilities South Jefferson had to offer, you always seemed energized. Like it wasn’t a chore whatsoever. 

He knew you cared about these kids. He did.

But you seemed to have absolutely lost it at the mere implication that you weren’t already everyone’s favorite English teacher. You’d developed some personal vendetta against him as if it was his fault that fourteen-year-olds with greasy hair, braces, and cruel acne flares thought better of him. Especially Dustin Henderson and his group of nerds. He meant that with all the love in the world, of course.

The way you spoke to him was more intriguing than infuriating. Amusing, even. But then you said his name with such disdain, such vitriol. It prodded at something deep inside him, a well of nearly forgotten memories that seemed to overflow the second you said his name like that.

So, yeah, maybe he was starting to develop a bit of a vendetta against you.

Eddie had to shift his plans. Clearly you weren’t going to give up easily. Maybe he’d annoy you to the brink of insanity and get you to drop your sponsorship. He’d always had proficiency in that skill. Besides, it wasn’t too mean. What was another push?

“Don’t you think you’ll get better turnout rates if he’s there?” Principal Scott reasoned. “If the kids like him so much, you can use that to your advantage—and his. I know Mr. Munson is a dedicated teacher. He’s given your speech to me dozens of times about things that quite frankly matter less. He’s passionate. Just try to work together. It doesn’t have to be that complicated.”

“Fine,” you conceded. “Fine. I can do that. Thank you for your time, Principal Scott.”

“Call me Carrie.”

“Yes, thank you, Carrie. I’ll see what I can do.”

Eddie thought about walking away. Really, he did.

But there was a part of him that really wanted to see you. Your figure had been obscured by the doorframe and, sure, he’d gotten enough from your words alone.

Nothing prepared him for the sight before him. You were utterly defeated, scratching at your neck as you hunched forward. The cross-strap bag you always carried was slipping off of your shoulder, causing you to groan as you fixed it. 

As your eyes flickered up, he watched the scowl that seemed reserved for him deepen.

“What?” you challenged. “You wanna gloat?”

It was then Eddie realized he’d been grinning. He gestured to his face. “Was I not already gloating?”

“I can’t believe this,” you grumbled, quickly strolling past him.

But Eddie had a hard time knowing when to stop. And maybe, just maybe, he was solidifying his new plan. It couldn’t be that difficult, could it?

“You could take a picture, you know,” he continued. “just so you can keep up with every face I have when I win.”

“Shut up.”

Oh, he could get this done before Christmas break was over. If he challenged himself enough, maybe by the end of next week.

“I can lend you a camera if you’d like.”

You halted with a huff. “I’m trying to get things done for these kids. I’m trying to help them. Do you not get that? Or is this just a mask you wear to make people like you?”

Eddie tried to disguise the quirk of his eyebrow as he considered your words. But judging by the upwards flick of your eyes, he knew he’d been caught.

What was it that you saw in him that hadn’t been uncovered since his youth?

“You think so low of me.”

“I haven’t been given a reason to indicate any other kind of reaction to you and your incessant need to be a pest at any given time of the day.”

Eddie resisted the urge to give you a slow clap. Instead, he settled on “You done?”

You took a deep breath before nodding. “Yes.” Something seemed to shift as you took another deep breath and straightened your posture. “Winter break is coming up next week. We should try to figure out how to make this work. Why don’t we go get coffee or something and hammer out the kinks.”

“I think that is a great idea,” he replied, his tone more mocking than anything. “See? That wasn’t so hard, was it?”

You opened your mouth, seemingly to say one thing before hesitating and starting over. “Meet me next Tuesday at Java Bean at one p-m.”

Eddie grinned, smugly wondering what your reaction would be when he said his next words. Professionalism be damned.

“It’s a date.”

Your eyes widened, amusing Eddie to no end. Oh, yeah. That hit something. 

“Do you hear yourself?” you asked, nearly scoffing at him.

There were those eyes of yours, searching for something in his. As if you were both trying to find the truth behind your cement walls of defense. But you gave up first, spinning around and trudging down the hallway.

“See you Tuesday!” he called after you, smiling triumphantly when your shoulders locked up.

Oh, yeah. This would be a cake walk.

thank you to @jo-harrington for all the time she took helping me with the writing process and @littlexdeaths for always making the best dividers. i love you both so much it's hard to articulate.

[leclarifies]

off the grid - IV

✰ max verstappen x !driver reader ✰

summary: you strived for nothing but perfection. nothing less was expected from you. being a female formula one driver made it even harder for you to make mistakes. you figured that dating max, your biggest rival yet, wasn't a mistake...right...?

genre: kinda slow-burn? mostly angst, eventual fluff at the end.

wc: 3k

a/n: short chapter bc i wanna focus on the pure fluff in the next chapter, this is just an insight on what happened between the two of them and how they reconciled, hope you like it!!!!! mixed a lil smau in there too

PREVIOUS PART ✰ NEXT PART MASTERLIST ✰ ASK ME ANYTHING ✰ REQUEST A FIC!

"i don't know what to do, i'm stuck in a loop, stuck in a loop. i don't know what to do, 'cause i fell in love with you." - chase atlantic, 'you'

"you look like shit," was the first thing lando said when he saw you, you blow him a raspberry and a stink-eye. you raked your hand through your hair as you exit your apartment, he had asked you to go to dinner with him with the other drivers and somehow, even with your big wage, you still didn't have a car so you needed to catch a ride with someone.

"thanks, i think the lack of sleep is finally getting to me," you say as you turn around and close the door behind you, locking the apartment door.

"you haven't been sleeping well?" lando asked curiously, now piqued by interest when you talked about your lack of sleep.

"no, i've been sleeping like shit and my performance is like shit and everything is like shit and all i want to do is sleep but i can't sleep. so cheers to me being a female formula one driver, right?" you asked lando sarcastically as you both started walking to the elevator.

"okay well... before the sleep problem, you've been doing well right? so why don't you go to the doctor and get some... sleeping pills or whatever?" lando asked as he pressed the button to the elevator, putting his hands in his pockets once he was done.

"mate, what the hell do you think i've been doing? i've been popping those pills like it's candy. it's not working," you huff, tonight was not something you were looking forward to. human interaction with more than one person drained your limited energy.

"maybe it's anxiety then?" lando suggested as you shrug, you didn't know what it was. you knew the root of the problem though, but you weren't going to share that with lando.

"fred is going to fire me at the end of this season, i can feel it," you heard the elevator ding and the doors open, it was an empty elevator thankfully.

