#absolute boy failure moment

[dykedvonte]

I hate the stretch lines in the front of Curly's uniform because that means the devs rushed to make a model in like a month or so and thought "They gotta at least know he has huge knockers, gotta know he's got back pain." Cause like what is the thematic importance of his tits having overhang?

What responsibility is that representing? Breast reduction? It shows an inherent greed in his character due to the excess and heshouldletmeholdone and that he clearly is blinded cause if he tries to look down his damn ladder all he's seeing is his own cleavage.

[simpjaes]

hyung line reactions to you squirting for the first time?

hyung line + reacting to you squirting for the first time

☆ jay:

makes him lose control tbh after a short moment of realization. the type to take a second, moan at the view and/or feeling of it, and then go harder while talking you through it like "yeah? feel good baby?" and "that's it, let it go for me." definitely the type who always wanted to make his girl squirt but her never quite getting there until, well, you. would try every single time after the fact, praise you for it, almost beg you to do it again and again for him bc like, he's suuuuch a pleaser. once he gets it out of you once, he'll probably feel like a failure if he doesn't do it every time. after all, that's peak pleasure for you, right? he's got to give it to you every time, no matter how messy, how wet, how exhausted you tend to be after.

★ jake:

he tries to make it happen intentionally every time he fucks. always aiming right for it, pushing on all of the pressure points, almost not allowing you to hold it in even if you wanted to. literally, the first time he pulls it out of you is your first time getting fucked by him. he will stop what he's doing, leaving you a shaking mess just so he can lean down and rub his face in it, licking all of it up and moaning louder than you are. relishes in the way your legs shake through it, loooove being so messy with you, and will absolutely obsess over the fact that you did it for him. little comments of "can't believe you did that for me," and "you can give me another, right?" while again, intentionally overstimulating you to the point you have no choice. jake empties you every chance he gets before filling you up with his cum instead <3

☆ sunghoon:

doesn't really have to try and was a little taken aback when your entire body went limp and started to shake from the force of his fingers opening you up. honestly, he was just about to get his cock out and here you are, quivering with an open mouth, nearly drooling with those once bright eyes rolled into the back of your head. He'd feel the pressure inside of you force his fingers out, along with your hand limply trying to swat him away. Oh man, the way he'd rub and slap your clip through it, listening to the sounds of it splashing out of you and all over his sheets.......he'd be kissing all along your jaw and limp lips as you release, whispering little chuckles before shoving his fingers back in and letting out a little hum. "not done with you yet," he'd probably say, before literally sending you into a state of fucking levetation. def doesnt have any issues making it happen whenever he wants either. in fact, he enjoys that he can give it to you any time he wants.

★ heeseung:

the first time will not be the last. if you squirt for him, you're gonna do it another three times before he even considers you exhausted. definitely praises you for it while also degrading you and calling you gross and messy. he's not really shocked by it, per se, he's more just impressed. never lets your quivering pussy push his cock out either, almost always pushes through it and fucks you deeper, faster, all while rubbing your clit and holding his breath, like he's chasing your orgasm more than his own. lots and lots of splashing, so much mess, to the point you almost feel embarrassed after the first time. fortunately, heeseung loves it, you can tell by the way he'll slide out of you and make you take it down your throat all "how is the taste?" as if he's implying he expects you to squirt on his tongue next. woooo, boy, he's fr fucking straight through it and probably won't let you ever let you rest before you drench him first.

[hypewinter]

I got a take on the Danny is Damian's older brother au. He's Damian's brother but he's his adopted brother. So hear me out:

Danny is running away post TUE and he encounters some assassins. For whatever reason they get into a fight and he beats them. This ends up getting back to Ra's who is quite curious about who beat up his most prized assassins effortlessly. After some investigation, he extends an invite for Danny to train under him. On Danny's part, he jumps at the chance to disappear off the face of the earth and have a free place to stay.

Danny ends up being an absolute prodigy. This is him close to being Dan so his morals are much shakier. He doesn't leap at the opportunity to kill, but he's most definitely not above it if need be. Combine that with his ghost powers and personal training by Ra's himself and the guy becomes like the golden standard within the league. So much so to the point where Ra's even names him his heir and adopts him. Though Danny insists he is his adopted grandson and not adopted son.

Flashforward to Damian being born and Ra's obviously wants him to be his new heir. Not that Danny has any problem with this. He's very clearly Ra's favorite considering the things he's allowed to get away with. Like letting targets go, having worldly possessions in his room (TV, gaming console, computer, etc), and even befriending his subordinates (Ra's particularly doesn't like that one but knows Danny will never allow it to become a weakness for him). Even if Danny wasn't the heir, he would still maintain a significant level of authority within the league (again not that he cares about having power as long as there's a roof over his head).

The problem is, Damian can't compete with Danny. After all, who could match up to a highly trained half ghost with dubious morals? Let alone a kid. Too bad Ra's doesn't see it that way. He sees Damian as a failure who will never measure up to Danny. That's why he sends the boy off to live with his father. It's under the excuse that he'll be receiving a different sort of training but in reality, the Demon Head no longer wants anything to do with his biological grandson.

Obviously this turns into quite the complex for Damian. Meanwhile Danny absolutely adores Damian. From the moment he was introduced to the baby he was ecstatic. He'd always wanted to be an older brother. He would constantly be barging into Damian's room to hang out and whenever they'd sparred together, he'd try to let him win. Ra's quickly caught onto that one and put a stop to it immediately though. Basically Danny is Damian's League of Assassins version of Dick. An example of what he's supposed to be that he will always compare himself to (and that also has no idea what personal space is).

Danny loved his little brother so much that he even managed to get a mission to Gotham about a year after Damian had been sent there in order to surprise him with a belated birthday present.

The bats are absolutely shocked with an assassin suddenly charges at Damian and before anyone can react, scoops him into a hug. Damian is screeching bloody murder as he attempts to get Danny to let him go. Danny is just hugging him while saying stuff like "I missed you little brother" and "You've grown so much since I last saw you" all while avoiding knives to the chest.

The bats get shocked x2 because wait.... little brother!? Talia had another child!? And one far older than Damian to boot. Damian is quick to clarify that Danny is adopted while still trying to stab him. Imagine the boy's horror and Danny's delight when he gets invited back to the batcave to speak further.

[vamphorica]

Because I hate being happy for more than two hours at a time, I've been considering to what extent Matt knew that Takada's kidnapping was a suicide mission.

I've been looking at this screenshot while I've been using it as a reference for a drawing and given that the poor boy is only designated sixty-nine seconds of screentime in the anime, I think it is interesting that there's a substantial pause on this specific frame. Matt is surrounded by Takada's bodyguards, unable to get out of the predicament he has found himself in. At this point, he believes there are two possible outcomes: he will either be arrested, or shot dead. You could interpret his expression here as apathetic, as that is how he tends to be characterised, but he sits in his car and looks out towards the row of headlights for about seven seconds. He considers his situation, acknowledging the number of men pointing their guns at him, and then he leaves his car.

The question is, did it occur to him then, or had he known beforehand, that his death was inevitable? Remember – Matt is one of a few characters in Death Note to be killed 'traditionally'. Should we take the Shinigami Eyes into consideration here, we have to assume that Matt is fated to die at this exact moment in time, regardless of circumstance. There is nothing that would have saved him from his demise that day.

However, I do wonder if, at nineteen years old, he is truly apathetic about his own life. I genuinely believe Mello sees his own death as an inevitable sacrifice, but I am not so convinced that Matt actually cares enough about defeating Kira to lay his life down for the cause alone. The manga suggests he leaves his car almost immediately upon being caught, and his final words, sadly, suggest a lack of foresight about the gravity of danger he is in.

Kira's world is not one in which justice prevails as Light envisioned, but rather it is an autocratic reign of terror. There is absolutely no chance in which Matt would be detained in a society in which death is considered the appropriate solution to crime. He is a Wammy's boy, but even if he had not have been associated with the House, Matt would have still been aware that his risk of death is heightened exponentially through his association with Mello alone.

In the anime, when Matt looks out the window of his car, we hear his inner monologue. Nonchalant, there is no fear to be heard in Drew Nelson's performance of the lines, and Matt's awareness of his impending death is presented as being limited. Is it an act? Or is Matt portrayed as lacking self awareness to such an extreme extent? Perhaps to 'justify' Matt's position as the third successor to L, Ohba felt the need to present Matt as ignoring the inevitable, but at least to me, this feels like it greatly undermines his intelligence. He may not be competing against Mello and Near, but that does not negate the fact he was still raised in the same institution that they were. All the children are freakishly smart, that is the whole point.

Did Mello propose the plan to kidnap Takada to Matt with the acknowledgement that they were both likely to be killed? Mello's final thoughts in the manga and anime are asking Matt for forgiveness, his death apparently unanticipated by the former, which feels like a failure in writing the deaths of these two in a manner that reflected who they were.

Matt is, by all accounts, a fandom project rather than a fully developed character within the Death Note canonical universe, but we are aware that Matt was created for Mello. I hardly expect Death Note to explore the intricacies of such themes in the series (particularly given, as much as I hate to admit it, Mello and Matt are not the main characters within the franchise). However, even with the rather minimal source material provided to us by both manga and anime, we are made aware that the two have a very unique relationship. They know each other intimately, and Matt does not fear Mello as many of the other characters in the series do.

Mello does not want Matt to die. He values Matt and while one could attribute the gratitude for him to the popular fan narrative that Matt is the one to look after Mello after the explosion, or indeed the idea that the two are in a relationship, their interactions with one another already set up their alliance as one that appears to transcend the regular boundaries of friendship. Again, I'm pulling a lot from fanon here, I know. Take it up with Ohba.

Narratively, if Mello has to die, so too does Matt. Ohba could not foresee this character that is so dependent on another to live beyond him. Yet I simply refuse to believe that Mello would have placed someone so important to him in a compromising position where the likelihood that he will be killed is almost certain. As much as I believe that Mello's final thoughts being directly addressed to the deceased Matt demonstrates an important ode to their relationship, I cannot understand how Mello would have been shocked to hear of Matt's death, given the risk.

We know Mello was fully aware that he was going to die that night. If he did not die, Near would have, and I think to Mello that would have been the greatest loss he could have suffered in their ongoing conflict. Regardless of whether you believe Mello cared about Near to any extent or not, I genuinely cannot imagine Mello would have been happy to succeed as L had it been attained through Near's 'sacrifice'. I am actually exploring an AU of this very idea in a fanfiction I intend to publish early next year, in case you're interested, haha.