"that's not fair though, checo's been having two shit seasons in a row but he's not getting fired by red bull," lando commented as both of you get in the elevator, and you shrug once again.

"ferrari is not red bull and checo isn't a female driver—"

a hand stops the elevator doors from closing and you see a familiar dutchman emerge from the doors opening.

"ah max! you live in the same building as y/n?" lando smiles politely at max, those two don't have the friendliest relationship but since the fiascos that happened in 2024.

max smiled at lando and flashed you a quick but polite smile as well, "ah yeah, i live across from her. did she not tell you that?" max asked as he entered the elevator doors as it finally closed, you didn't say anything. your eyes not even on the dutchman but on the doors behind him.

"well she never mentioned it, you're invited to the dinner as well right?" lando perked up when he realized that max did in fact live across from you, you just wanted out of this elevator for once.

"yes, which is why i'm also in this elevator with you, lando," max laughed before the three of you settled in, the elevator ride was short as you reached the basement floor where lando's car was parked and you assumed that max's was there as well.

after a moment of silence and exiting the elevator, max speaks up again, "why don't you guys ride with me? save some gas. i'll drive you home lando."

fuck.

lando had taken the back of max's valkyrie, wanting you to feel comfortable in the front, but what he was oblivious to was the tension between the two of you.

thank god the ride was quite short, you could've died from the tension if that car ride was any longer than ten minutes.

exiting the car was easier than getting inside of it, max's car keys was handed off to valet as the three of you walked inside of the restaurant.

"i think i'm gonna go to the toilet first, you guys go right ahead," lando announced, quickly rushing over to the toilet before you could protest.

your timing is so shit, lando...

max took the opportunity to talk to you, grabbing your hand before you had the chance of even entering the private room the drivers booked.

"can we talk?"

you turned to look at max who was holding your wrist gently, his blue orbs were clouded with something— you couldn't put your finger on it. he just looked so pitiful and sad.

"talk about what?" you ask as you gently tugged your wrist from his grip, crossing your arms in front of your chest. you were full expecting him to rub the issue in your face, that you needed him somehow to keep with your performance.

"you know what i'm talking about, don't act dumb," max looked away and glanced at the private room, knowing that this conversation will soon end after lando rejoins the two of you.

"i don't know what you're talking about," you shrug, feigning stupidity as you turn back around. thankfully max lets it go for now and lets you both enter the room with no more interruptions.

you're met with a table filled with energy, drivers, wives and girlfriends alike cheered as you guys entered the room, all with smiles and greetings.

you smiled politely and greeted everyone as best you could even with your limited energy and conversed with the others.

you were bracing yourself for a eventful night.

you had told everyone that you would retire early and max piped up if you wanted a drive home, but you opted for a walk instead. you wanted to clear your head. then again, the streets of monaco was quiet in the middle of the night.

somehow you found yourself at the start of where the track would've been if it was race week.

you imagined the race cars, the grumble, the cheers, the noise from all the things happening when it was race week.

you remembered the way people screamed when they found out you started on pole that week, the way the headlines wrote itself when you fought hard to get where you were. after two hard and long years in f1, you finally found your breakthrough.

"first woman to win a driver's championship with ferrari"

"first woman to take pole in formula one"

"first woman to score points in formula one"

"first woman to lead a championship"

first woman.

it was etched into your soul.

that monaco win was much needed for your self-esteem. you finally told yourself that maybe you deserved the ferrari, that you clawed your way to the top and you were deserving of all of these titles the fans gave you.

it was short-lived of course, all the other races afterwards were all individual pieces of shit that you couldn't control. whether it was having to do lico because of your overheating engine, or your inability to focus because you felt so tired, everything was going to shit as you reached the end of the season.

you knew the reason why, it was the night terrors that couldn't seem to stop and it made you be too scared to sleep, even with how tired you were.

you just couldn't bring yourself to fall back asleep.

but you knew that if you had just spent one night sleeping at max's—

no he's mad at you. you can't find comfort in him anymore.

your feet naturally followed the track, turn 1, turn 2, turn 3, before you knew it, you were almost back where you started.

it was a good walk, reminiscing of your win in monaco. it was an exhilarating experience, you would've retired right then and there if you could.

suddenly you feel someone following you, but you were too scared to turn around, to look at who it was. it was a bad idea walking the streets along at night, but you didn't particularly care at the moment.

"it's not good walking alone at night, especially if you're a woman," a familiar dutchman's voice rung behind you, you didn't turn around to look. you knew exactly who it was.

you wanted to chuckle at the irony, here you were being scared that a creepy old man wanted a piece of you, but it was the person that gave you the most comfort.

"i think it's creepier that you've been following me around," you say as you continue walking, not wanting to give him time of day, not wanting to hear what he had to say about you or your relationship together.

"i haven't, you didn't notice my car but i saw you walking around aimlessly and i decided to stop and catch you, i just finished dropping lando off," max tells you as he catches up next to you, walking alongside, "can we please talk?"

"i wasn't walking around aimlessly and like i said earlier, there's nothing to talk about," you scoff but that's where max grabs your arm, forcing you to look him in the eye.

you missed him, that was for sure. you didn't fight it this time, just letting him grab your arm as he wanted.

"you haven't been sleeping well," you didn't know how but he made that observation, you didn't want to have this conversation right now.

maybe it was the eyebags underneath your eyes, or maybe it was your performance. you were too scared to confront your feelings and actually say what you felt in front of him. it wasn't the fear that he didn't feel the same way, but what baggage expressing those same feelings would bring.

you were shifting from foot to foot, your eyes were nowhere near max, and then he did the thing.

"look at me when i'm talking to you, y/n," max said softly as he pulled you closer by the arm, hooking his finger underneath your chin to make you look at him, he often did that before when you straight up refused to look at him, "why didn't you come to me?"

"how could i come to you after breaking your heart like that?"

"i still care for you as a friend—"

"so you shut out friends like you did to me?" you ask, your eyes glassy now, tears were threatening to fall.

you were really scared now. you felt like shit after rejecting him like that even when you felt the same way. maybe you couldn't sleep because the fact of the matter was, you caused him heartbreak.

another burden for him to bare, another burden that you gave to him. you hated feeling like a burden to someone else and this was it, you gave that to him. you made him feel like shit and you knew it.

max sighed before looking away then back at you, "i was wrong for that, i just felt hurt. i thought you felt the same way and when monaco happened and you told me you didn't feel the same way, i was crushed."

you felt a drop in your stomach.

you did that to him.

you did that to a person that you cared about deeply.

then you told yourself,

maybe it's alright. maybe i should tell him i felt the same way.

what more pain could i bring other than indirectly telling him that i didn't feel the same way?

what more burden could i possibly bear to give him?