This returns to the question as to when Matt realises he is not surviving this mission. Presumably Mello asked for his cooperation, and in doing so, he would have had to explain the plan to Matt which, quite frankly, reveals Mello's intent to die as soon as it is advantageous to do so. Given that Mello did not want Matt to be killed, did Mello reassure Matt that he had created the plan to guarantee his safety? Did Matt believe him? Was Mello deliberately vague, only telling Matt that he needed to set off the smoke gun, then hit the gas and get away from Takada's security team?

As far as I can tell, there is no reason as to why Mello would have been dishonest with Matt, explaining what he was planning to do and why. Perhaps he even suggested to Matt that he could find someone else to take on his position, given the danger he anticipated they would be in. Matt is, as I think the series makes clear, very loyal to Mello, and so I doubt such a proposal was even considered, but I think it is safe to assume that if Mello knew how this plan would end, so too would Matt, whether Mello explicitly told him or not. He would have figured it out.

When Matt and Mello part ways for the final time, not shown to us in either the manga or the anime, they both know that they are saying their last goodbye to one another. I think Mello hopes that Matt will survive somehow, experience a Kira-free world and move on with his life, but I believe Matt knows, well before he got caught, that there is no escape from the inevitability of his death.

Maybe, when he steps out of the car, confronted by the 'big guns', he holds out a little faith that at least he might see Mello again soon.

[rottenfyre]

Do you think there's a very big difference of Anakin after his transition to dart Vader? Or the once sweet bright eyes boy still longer deep inside him? Also if I remember correctly his armor literally it on maiden on steroid it's so painful but it keep him alive maybe with reader presence near him it can help the pain a little

Oh, absolutely, there’s still a part of Anakin left inside Vader. I think that’s what makes him so tragic. Anakin never really stops loving—it’s just that his love becomes darker, more suffocating, and even more possessive once he transitions into Vader. The sweet, hopeful boy who dreamed of saving the galaxy? The one who looked at you like you were the center of his universe? He’s not gone—he’s just locked away.

Anakin’s love was always intense, borderline overwhelming. He’s the kind of person who would give you the galaxy if he could, and if he couldn’t, he’d burn it down for you instead. When he becomes Vader, that same devotion is still there—it’s just twisted into something that’s more terrifying than tender.

Think about it: as Anakin, he’s the type to whisper to you about how you’re his everything, how he can’t live without you, and how he’ll always protect you. But as Vader? Oh, it’s so much worse. He doesn’t just promise to protect you—he forces you to stay by his side, locking you away in a golden cage and daring others to come closer. In his mind, it’s for your own good. The galaxy is dangerous, and he’s already lost so much. He won’t risk losing you, even if it means controlling every aspect of your life.

Vader’s entire existence is fueled by pain—physical, emotional, spiritual. Every breath he takes in that suffocating armor reminds him of his failures, of how far he’s fallen. But when you’re there? You’re the only thing that makes him feel human again.

Like, imagine him in the middle of one of those long, lonely moments when it’s just him and the endless ache of his body and soul. Then you step into the room, and for the first time in hours—or days—he feels a flicker of relief. Your presence, your voice, the way you look at him like he’s still Anakin... it’s the only thing that quiets the storm inside him.

And yeah, let’s talk about that armor for a second. It’s hell. Every inch of it is designed to keep him alive, yes, but it’s also a prison. It’s like the Sith wanted him to suffer so his anger would stay sharp. The constant pain, the weight, the limitations—it’s unbearable. But when you’re near him? It’s like the Force shifts. The pain dulls, the pressure eases. It’s not a cure, but it’s enough to make him crave your presence even more.

Now, does he still love you as Vader? Oh, absolutely. In fact, his love for you becomes even more intense. Anakin’s love was passionate and overwhelming, but as Vader, it’s darker. He’s lost everything else, and you’re all he has left. He’ll do anything to keep you with him.

Picture this: you call him "Anakin," just once, softly, like you used to. He freezes. His breath hitches, the mechanical rasp faltering for a moment. No one’s called him that in years. No one dares. And yet, when you say it, it doesn’t feel like a rebuke. It feels like forgiveness. Like love.

Now, would Vader’s obsession be different from Anakin’s? Yes, in some ways. Anakin, for all his flaws, still has that boyish charm and overwhelming need to protect you. He’d do anything to make you happy—even if it means bending the rules or making selfish choices. Vader, on the other hand, doesn’t care about rules or even your happiness anymore. All he cares about is having you.

“You’re mine,” he’d say, his mechanical voice low and menacing. “You belong to me, now and always. No one will ever take you from me.”

It’s possessive. Claustrophobic. But also deeply, heartbreakingly vulnerable because you are his only light. He doesn’t even know how to express that without it coming out as a threat.

Now, if you call him Anakin—like, if you look into that black mask and say his name—he’s done. He’ll freeze, and for a moment, you’ll see him falter. It’s like all the layers of darkness peel back, and he’s just a broken man again, desperate for your love.

“Say it again,” he’d whisper, and for the first time, his voice doesn’t sound mechanical—it sounds human.

And you better believe he’ll latch onto that. He’ll want you to keep saying his name, keep looking at him with those soft, forgiving eyes. You might even catch him hesitating—his voice softer, his touch gentler.

But then the guilt sets in. He doesn’t think he deserves to be Anakin anymore, not after everything he’s done. So, he buries that part of himself even deeper and clings to you even harder because you’re the only good thing he has left.

I like to think that, even as Vader, your presence is the only thing tethering him to his humanity. Without you, he’s lost. But with you? There’s still a glimmer of hope that the man he once was might come back.

In short: Vader is still Anakin, but his love for you is darker, more obsessive, and far more dangerous. He’s not the sweet, bright-eyed boy anymore, but he’ll always be yours, in his own twisted way. And honestly? That’s what makes him so compelling. You’re the one thing that keeps him human, but his obsession can either save him or destroy him—and you along with it.

[normspellsman]

I Trusted You

part one | part two

pairing: neteyam x fem!omatikaya!reader

genre: angstish, arguing (lo’ak & neteyam), fluffish, siblings fighting, & comfort

word count: 2.3k+

warning(s): lo’ak + neteyam arguing, neteyam being absolutely livid, cursing, jake having to break up neteyam + lo’ak, mentions of injury + death + blood, lo’ak + neteyam physically fighting, nete blaming lo’ak for you getting hurt, mentions of nearly crying, slight foreshadowing to the events of atwow, & kissing

taglist: @dearstell @aonungsmate @lvlyynim @optimisticblazetrash @thatonegirlwiththebeanie367 @universal-s1ut @minkyungseokie @arianapjs @wwwellacom @goodiesinthecloset21 @liyahsocorro @amortencjja @chshshhshshshshshshs

word bank: skxawng — idiot; moron, irayo — thanks; thank you, tsmuke — sister, yawntutsyip — darling; little one, tiyawn — love, & nga yawne lu oer — i love you

note: literally spent all day thinking about this fic & just had to write it, hope you enjoy! <3 also, tysm for 1k+ notes on the first part. like that’s totally insane. i love you all mwahhh 💋💋

Neteyam was pissed. Very, very pissed.

He gave his brother one job and he couldn’t even succeed in executing it. Lo’ak was apparently too fucking incompentent to do the one thing he asked of him. Stupid fucking skxawng, he thought to himself, shaking his head in disappointment.

Anxiety riddled Neteyam’s body as he stood outside of the Tsahìk’s tent waiting for his Grandmother to finish patching you up. All he wanted was to have you in his arms and hold you but his Grandmother deemed his clinginess a distraction and promptly kicked him out of the tent so she could work and properly focus without him practically breathing down her neck. He began to pace up and down the side of the tent in anxiety, chewing at his fingernails.

Neteyam knew that putting all the blame on his younger brother wasn’t something he should be doing, but he found himself doing it anyway.

Nothing good ever comes out of Lo’ak’s plans or adventures. Someone within his group always ends up hurt which results in Neteyam having to save his ass more times than he could remember to count. He didn’t mind it much then, you weren’t really in the picture then nor did you ever accompany Lo’ak on his explorations. But once you wiggled your way into the eldest Sully’s life and ultimately stole his heart in the process, you frequented Lo’ak’s trips more and more. If Na’vi could develop grey hairs, Neteyam would have a head full of them. Poor boys heart stopped every time he learned that you joined Lo’ak and company to wherever. He was always stressed about your safety.

“Is she okay?” A voice asked, concern laced within their tone.

Neteyam’s tail swished in agitation at the voice. Lo’ak, he internally seethed.

“No, she’s not. No thanks to you,” he growled out, pacing ceasing.

Lo’ak knew he fucked up. He knew he shouldn’t have let Tuktirey convince you to join them on their excursion. He knew he should’ve done more to protect you from the threats of Quaritch and his knife.

“I didn’t know this was going to happen, Neteyam,” Lo’ak replied, ears pinned back as he watched his brother shoot a deadly glare at him, “I didn’t even ask her to go in the first place. Tuk did.”.

Neteyam scoffed at his brother's answer. How dare he blame Tuk for this. He was the elder brother in the moment, he should’ve acted like it.

“Don’t bring Tuk into this. You know damn well that (Y/N) can’t say no to her. You should’ve stopped her from going either way,” he retorted, finger digging into Lo’ak’s chest as he repeatedly poked it into his skin as he spoke. “You knew the promise you made to me and yet you failed to protect her,” he added.

“You don’t think I know that?” Lo’ak hissed out, pushing Neteyam’s finger away from his chest, “You don’t think I’m beating myself up for it? That I don’t feel bad? I feel awful.”.

“I know that I’m the fucked up failure of the family but that doesn’t mean you can blame me for everything,” he added, tail copying his brothers previous movements in anger, “(Y/N) has a free will of her own and decided to come on her own terms. None of us knew what was going to happen tonight. It is Quaritch and his soldiers fault for what they did. They caused it and we just so happened to be in the crossfire.”.

Neteyam shook his head angrily at Lo’ak, braids harshly swaying at the movement. Everything seemed to have gotten hotter. All Neteyam could feel was hot anger. He was so angry that he saw only red.

“She wouldn’t have gotten hurt if you weren’t at the abandoned shack, Lo’ak. You were there and they took advantage of that, holding all of you hostage for just being there,” he argued back.

Neteyam knew that Quaritch was to blame for all of this but if Lo’ak wasn’t there in the first place, none of this would’ve occurred tonight. He led everyone to the one place they weren’t supposed to go. A place their Father had established was off limits. Lo’ak never thought about others whenever he went to chase a thrill, always paying for the consequences after the fact.

“You don’t think, Lo’ak. You never do! You don’t think of the consequences of your actions,” Neteyam added, hands lifting up by his sides as he gestured towards the boy in front of him.