"who told you that i didn't feel the same way?"

"what?"

"i never said i didn't feel the same way, i just told you i was bad with words. i didn't know how to express myself and it hurt seeing you walk away like that when i didn't know what right words to say," you admitted those feelings from all those weeks ago, "i just didn't want to hurt you by the things i couldn't say."

max had that look you knew all to well, relief, excitement almost. he was happy, he thought for all these weeks that you genuinely didn't love him the way he loved you.

he beat himself up for those weeks, putting all of his soul into racing. never resting, never giving him time to think about what happened with you. he didn't want to think about it.

he put all of his energy into his races, making him win back to back to back, even with a "shitbox" (his words not mine). he didn't want to think about you, because if he did, he might've broken down mid-race.

"there were no bad things to say in that situation, you could've just told me how you felt," max breathed out, he was holding his breath before encasing you in a big hug, as if his worries were washed away by the excessive stress you have been giving him.

you stood there, arms gently wrapping around max, melting into the hug, you felt safe in his presence. he was someone that you could be quiet or loud with, someone who could just laugh together along with you over something stupid.

you missed this.

you missed him.

the way he smelt, the way he would touch you, the way he would treat you so gently, as if you could break if he was any rougher.

he took both of his hands and placed them— into your soul.

he was in love with you and he didn't want this night to end.

you placed a gentle kiss on his lips, "can you just take me home? i'm so tired, max."

"i'll take you home, schatje."

when you came to, you were in a pile of tangled limbs, your arms and legs entwined with max's. you spent the night at his, not wanting to return back to your mess of an apartment. you were greeted with polite meows when you did get back to his apartment, the cats happy to see you after so long even though you realistically weren't that far, only barriered between a few steps and a door.

you were the only one awake in his apartment, his cats happily snoozing at the end of the bed with max's face buried in your chest. he was holding you tightly, like you were going to disappear if he let go.

you wanted to chuckle at the thought of that.

you never felt like you meant this much to anyone, and now with max's admission of how he felt for you, you felt at peace for the first time in your life.

last night, he peppered you with kisses until you fell asleep in his arms, not wanting to let him go either. he was a precious man, and you needed to keep him safe at all costs.

your life had been so turbulent, all of the pushing for you to reach the top, all of the abuse you had to go through at home, all of the words you had to hear just because you were a woman when you were racing.

it felt nice to just have to worry about staying at the top.

then you realized, it was the first night you had experienced in the past few weeks that you didn't have a night terror, you slept like a sweet little baby.

your train of thoughts were stopped by a certain sleepy max waking up though.

"when did you wake up, schatje?" max asked, sleep still laced within his voice, you looked down to see a very sleepy max, his cats were starting to wake up too.

"just a few minutes ago, did you sleep well?" you asked max as he laughed before burying his face into your chest again, he shook his head.

"i think i should be asking you that, how do you feel?" max asked as he looked back up, cats now crawling and pawing at max for him to feed them you assumed, but you just planted a kiss on his forehead.

"i slept like a baby, it's the first time i didn't have to worry about night terrors," you told him before he gently untangled his limbs from yours, a soft meow came from sassy, a hungry one.

"we have break for the next three weeks, what do you want to do?" max asked as he sat up from his previous position, tousling with his hair as he always did.

you shrug, sitting up in a similar fashion, not really knowing what you wanted to do. three weeks of absolute freedom accompanied by max sounded like a beautiful experience, but you were just thinking about how well you could sleep, "i don't know, all i can think about is how i'm going to sleep in this bed for the next couple of weeks, i'm not going back to my apartment. maybe it's time for me to change my matress..."

you felt a shove from max, that's when you laughed.

"you slept like a baby thanks to me!" he huffed before pouting, you wished you could take a picture of his dumb face.

you continued laughing as you watch him exit his room and lead his cats to feed them some breakfast, you were surprised you woke up in a timely manner considering that you haven't slept well in weeks.

you decide to get up and start your day, there's isn't a day without starting, right?

max decides on a whim that he wants to plan an impromptu getaway in italy.

"why italy?"

"reminds me of your shit team."

"thanks for reminding me that i have a shit car this season."

yes, that was his reasoning. did you want to smack him? probably.

that's how you were on a jet with max, snoozing happily.

you've realized you haven't really checked your social media recently, you decide to open it up despite a lot of people telling you not to.

that's not good.

liked by 79,000 people.

f1gossip paparazzi pictures from italy has appeared, is that y/n with max verstappen? 0.o

click to view comments.

user1: do my eyes deceive me or is that actually y/n

user2: what are they doing in italy though?

user3: probably enjoying a vacation, why are we speculating their relationship tho,,,,?

user4: did you not slide to the second picture????

user3: yep, i just did. my bad

user5: they look kinda cute together, but do the fia not have regulations for workplace relationships???

user6: i wouldn't think of it if i were them ngl, no other woman has been on the grid before

user7: okay but max looks happy, what is the issue??

user8: yeah some people are in over their heads for no reason

user9: y/nstappen shippers, this is your time to rise.

user10: been here since day 1, they're late

user11: being late to your own ship is crazy

being called by ferrari and red bull simultaneously was a lot to handle.

"you guys have two options, either deny it and not show up in public or announce it," your pr manager had called you the first second you touched down in monaco, you were rubbing your temples and seeing max pace back and forth in the balcony, on a similar call with red bull pr relations.

"or i can just not address it you know, isn't that a good plan?" you scoff sarcastically as jessica tells you that it's a hard no. she tells you further that she wants this issue resolved tomorrow.

you end the call the same time max re-enters the apartment.

"so i think... i was given an ultimatum," max says, he looked a bit sheepish, scared even. you raise an eyebrow.

"announce it or deny right?"

"how'd you know?"

"jessica told me to do the same exact thing, she wants me to die," you groan and bury your head in the sofa throwpillows, you could feel max sit next to you and pat your head.

"well, what do you want to do now?" he asked as he softly gave you reassuring pats, as if to tell you, 'it's okay, i'm here'.

"die."

"y/n."

"BUT THAT'S WHAT I WANNA DO!" you fake-cry as you sit back up right and stare at him, "imagine, the first date we go on, we get caught by paps by me staring lovingly into your pretty blue eyes! kill me!"