A part of his statement was true. Lo’ak tended to act before he was able to think. But even then, he felt as if it wasn’t fair for all the blame to be put onto his shoulders. Lo’ak did reckless shit all the time and his actions rarely severely impacted others the way it did tonight. Tonight was out of his control. The ball was no longer in his hands when a soldier took a hold of Tuk, the ball being snatched out from his fingers and into the grips of Quaritch.

A hiss crawled its way out of Lo’ak’s throat, pushing back his brother with enough force to send him stumbling back. He was tired of Neteyam harassing him for something he had no control over.

The elder hissed back, lunging at his brother and tackling him to the ground. Punches and slaps were thrown as the two brothers rolled on the ground. Insults were shouted out into the air at each other causing heads to turn and peak out in curiosity.

“Enough!” A loud voice boomed, grabbing the shoulders of Neteyam and yanking him off of Lo’ak, pushing him backwards and further from his brother. “Get your crap together you two! There is no means for you to fight!” Jake shouted, pulling his other son to his feet.

Both boys' ears were pinned back against their heads and tails fell limp between their legs. Anger had overtaken both of their senses and caused their minds to become overwhelmed with the emotion, taking it out on each other.

“Both of you go to your respective tents, now!” Jake shouted once again, not leaving room for objections.

Neteyam didn’t want to leave you alone in his Grandmother's tent. He wanted to hold you as Mo’at patched you up and slowly began to heal the wounds on your thigh. But he knew that after the fight he just caused, he needed time to cool down and collect his thoughts. Plus, you most likely heard the entire argument and didn’t want to see him after he spat such harsh words towards Lo’ak, who only tried his best to protect you and his loved ones.

Both brothers walked to their tents in silence, heads bowed in shame as others looked at them as they walked by.

Nothing good came out of this night and all Neteyam wanted to do was have you in his arms as he covered every inch of you in gentle kisses to ease his mind.

———

Kiri had assisted you towards your shared tent with Neteyam. She allowed you to put all your weight on her as she wrapped your arm around her shoulder and walked you to your home. The poor girl was still shaken over what happened hours prior, still trying to process your stabbing and the kidnapping of Spider. She most definitely was going to cry herself to sleep tonight, that’s if she managed to fall asleep.

“You sure you’re alright?” Kiri softly asked, settling the both of you in front of the opening of your home. She removed your arm from her shoulder and held you steady by placing her hands on either side of your arms.

You nodded in response, smiling at her as you did so.

“Irayo, tsmuke,” you replied, placing one of your hands on her forearms, a look of understanding etched onto your face as you two stood there in slight silence.

“Goodnight, (Y/N),” she responded back, placing her forehead on yours before pulling back and making the trek back to her family’s tent.

You slowly and gently shifted towards the covering of the opening of your tent, pulling it back as you made your way inside as slowly as you could so as not to cause anymore pain or aches to settle itself in your fresh wounds.

Neteyam and you had gotten your own tent after the official announcement of your relationship to the clan a few months back. Your parents weren’t too keen on the idea but eventually gave in once the frequent attacks of the sky people occurred, wanting the two of you to spend as much time together in case either of you were to fall victim to the bullets of the humans.

It was nice having your own place. It gave the both of you a lot more freedom as mates as well as allow you to explore your creative side when it came to decorating your home.

“Yawntutsyip?” Neteyam called out, upper half peeking out from behind one of the other rooms your tent held.

The teen's eyes lightened up upon settling on your figure, fully coming out from behind the wall and making his way towards you, bringing you into his embrace gently so as to not hurt you. He nuzzled his face into the crook of your neck, deeply inhaling your scent to calm down his anxiety.

“Are you okay? Was Grandmother gentle? Did she patch you up all right?” He hurriedly asked, eyes trailing to your bandaged thigh, refraining himself from reaching out and touching it.

You softly giggled at his frantic voice, softly kissing his lips to silence him. “I am alright, Teyam,” you responded, brushing your nose up against your lovers as he relaxed in your hold.

Neteyam sighed in slight relief, nuzzling his face into the side of your cheek and then back down to your neck. He pulled you tighter into his arms as he lowly and gently purred at the fact that you were now in his embrace in one piece.

“Mo’at said to take it easy for the next couple of days,” you added, pecking your mates cheek as you gently coaxed him out from your neck.

He only hummed in acknowledgment, gazing into your eyes as he brought one hand up to your jaw, caressing it with the side of his thumb. He’ll make sure that you barely move a finger your entire healing journey, him being the one to wait on hand and foot for you. You’ll be taken care of whenever he’s around.

“I heard what you and Lo’ak were talking about earlier,” you mumbled out, eyes darting to the side briefly before returning to Neteyam’s slightly larger orbs.

He only closed his eyes as a reply to your statement, guilt eating away at his conscience. He felt terrible for fighting with his brother in front of the tent you were in and that you had to hear everything. He didn’t want you to hear the colorful words he spat at Lo’ak in his moment of anger. He didn’t want you to see or hear him like that.

“I don’t blame him, Nete. He tried his best to protect me from…Quaritch,” you continued, rubbing your hands on his shoulders in comfort, “Yes, perhaps he should’ve stopped me from going but I chose to go in the end. None of us knew what was going to happen. There was nothing we could’ve done, that Lo’ak could’ve done in the moment.”.

Neteyam knew that your words were true. Lo’ak was only still a child and was put into a life or death situation. Held hostage by someone who wouldn’t hesitate to kill them if they made the wrong move. He couldn’t imagine the type of stress his brother, especially you, went through. It was something that most likely would affect all of you for days to come.