"you have pretty eyes too, in your defense—"

"THAT'S NOT THE POINT MAX EMILIAN VERSTAPPEN!"

max holds his hands up in the air in defense before you groan back into your throwpillow, "can't i catch a break? my shitty car with my shittier personal life."

your voice was muffled against the throwpillow, max laughed before speaking up, "so you're saying i'm shitty?"

"no i'm saying my life is going shittily and there's nothing i can do about it," you continue burying your face into the pillow, only releasing yourself from the suffocating position when you needed air.

"you're fine. anyways, do you want me to do it or you do it?"

"ARE YOU CRAZY?"

liked by maxverstappen1, charles_leclerc, alexandrasaintmleux and 987,000 others!

yourusername this is me neither confirming nor denying to the allegations (also my pr manager forced me to do this!!!!!!!!!!) tagged: maxverstappen1

click to view comments.

maxverstappen1: I did not agree to this.

yourusername: do you want to die?

charles_leclerc: chat are we surprised?

user11: WHO TAUGHT YOU THAT?

georgerussell: um, yes we are!!!!!!

alexandrasaintmleux: i think you're the only one not surprised hun

alexandrasaintmleux: congrats love!

user12: the caption is crazy

user13: so the paps caught them when they didn't wanna be caught? that's so sad...

user14: i'm actually so happy for you!

oscarpiastri: Not something I expected for my 2025 bingo, but here we are.

user15: WHY DO YOU HAVE A BINGO IN THE FIRST PLACE?????

user16: can we please talk about this comment?

landonorris: So happy for you mate, was that what the tension was in the car? Sexual tension?

maxverstappen1: I know where you live :D

landonorris: That sounds like a vaguely worded threat.

user17: DHUAWHDNAHD???????/

user18: well good morning to you too y/n

yourusername: you think i wanted to do this??

user18: YOU REPLY???

yourusername: WHEN I AM FRUSTRATED, YES.

user18: i think i might die

yourusername: that's what i said to max when my pr manager called me to tell me to announce or deny the relationship.

user19: CAN WE TALK ABOUT THIS PLEAAAAASSSSSEEEE>>>?<>?>?>

liked by yourusername, charles_leclerc, landonorris and 890,039 others.

maxverstappen1 Cheers to being exposed by paparazzi when we weren't ready, schatje. tagged: yourusername

click to view more comments.

yourusername: i look ugly in the second pic, pls delet :(

maxverstappen1: You look beautiful in every angle, please be quiet

yourusername: ???????

yourusername: ARE YOU FLIRTING WITH ME ON THE TIMELINE RN?

maxverstappen1: What are you gonna do about it?

yourusername: ??????????????????????

yourusername: 24 year old f1 driver, FOUND DEAD IN THE COMMENTS SECTION OF MAX VERSTAPPEN'S POST

landonorris: I wasn't expecting this

maxverstappen1: I still know where you live.

landonorris: Cheers mate!!

user20: oh my god my 433 crumbs

charles_leclerc: the fans can stop the allegations that you're in love with me now

maxverstappen1: Who said I can't love more than one driver?

charles_leclerc: this is where i run

alexandrasaintmleux: @/yourusername your boyfriend is flirting with mine again

yourusername: STOP FLIRTING IN THE COMMENTS SECTION

user21: this is so sweet :(

user22: they really love eachother, huh?

user23: plithhhh, i love the y/nstappen posts, keep em coming T___T

yourusername: i'll try!!!!!

user24: almost all the posts are of them kissing, god when is it my turn?

user25: I'M JEALOUS PLEASE Y/N DATE ME INSTEAD

yourusername: just pick a time and a place baby

user25: Y/N IS FLIRTING WITH ME OH YM GOF

maxverstappen1: Mine >:[

user25: OH MY OFD IM CRYUGN

taglist: @aadu2173 @chelseyyouraverageluigi thank you for enjoying this fic as much as i do writing it :3 just drop a comment if you want to be added to the taglist

[lovebunnie]

“it’s not about canon fucking capital!” nandor spits in the air between them. guillermos jaw drops a bit, and it all starts to feel like a bit of a sick joke to nandor. its never easy, not with guillermo.

he shifts and narrows his eyes. “being a janitor had its good moments,” nandor admits. “i liked being the barrier between the cleanliness of productivity and the filth of failure. also those paper towels were very powerful, they didnt even leave any streakies!

“but…” nandor lets his shoulders drop and he suddenly cant look at guillermo. “being around humans all day is kind of shitty.”

guillermo huffs. “trust me, hanging around vampires all the time isnt all its cracked up to be either. ya know, i spent so many years cleaning up shit and say what you will about panera but atleast cleaning toilets there got me a free pastry-“

“why do you always leave me?”

it shocks them both into silence. guillermos jaw clicks shut while nandor hunches his shoulders, as though he could curl away from his own confession. he was literally commanding an army, but here was where words failed him.

guillermo swallows. “leave you? im right here.”

“no you are not,” nandor hisses. “you are with celeste and then you are with derrick and then it is freddie and laszlo and now you are with jordan.” he steps forward, which makes guilermo step back. conquering lands, even here and now.

“why must you always leave? why do you want to leave, and why do i want you to stay? it was not like this with other familiars, ill have you know!”

nandor thinks about all the snide comments made by laszlo and nadja over the years. their familiars were always easy come, easy go. but guillermo was always there. he would misplace an ugly sock or leave his toothbrush in the open.

guillermo has always been different. guillermo has always been the exception.

it makes all the leaving he does very painful. nandor doesnt know why.

“other familiars don’t pledge almost half their lives to one master,” guillermo counters. “other familiars wouldve left a long fucking time ago.”

it takes everything in nandor not to shudder at being referred to as master by guillermo. “i dont give a shit about other familiars. not even my own old familiars. they were just… blips in the radar.”

“and me?” guillermo whispers, finally reclaiming the ground covered by nandor and placing them almost chest to chest. “fifteen years for a vampire doesnt seem like much of anything.”

“you were my purpose, guillermo,” he says. “to make you into a fucking cool vampire. and then you decided it wasnt actually what you wanted and after that annoying ceremony that i put a lot of hard work into, you wanted to leave again. so now i have no familiar, no purpose because you are not a vampire. i have nothing.”

guillermo stays quiet for many seconds and nandor can see his eyebrows twitching in thought. it had been so long since nandor has stood this close to guillermo so if nothing else, the proximity was a nice touch

“my purpose was to be turned into a vampire, by you,” guillermo says. “and then i realized it would never happen unless i did something, so i did. but it doesnt change the fact that i spent so many years knowing that i…” he swallows and to nandors delight, his cheeks turn crimson under shitty lighting. “i was meant to be yours, turned by you.”