“I know, I know, my love. It’s just,” he begins, throat constricting as he tried not to cry in front of you, “I was so scared to lose you. My anger got the best of me and the only one I could blame was Lo’ak in the moment. It doesn’t excuse the things I said and did, but I was so overtaken by you nearly dying that all common thinking flew out the window.”.

“I only want to protect you, tiyawn,” he finished, placing a gentle kiss onto your forehead before placing his own against yours.

You understood where Neteyam was coming from. Hell, you’d probably do the same if you were in his shoes. Anger was something that many didn’t have complete control over, succumbing to its power in the end. Neteyam had been a victim of its power this night and deeply regretted it with all his heart. He caused more pain to his brother. More pain than he had gone through within the last few hours.

He knew Lo’ak deeply cared for you. That he was merely just checking in to see if you were okay. But Neteyam had snapped at him and released all his frustrations and anxiety onto him as a result.

“I know, ma Neteyamur,” you replied, gently smiling at him.

You knew that whatever Neteyam did was only ever out of love and that was one of the main things that made you fall for him in the first place. He deeply cared for those he loved and would do anything for them. You just hoped that it wouldn’t be the cause of his downfall.

“Nga yawne lu oer,” Neteyam softly whispered against your lips, not giving you time to repeat the sentiment back as he smashed his lips into yours.

He’d do anything for you. He was yours and you were his. He’d fight fiercely for the connection and love you two shared. It was neither of your time yet. He’d make sure of it.

[bodhrancomedy]

8 Games Which Made Me Bawl My Fucking Eyes Out (in the best way)

1. A Story Beside

Holy hell, I think the fact I played this one when I was isolating with COVID and terrified my breathing issues were gonna be permanent probably added to my complete sobbing breakdown at the end of this.

Every single chapter is a beautiful gut punch and the ending sequence where you guide Lyric back through her story? Heartbreaking.

2. I Was a Teenage Exocolonist

This is probably one of my favourite games of all time and certainly one I’ve sunk the most hours into.

The fact that your first run-through is almost guaranteed to be full of failure and missed chances just adds to the pain I felt.

But the bug in the nursery. That’s what got me.

3. What Remains of Edith Finch

I’m not sure there’s anything I can say about this game which hasn’t been said already.

Each new room puts another knife in your heart as you pull apart the seams of the Finch family curse with Edith as the last survivor.

Gregory was the moment I had to take a break to compose myself.

4. Story of Seasons: A Wonderful Life

While I think this remake took some of the teeth out of the original, this farm sim which spans the life of your character is full of heartbreaking moments as you raise your child.

Honestly, being allowed to be queer and nonbinary in this game made me bawl because I remember wishing to both be a boy and love men in the older games.

5. Dragon Quest IV

I could add several of the Dragon Quest games to this list, but after fighting the final boss for nearly two decades, beating this game had me sobbing for hours.

That last scene of Chapter Five had such a tiny little animation of our hero taking off his sword and that send me over the edge.

6. Bramble: The Mountain King

I don't know where to start with this dark folktale of a game. From tragic monsters to absolute gut punches following great unsettling scares, this journey to save your sister as a scared child ripped my heart in two.

The hell Olle goes through for his protective sister is dear to my heart as a nervous little brother myself.

7. Citizen Sleeper

The very concept of this RPG is haunting. A construct on the run from the corporation who took your body is sad enough, but the express love of humanity which runs through this? Beautiful.

I'm not very far through and it's already had me in tears twice.

8. Outer Wilds

I don't think I can say a single thing about this game without completely spoiling it.

Go in blind, but be ready for heavy and sorrowful themes. All I'll say is when you hear the ending theme, have tissues ready.

[pianokantzart]

YES! GOOD! I’m going to just going to analyze the whole dinner scene, because it’s one of my favorite parts of the movie. 

Mario and Luigi walk in, and immediately the whole room lights up to greet them. Despite everything that follows, one thing is clear: The Mario Brothers are happy to see their family, and the family is happy to see them. 

The whole family confirms that they watched their commercial. Everyone except their mom insists the commercial was a bad idea, but the fact that they all watched it speaks to the fact that there is no indifference regarding Mario and Luigi’s dream. They’re eager to see where this endeavor leads, even if they think it’s going to end in failure. 

The moment Mario and Luigi sit down at the table, their uncles begin laying into them like it’s open season on financially struggling plumbers. Just full blown, no-holds-barred roast mode on their nephews.

Mario is on the defensive, but he doesn’t get angry, he’s just trying to argue his side. Clearly this is typical behavior for Uncle Tony and Uncle Arthur. They’re loud, overly honest, and obnoxiously confident in their opinions. Uncle Arthur, thankfully, has his wife to keep him in check. Uncle Tony, however, who is seated next to poor Luigi, is an absolute menace.

Luigi ignores all the teasing. He is only interested in getting food, but this is not an easy task. Tony’s verbal arguments are all directed at Mario, but Luigi is the one who gets prodded and shoved around, and that makes getting dinner next to impossible.

Luigi attempts to serve himself salad, attempts to ask for a roll, attempts to eat the mushrooms being put on his plate, and at every turn he’s either pushed away or talked over. He is clearly very soft spoken compared to the other men in his family, and never quite had the strength to stand up for himself... after all, everyone means well, they just lack self awareness. It isn’t worth the fight. 

Thankfully, Luigi’s mom comes to the rescue, and puts a bowl of soup in front of her boy. She’s the queen of the caretaker role, making sure all the loose ends are tied up and that everybody eats.

But on the flip side, it’s interesting to note that once the uncles start tearing into Mario, Mario’s Dad serves him up a plate of food. He may have just been serving the person next to him because that was the polite thing to do, but I have a theory...

I think that this wasn’t the first night that Mario and his uncles went at each other. I think Mario’s Dad read the room, and figured that if Mario was going to spend dinner playing defense, he should at least remember to eat while doing so.

It also speaks volumes that Mario’s Dad doesn’t voice his disapproval until Mario asks for his opinion. Before then he avoids the subject and lets everyone else do the talking, but so long as he’s being questioned directly, he can’t help but be honest.

“I think... you’re nuts. You don’t quit a steady job for some crazy dream.” This sounds like a voice of experience. Mario’s Dad has the figure of someone who has worked physical labor for a good portion of his life (look the size of those arms). He may have had dreams of his own when he was younger, but he had a wife and kids to worry about, and family took priority. 

Speaking of family taking priority: “... and the worst part? You’re bringing your brother down with you.” That settles it. The conversation has gone from a casual roast session to dead serious. The entire room falls quiet as Mario puts down his fork and storms off. 

“What’d I say?” Everybody at the table (except the niece, she’s long since checked out) gives Mario’s Dad different versions of the look™. Uncle Tony and Uncle Arthur have the same “Jesus Christ bro, you didn’t have to go there” expression, and Luigi just looks hurt on Mario’s behalf. His Dad, however, is just confused.  

He didn’t get the gravity of what he said. His relationship with his own brothers– loudmouthed schmucks who call their own shots – is completely alien to what Luigi and Mario have. He probably knows Mario is protective of Luigi, but he doesn’t realize the depth of responsibility Mario feels for him. Anyone can see that Luigi is loyal to his brother, but Mario alone knows how loyal he is, and the implication that he’s betraying that loyalty is intensely painful. 

I doubt Uncle Arthur and Uncle Tony truly relate to Mario and Luigi’s relationship either, but they’ve probably teased Mario enough to understand one thing: bringing Luigi into it is a line you do not cross.

Conclusion:

There is a lot of love in the Mario family.

Uncle Tony and Uncle Arthur are definitely the most insufferable of the bunch, but there is no malice in their teasing. While they are brash and overbearing, it’s all in good fun, and they get visibly uncomfortable when things go too far and someone actually ends up hurt. 

Luigi seems to take after his mother; kind, nonconfrontational, and happily invested in a supporting role. While his Mom cares for and assists the family, Luigi cares for and assists his brother, both emotionally and in his business ventures.

Mario, in the meantime, takes after his Dad, who appears to be the oldest of the three brothers. He doesn’t always think before speaking, but he isn’t constantly running his mouth like Arthur or Tony, and acts with the gravity of someone who bears a lot of responsibility. He doesn’t quite “get” his sons, but he knows enough to see that Luigi follows his brother everywhere, and Mario does not always think before jumping into things. Despite what Mario may believe, his Dad doesn’t see him as a “joke” so much as he sees him as an impulsive young man who doesn’t grasp the consequences of his actions. But Mario does understand the consequences of his actions, he just dreams big, and... thanks to Luigi... actually has the support he needs to pursue those dreams. 

[ellswritings]

I Knew You Were Trouble

Ex!Evan Buckley x reader

Eddie Diaz x reader

TW: Emotional and physical cheating (from Buck), heartbroken reader, 118 supporting reader, Eddie picking up the pieces, angsty fluff.

══════ ∘◦❀◦∘ ══════

Evan Buckley. The moment his piercing blue eyes showed up at the 118, Y/N knew she was in for it. His flirty smile, the forward flirting, it was hard not to fall for it. Y/N has never been the type to fall for a guy just because he flashes a smile, but something about the way his nose crinkled whenever he grinned at her, it made her heart flutter.

Y/N L/N has always had a strong personality. She was part of the LAPD for five years before going through the Fire academy. She was the best in both of her fields. Always professional, super playful, witty, reasonable, and always down for a good time. That’s why she fit in so well with the team at the 118 when she was placed there. Hen and Chimney were the first two she met, then Captain Bobby Nash came rolling in. He clicked seamlessly with them too. And then… Buck.

On paper, he was perfect. At least in Y/N’s eyes he was. Despite his constant need to go against Bobby’s orders, she could never truly dislike the boy. Did she think he could be irrational and dumb sometimes? Absolutely. But that’s one of the things she found endearing about him.

And that’s also the reason he fell for her. Everyone on the team treated him like some idiot kid who was just a ticking time bomb. But not Y/N. She treated him like an equal, like a partner. Even when he immaturely would flirt with her on shift, tease her, blatantly but playfully check her out, she still never once genuinely got irritated with him.

So when the two of them started dating, the team wasn’t necessarily surprised. It was around that time a new recruit came into the 118. Edmundo Diaz, or as he likes to go by, Eddie. He was the missing piece the 118 needed. It felt like a full fledged family when Eddie showed up. He and Buck didn’t get along at first, but Y/N, being the effervescent force she is, managed to make them get along.

The team was amazing. Going on calls was a breeze because they all just worked so well together. Even team outings were an absolute blast because everyone got along. They are truly one big happy family.