“you are driving me crazy,” nandor says quietly. “i do not know why you keep leaving me and why i care so much. you really hurt me, you know! every time you leave it hurts!”

“i know why i keep leaving,” guillermo says. “and i think i know why you want me to stay so bad. the reasons are pretty similar, if i had to guess.”

“tell me,” nandor growls, his hands coming up to grip guillermos biceps so that he cannot flee, not again. “tell me.”

with the same drive behind the words that would compel weaker men, guillermo looks up at him, and before nandor can even think about speaking again, guillermo surges up and crashes their lips together with his hands tangled in nandors hair and knocking the head piece off in the process.

before it can even begin, guillermo pulls away. he is panting and then pulling a vibrating telephone out of his pocket. nandor watches with blazing eyes

“its jordan…” he trails off, looking thoughtful while nandor feels murderous.

a small smile creeps onto his face as the still vibrating phone goes back into his pocket. “but I’ve got better things to do.”

guillermo smiles at nandor and for once, he looks settled, not ready to bolt. nandor knows the same expression is reflecting on his face as well.

as he makes his move towards a willing guillermo, he hopes the camera crew is more engrossed with whatever antics nadja and laszlo and colin robinson have gotten into.

[callme-holly]

hii can you do handholding prompt 21 (holding hands while one is balancing on a small wall) with dally 🤍🤍

𝐔𝐧𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐚𝐛𝐥𝐞

[𝐃𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐚𝐬 𝐖𝐢𝐧𝐬𝐭𝐨�� 𝐱 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫]

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲 - Dallas has always been a little rough around the edges, but there are some times when you see through the cracks

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 - 684

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 - brief mentions of fighting and getting arrested

The sun was high in the sky, the midsummer breeze doing very little to cool the already warm air.

The street was mostly empty, the occasional car passing by, their windows rolled down, and their radios blaring, but it seemed most people were content to stay inside and avoid the heat.

Beside you walked none other than Dallas Winston, a cigarette dangling from between his lips, his arm slung lazily over your shoulders. There was a cut on his jaw, one that hadn't quite healed over during his time in the cooler, and he had several bruises littering his knuckles, none of which seemed all too new either. Dallas always did love a fight; that was something you wouldn't ever be able to change; still, that didn't mean you couldn't try.

“Why'd you do it?” you asked him, breaking away from his hold to step up onto the little wall lining the path, glancing over at your boyfriend. “Why did you bother fighting those guys in the first place? You could've just walked away." You trailed off, knowing the suggestion wasn't even worth considering.

“I told ya,” Dallas mumbled around his cigarette, his cheeks puffing slightly as he took another drag. “They deserved it, talkin' shit about us like that.”

He steps closer to the wall, reaching out to grab at your hand, steadying you as you stumble forward slightly.

“You're gonna hurt yourself, man,” he comments, poorly concealed concern in his eyes as he glances up at you. It seems he doesn't want to discuss what happened before he got hauled in, and you decide that it's probably best to just drop the topic before he snaps at you about minding your own business.

So instead, you carry on walking, Dallas' fingers laced with yours, squeezing gently. The sun feels nice on your skin, warming your face and arms, and you breathe deeply, taking in the scent of the summer air, your perfume, and the smoke from Dallas' cigarette mingling somewhere in the mix.

"You gonna let me stay the night, doll?" he asks after a moment, giving you a quick glance. He hasn't let go of your hand yet, and it seems he's entirely unaware that he's still holding it, too busy searching your face for an answer.

You look over at him for only a moment, the corners of your lips lifting into a smile at the sight of him; the light catches the blonde strands of his hair, turning them white, making him look almost angelic. But that's ridiculous—Dallas Winston is everything but angelic. One close look at him would reveal everything—all the little imperfections, the scars that marred his features and made you wince every time you saw them, the way his brow was almost always furrowed in frustration, his eyes sharp and cold, the way he was so often silent and angry, the way he could make even the most innocent action seem like anything but.

“We'll see..” You reply eventually, though you know you've already given him an answer, because you can't bring yourself to deny him anything, and he knows that all too well.

For a split second, you notice the way the corners of his lips turn up into a smile, crooked and lopsided, and you know that underneath all that toughness, there's a kid who just needs someone to care about him.

Dallas raises a brow at you, letting out an incredulous chuckle as he drops your hand, instead bringing his arm up to wind around your waist as he hauls you up and off of the wall.

“We'll see, huh?” he repeats, smirking as your arms wrap around his neck, clinging onto him as if he'd drop you at any given second. Your breath comes out in small gasps of laughter, and he leans down, bringing his lips to yours in a kiss that's both passionate and demanding. Dallas doesn't do sweet and soft; he never has, and he never will. But that's one thing you’d never change about him.

[teal-fiend]

You lean forward on the porch railing, cigarette dangling between your fingers as you survey the street. Your eyes, predatory in nature, can see every detail in the darkened trees, bushes, and mailboxes. Your friend’s night vision however, is not as competent. 

The evening's warm, the kind of night that feels thick with vice and contentment. 

Adding to that; Your belly is still a little heavy from your last feeding. It's barely a bump now—hardly noticeable—but you know it's there. Maybe someone with some discernment would be able to tell, too. Though Most people would think you’re just a bit chubby in the middle. Or bloated for a less sinister reason, than the fact that you ate someone a few days ago and you were still in the process of digesting them. 

But you imagined by tomorrow your gut would be all finished, and there’d be no indication at all that your prey was ever inside you. Feels good now, though. A lingering fullness. You haven’t felt the need to eat all day, you’re already set. 

In this period of resting and digesting, arose the perfect opportunity to socialise. Or more specifically, gossip. 

"You should have seen her," you mutter, flicking ash. "Dressed like she was going to some red carpet event, not a ‘date night’ at Denny’s - on a Tuesday, by the way. Like what the fuck is up with that?"

You pass the cig. Your friend raises an eyebrow, glancing over at you… and down at your… ex...? (does it count if you only went out once?) as they take a drag of their own. “Oh, and I’m sure you would never do anything remotely tacky. Like, I don’t know…eating your date?”

You narrow your eyes at them, "Excuse me?"

"Just saying," they reply, a savoir-faire smile slipping out. "Everyone’s got their flaws. Some people dress a bit extra on a date; others leave with a full belly."

You scoff, the irritation simmering. "What, and you're some saint? You don't even get it." You take your cigarette back and press it to your lips, inhaling sharply (before coughing grossly). "For your information, she practically begged to come back to my place - she knew what she was getting into."

“Uh-huh,” they reply, smiling. “Sure, if that’s how you want to rationalise it.”

“Go to hell.” You turn, crossing your arms, suddenly very aware of the slight curve at your middle. If your digestion hadn’t taken so long, you’d have a flat stomach by now. Maybe it was the dress. You coughed it up only yesterday. 

Was it… tacky to eat your date? You supposed, it was kind of stereotypical, for a pred. 

"Come on," they chuckle. "I mean hey, I’m just telling you how it is. You’re out here, Eating the person who agreed to go out with you. And you’re being picky about her fashion choices? Glass houses, and all that."

You glare at them, but they take your cigarette and blow out a lazy plume of smoke, thoroughly amused at your expense. You simmer in irritation, shifting your weight onto your other foot. 

The silence between you and your friend settles—until your gut cuts in with a deep, rolling gurgle, loud enough to break it.

You flush, hoping your friend doesn’t comment, but they do, laughing, “ I guess she’s not too happy with what you’ve been saying about her. Maybe she wants to give her side of the story.” 

You scowl, folding your arms tighter across your stomach. The sound goes off again, a long groan that practically echoes in the night. Your gut must be pushing your meal along now. But could it not be so loud? Now was not a good time.

"Real mature," you mutter, kicking ash at your feet, trying to ignore the heat prickling in your cheeks. "She’s not saying anything.”

"Those tummy growls seem to say otherwise," your friend teases, tilting their head down at your inflamed middle,  “She seems a little unsettled about this whole ‘formal attire’ critique… 

I mean, I’d think you would come to appreciate her taste by now… all things considered.”

You shoot them an unamused look, but your stomach gives an almost petulant glorp, as if it's agreeing with them. They just laugh, delighted, and lean back on the railing, clearly enjoying your discomfort.

You give your belly a pointed pat. "She's got nothing left to say. Trust me."

But your friend just grins, eyes gleaming with humour as your belly gives another rhythmic groan. "Uh-huh. sure.”

As your friend’s laughter tapers off, you feel an odd little twinge in your stomach. At first, you ignore it, brushing it off as just a slight bit of indigestion, but the feeling only intensifies—an unease right below your ribs. You shift on your feet, putting a hand over your belly, but it doesn’t seem to help.

Your friend looks over to you, their expression switching to concern. “Are you alright there? Sorry, I didn’t mean to upset your stomach.”

You put a hand over your mouth, not knowing what to expect. With a lurch, you spit up something small and metallic, clinking as it lands in your open palm.

It’s a delicate, gold earring, with a little white gem in the centre—one of hers. You stare down at it, your face heating as you remember her fingers brushing over it just last night, laughing as she tucked a strand of blonde hair behind her ear. You didn’t think much of it then.

Your friend peers over, curious. “Well, well. Looks like she left you a little souvenir.” They observe it carefully, and look down at you, “I wonder if the other one is still in there.”

“Shut up,” you mutter, pocketing the earring with a scowl on your face. You press your hand against your stomach again, to gauge whether anything else is thinking about coming back up. 

“Maybe you should remove them first next time,” they suggest, “I hear eating prey with jewellery on can give you indigestion.”

“Helpful.” you mutter through gritted teeth.

[reneesghostinthelivingroom]

Wednesday Adams having a mute gn!sibling who she has a soft spot for and is protective of?

Black Hearts

|| Wednesday Addams x mute!genderneutral!sibling

|| Warnings; reader is mute, sign language marked similarly to dialogue, Wednesday soft for reader and hinted at Enid, short drabble, reader referred to with they/them

|| Summary; when reader joins Wednesday and Enid for classes, reader helps Enid out on an assignment.

Requests open!

Started; November 6th

Finished; November 6th

~~~

One thing about you, you were mute. You couldn't talk. No matter what you or your family tried, you just couldn't. Which lead Wednesday to be extra protective of you in any school the two of you attended. Human or Nevermore. It didn't matter. She even specifically requested for the two of you to get roomed together. Of course, that ended up happening. And now the two of you shared a room with Enid Sinclair. Who was probably the most talkative girl you and Wednesday knew. At first it was really annoying, but now you both were a little more used to it.

It was a rainy morning at Nevermore today. You didn't have a class first period, so you slept in as much as you could before finally dragging yourself out of bed. Getting ready for the day. You got into uniform and had a snack from your stash. Before meeting up with your sister and Enid after their first class was over. As you joined them, you walked beside Wednesday. The two of you simply listened as Enid rambled on about social media whatnots. Frankly, you didn't care for that. Social media wasn't yours or Wednesday's style; but it was certainly Enid's. Wednesday shared a glance with you and you subtly signed something about how Enid didn't seem like she was going to be quiet anytime soon. That got a little smirk out of Wednesday, who nodded in agreement. Wednesday had made herself fluent in sign language when it became apparent that you wouldn't be able to talk. She was your translator. At least, while you were at Nevermore. Your family had taken the time to learn it too. Though even some of the teachers had started picking it up so they could better help you. Especially those who didn't also have Wednesday in their class the same time as you.

When you signed, despite trying to be subtle, Enid caught it and leaned forwards so she could see your hands better. She then looked to you in confusion, then Wednesday. Enid wasn't fluent in sign by any means. But she did try. It just took her a little longer to understand.

"What did they say? I think I caught something about quiet but I really have no idea what the rest was. What was it?" Enid asked, her rambling never stopping even for questions. Wednesday sighed and shared a glance with you. Deciding not to answer and change the subject entirely.

"Did you do the assignment for our next class?" Normally, Wednesday couldn't care less about small talk. But it seemed to be the easiest way to distract Enid from things she didn't need to know about. Plus, Wednesday wasn't sure if Enid would have gotten annoyed with the comment you'd made about her or not. Likely not, if anything it may have just dampened her mood. Something Wednesday didn't want either, though she wouldn't have admitted it even if you begged her to. She would rather do anything else.

"Assignment..?" Suddenly, Enid looked horrified. Wednesday raised an eyebrow. Knowing exactly why. Enid hadn't done it. You looked at Enid and smirked as you realized the same thing as your sister. You and Wednesday had worked on the assignment together, so you both had it completed. Enid had been on her phone during that time.

"For someone who keeps a blog about the school, you certainly do not seem to know much of what goes on in it." Wednesday commented, finding the whole thing amusing. Even you were grinning.

"It's a gossip blog, not an assignment blog!" Enid replied, panic in her eyes," there should really be an assignment blog, though. Some of us need it." She murmured the last bit," can I copy off one of you? Please? Please? Please!" She clasped her hands together in begging, Wednesday simply sighed while you rolled your eyes.

'Fine. You really should have done the work,' You signed. Then reached into your bag.

Enid titled her head," uhh, something about fine and work?"

"The agreed to help you." Wednesday explained briefly. Enid's eyes lit up as she engulfed you in a hug, making your whole body tense up as you looked to Wednesday. Wednesday grabbed Enid by her shirt collar and pulled her off you, but not with a lot of force. If anything she was pretty gentle about it. You felt relief wash over you as Enid was made to let go, she pouted but respected it. You handed your notes to her and she made the roughest, scrambled version of the assignment out there as the three of you walked to class. It wasn't pretty, but it would have to do.

As for class, it was pretty boring. Enid managed to get the assignment done and handed in while you ended up falling asleep half way through the lesson. Wednesday stayed awake for the both of you. Though she would never admit it, she didn't want you falling behind. She cared about you. Somewhere in that black heart of hers.

[nottsdarling]

Delusion

Summary; Finding out that your boyfriend of 3 months has been lying and pretending about his feelings the whole relationship. 

┈┈・୨ ✦ ୧・┈┈

: Liar!bf Mattheo x reader

: word count ; 696

: cw; cheating, lying, manipulation

: a/n! this is a two part fic, so stay tuned for part 2 my angels

┈┈・୨ ✦ ୧・┈┈

Stepping out from behind your boyfriend, Mattheo, you immediately sensed this was a mistake. As if choreographed, heads turned, eyes following you with a silent intensity that was almost suffocating. Every one of his friends fixated their gaze on you, the weight of their attention pinning you in place. It felt like the entire room was collectively holding its breath, waiting to see what you would do. Beside you, Mattheo chuckled, breaking the silence in his usual carefree manner.

“So, uh… this is my girlfriend, guys,”

He announced, his voice tinged with a hint of discomfort. Another forced chuckle escaped him, and, without another word, he stepped away, leaving you standing alone amidst the judging eyes. He didn’t offer you a seat or even invite you to join him. The awkwardness crept over you like a cold shiver. You felt as though the room was closing in, each stare a reminder of your isolation in this unfamiliar crowd. Your instincts screamed at you to leave, to escape the humiliation pressing down on you.

You scanned the room, searching for any familiar or friendly face, and your eyes landed on Draco. He sighed audibly, his gaze casting a shadow of disapproval. The moment stretched uncomfortably as you wondered what Mattheo had whispered to him earlier to warrant that reaction. Desperate to escape, you made an attempt to quietly slip away. But just as you turned, Mattheo’s voice sliced through the tension.

“Where you off to? Not leaving us now, are you?”

He teased, a slight edge to his tone. Instantly, everyone’s eyes shifted back to you, intensifying the feeling of exposure. Your face flushed as you stammered.

“I- uh… just to the bathroom.”

Laughter rippled through the group, low whispers and snide comments about your appearance reaching your ears. Mattheo’s expression shifted into something almost disdainful as he pointed vaguely in the direction of the bathroom. Without another word, you hurried away, your heart pounding. Locking yourself in the bathroom, you leaned against the door, trying to steady your breaths as you took in your reflection in the mirror. Under the harsh light, every flaw seemed magnified. You tugged at your hair and picked at your skin, struggling with the image staring back at you. The doubts gnawed at you, but a flicker of anger stirred within. Mattheo’s dismissive treatment and his friends’ mockery felt like a slap in the face. Resolving to stand up for yourself, you took a deep breath, squared your shoulders, and stepped out of the bathroom. As you approached the common room, voices drifted to you, stopping you in your tracks. Your name was mentioned, and you listened, heart sinking with each word.

“You guys are so mean toward Y/N!”

Mattheo’s voice rang out, casual yet mocking.

“You’re not any better, Mattheo… the poor girl actually thinks you like her,”

Blaise sneered, his voice growing louder, matched by the others’ laughter. Mattheo laughed along, brushing it off.

“Well, I can’t break up with her… she’s clingy. I’d feel bad.”

Stunned, you felt the floor tilt under you as you processed his words. You took a shaky step forward, feeling the betrayal sink deeper with each breath. Mattheo’s next words twisted the knife further.

“I’ll just get into an argument and make her break up with me. Easy.”

At this, the room fell into an awkward hush. Mattheo frowned, noticing the sudden silence, and looked around, his eyes landing on Draco’s shocked expression. Following Draco’s gaze, he turned and saw you standing there, trembling with hurt and fury.

“Y/N…”

He breathed, eyes widening in surprise. You shook your head, fighting back tears. Without a word, you stepped forward and slapped him across the cheek, the sound echoing in the quiet room. His friends sat frozen, unsure whether to look at you or the reddening mark on Mattheo’s face. Swallowing the lump in your throat, you turned and walked out, not looking back. As you left, you heard Mattheo mutter,

“Shit…”

But you didn’t pause. The hallway outside the common room felt colder, lonelier, but for the first time that night, you felt in control, finally stepping away from someone who didn’t deserve you.

┈┈・୨ ✦ ୧・┈┈

Reblogs, follows etc are appreciated!!

Please do not repost my work onto other platforms without credit and permission.

Have a wonderful day and/or night my angels, mwahh!!

[starry-songs-canvas]

Talking Him Down

Whenever Damian thought of his twin brother, he thought of his kindness. His fascination with the stars, his willingness to take the fall for Damian whenever sick or hurt animals were found in the compound. His aversion to killing or torture, which thought of as a weakness in the league, Damian had secretly admired. He thought of Danny talking him down from mistakes he knew Damian would regret.

He never thought the positions would be reversed.

Yet there his somehow alive brother was there, standing over an already bloody Vladimir Masters with rage-filled cold eyes and a knife in hand.

“You should leave, Dami. Before things get too messy.”

[floralovebot]

MADE EDITS i couldn't stop thinking about their outfits and like,, the aspects i liked and thought felt very winx and in line with the individual characters and the aspects i Hated and thought sucked dookie SO i made some edits :)

biggest changes are to musa, aisha, and stella! actually changed the clothes there. flora and tecna i just adjusted the colors (in flora's case to further unwhitewash her and saturate her clothing more and in tecna's case to bring back her pink hair and green and cyan).

explanations on changes below!

I'll start with the simpler edits!

For Tecna, I just wanted to play around with her og colors lol I actually LOVE her new look and I would love to see this be the final design!! It's SO tecna and fits in with the rest of the winx i love it soo much :') I do think they should bring back her pinker hair though! And again, would love to see the green and cyan make an appearance. I feel like neon green is just very classy techy character. And while it is cliche, I do love it akjgd plus I think it looks good on her and makes the other colors stand out more imo! (but maybe this new, pinker look will make people like her more idk :') justice for tecna my beloved :'))

For Flora, I darkened her skin more for obvious reasons. And then I added more saturation to the colors and added back the warmer tones they took out. Imo, the darker, desaturated, and cooler toned look for Flora only works in very specific circumstances. Color theory rainbow!! Bring back the brightness! The color!! The warmth!!

Which brings me to Stella ohmygod,,, please,,,, please stop desaturating her she looks so pale and sick and lifeless STOP please :') Anyway lol, obviously brought back the brighter orange! I also took away the random sleeve. It's cute but it just didn't feel very Stella at the time? The tube top look is Very Classic Stella (very much giving s3 casual but in orange). Tbh, I don't love the dress itself, but I do think it looks better once you add more of Stella's colors. I also tanned her skin more and made her hair more yellow + brighter! Just like with Flora, color theory is important for media!! This Stella design just does Not give sunny, optimistic character. It's giving the gap (aka BORING aljdhg)

Aisha's design stumped me for a bit, I won't lie. I couldn't figure out exactly what I didn't like. But I got it!! One, way too symmetrical imo. Yes, Aisha does have some very symmetrical looks, but like 80% of her looks are very asymmetrical. I also didn't love that it didn't incorporate more of Aisha's powers. It really just went for *vaguely sporty* and didn't try to bring anything else to the table. And some people might say that Aisha's og looks were like that too, but I disagree! They told a story! She's a brave adventurer, a dancer, a princess, etcetc!! This tells me "oh yeah this girl might like to do yoga. cool."

Anyway! So I made Aisha's pants baggier because let's be fucking real for a sec. Changed the design on the pants slightly to make it asymmetrical and incorporated a wave design. Took away that bottom shiny fabric of her shirt. I tried to keep it but it just wasn't looking great with the pants changes tbh. Added small waves to the bottom and made it one shoulder! Also added her classic little circle wave design 1. because it's cute and 2. so Musa wouldn't feel so out of place with a design. Tbh, I still don't love the pants... I think maybe that hem could be higher?

For Musa! I've spoken about this before but I do not like the bodysuit. I liked the concept and the vibe it brings, but it looks So uncomfortable and s1 Musa was alllll about being comfortable. It's why so many people think she hates wearing dresses (even though she doesn't). So I kept the vibe, but changed it to the same mesh that's on her right arm! Which like!! I didn't even see that until I started the edit!! It's so,,, unnoticeable which like,, isn't a bad thing? But also? I think the mesh being on her stomach too makes the design as a whole a little more balanced (and it's a nice callback to her og magic winx!). As for the color changes, really just wanted to go back to her reds and dark blues. I don't Hate the color scheme, but I also don't love it. And I think this feels a lot more like Musa yknow? Also darkened her hair cause fuck that dude

Anyway lol it's not the best edit so don't look too hard :') I just wanted to explore what I liked about the designs and what I didn't. We did get to see a little bit of Bloom's casual, but I want to wait until we get a closer look to speak on it/make edits. Also tbh, I don't really love Flora's outfit but I didn't want to completely redesign her and I concede that this is something she would wear (although it feels more like s4 cowgirl time/s5 casual and not s1 new student time but Fine). For now, I'm gonna pretend the trailer showed us my edit of Stella and not what it really showed. I can't get pale pinterest stella out of my head,,, aggghhhh

[idaaadivock]

not to talk about dune on main but like. lisan al-gaib became an instant meme in the theater i was at. like great acting amazing music (thank you hans zimmer you're a real one) phenomenal photography and setting and fight choreography

but stilgar's LISAN AL-GAIB in every circumstance possible was so funny it made the whole theater erupt into laughter directly after the fight with feyd-rautha which is supposed to be like. poignant ig and powerful and an overall vibe

y'all hit the wrong vibe besties 😭😭

[iniziare]

Re-tag drop: Yelan

[emometalhead]

.

[xfindingtrouble]

finish up the bottle , then we’ll go. ( for vilkas ! )

" You don't have to tell me twice, " He's already standing up, the aforementioned bottle in hand. The bottle is emptied in a few swift gulps, as he had been nursing it for a while now. Vilkas knew they were going to be leaving the city soon & he could not deny his impending restlessness.

He hardly liked staying in Whiterun, let alone any of Skyrim's other cities. there was always too much going on, too much traffic, too many people. It was a given that their line of work would lead them to discomfort, he could take it... but he didn't have to like it. Vilkas would grit his teeth & push through, but he was eager for them to get back on the road, away from the stench of this place.

He was eager to get back to the wild, away from the expectations & complications of society. It would do wonders for his sour attitude. Vilkas had done a poor job in hiding his misgivings, but there was little reason to hide them from the other. He stretches his shoulders, leaning back to try & wring the stiffness from his spine.A few coins are placed on the table as he tucks his chair back under the table. He'd already paid for his food & drink, but the innkeeper had been accommodating & had managed to put up with Vilkas' impending mood. it wasn't like he was going to miss a few extra coins.

" The sooner we're out of here, the better. " the first smile he's been able to muster in days graces his features. It's a subtle expression of excitement, the corner of his mouth lifting upwards. He's already looking to the door, " We'd best get on our way then. "

[abnormalityrobot]

You could even just put some heart emojis as the comment!

someone I follow on the bird app just announced they're starting a very exclusive private fic server because they and a bunch of other people want to talk about how much they love the fics they're reading, and as an author can I just say that a really great place to talk about a fic you love is in the comments for that fic

I understand that people are trying to create safe spaces, but as the number of comments that I get on my fics dwindles with each passing year, knowing these spaces exist where my fics are being discussed, places that I am excluded from, makes me want to write fic LESS

I mean I guess who cares, right, because if I stop writing, there's 10,000 other people that will continue...but if you participate in a fic "book club" server and you say nice things there about a fic you loved, maybe copy and paste that into a comment on AO3?

the only thing fanfic writers are asking for in return for hours of hard work is attention. please don't rob us of the one thing that we hope for when we hit "post"