Of course though, Eddie, Buck, and Y/N always had a deeper connection with each other than the others. Perhaps it’s because they’re so close in age, but they truly just clicked. When Eddie originally showed up to the firehouse, he wasn’t oblivious to how genuinely beautiful Y/N is. Her infectious smile and booming laugh would catch any man or woman’s attention. He would have pursued her if Buck hadn’t already won that battle.

They were always relatively professional at the job. Out of the two of them, Buck seemed to have the hardest time keeping his hands off of her. Stealing kisses here and there, smacking her behind when he thinks no one’s looking. They were happy, and anyone with eyes could see it.

At least until Taylor Kelly came into the picture.

When they got the call that her news helicopter had a mechanical failure, no one really thought anything would’ve came out of it. Y/N was pretty much in the midst of all of it, being the one to pull Taylor out of the situation while the rest of the group helped her crew and got the copter under control.

However, despite Y/N saving her life, the redheads attention was solely focused on Buck. Something that not only Y/N noticed, but the rest of the team.

It only got worse when Taylor showed up to the firehouse, claiming she would be following the 118 crew around until she felt comfortable enough to go back into the sky. Not only was Bobby annoyed, but Y/N wasn’t too thrilled to be seeing her around. Especially with the way she’s been paying special attention to her boyfriend.

Now, Y/N has never been the jealous type. She knows Buck is good looking and that other people are bound to think so too. Whenever they go out, there’s always one or two drunk individuals that try to slip him their number, but he’s never entertained any of them. After the whole Abby fiasco, his eyes have only ever been on Y/N.

That’s why she tried her hardest to ignore Taylor’s persistent behavior. She also tried to ignore how much Buck seemed to enjoy the attention. She had to remind herself of how much she loves and trusts Evan Buckley. Still, some reassurance would’ve been nice.

Anytime she’d talk to Hen and Athena about it, they’d share a look before saying that it’s just Buck’s personality. He’s a flirty guy. But that he’s never been as committed to someone as he is to her. That was always nice to hear. Even Chimney and Bobby found small ways to tell her that she has nothing to worry about.

That’s why it stung so much to walk into her apartment, one that she asked Buck to move into to get him out of Abby’s, only to find him and Taylor naked on her couch.

Her entire world crashed down around her that night. Neither of them seemed to even hear her walk in as they were still mid action and didn’t look like they were stopping anytime soon.

Y/N being as quick witted as she is, snapped a photo of their dalliance before spinning on her heel and slamming the door behind her. Anger, hurt, frustration, grief, any emotion someone could think of, she felt it that night. As soon as she got in her car, tears started flowing freely down her face. She had no idea what she was going to do with that photo. Some part of her just knew she needed proof, a reminder of what she just saw. Because she knows as soon as Buck comes crawling back to apologize, she’d forgive him in an instant.

That’s why she picked staying in her car for the night over going back there. Even though it’s her apartment, her safe space, she couldn’t bear going back. Not right now at least. Every single call he made went without an answer, all the texts, emails, all of it. She didn’t even bother to read.

Sleep didn’t come easy for the poor woman. In fact, it didn’t come at all. She simply stared out her front window, arms crossed as she buried herself deeper into her hoodie. So when the sun came out, Y/N couldn’t have been more relieved. Work was the one place where she wouldn’t have to confront this. Maintaining professionalism is of the utmost importance to her, so for the next twelve hours, she can shove all of these issues to the side.

Y/N walked into the 118 station that morning with an air of quiet fury. Her normally upbeat energy was replaced by a stiff, almost mechanical demeanor. The shift in her mood was impossible to miss. Her jaw was set, her eyes distant, and the usual lightness in her step was gone, replaced by rigid, purposeful movements. She walked past the common area without so much as a word, heading straight to the locker room to stow her gear.

The station was never completely quiet, but as Y/N entered, it felt like the atmosphere shifted, as though everyone unconsciously held their breath. Bobby was the first to notice her as she passed by his office.

“Morning, Y/N,” he greeted her, his usual warm smile in place. But Y/N, normally quick with a bright ‘Good morning,’ barely glanced his way.

“Hey, Cap,” she muttered, not slowing her pace. Her voice was flat, a stark contrast to her usual chipper tone.

Bobby frowned, watching her as she moved further into the station. He’d been a captain long enough to know when one of his firefighters was struggling with something, and Y/N’s behavior set off alarm bells in his mind. She wasn’t being rude—she was too professional for that—but her unusually short response made it clear something was off.

Y/N reached her locker, tugging it open with more force than necessary. Her hands moved quickly as she shoved her bag inside, not caring that it landed haphazardly. She was wound so tightly that every movement seemed deliberate, controlled, like she was holding back a flood of emotions threatening to escape.

Hen, who had been watching from the other side of the room, approached carefully. She knew Y/N well enough to see that something was seriously wrong. Normally, Y/N would joke about the early mornings or make some witty comment to lighten the mood, but today, she was all business.

“Hey, Y/N,” Hen said softly, leaning against the lockers beside her. “You okay?”

Y/N paused, her hands gripping the edge of her locker door for a moment before letting out a sharp exhale. “Yeah, I’m fine,” she replied curtly, closing the locker with a loud clang.

Hen didn’t buy it, and neither did the rest of the team, who were now quietly exchanging glances from across the room. Chimney, watching from the doorway, nudged Eddie.

“Something’s definitely up,” Chim whispered. “She doesn’t look like she’s slept.”

Eddie’s gaze was fixed on Y/N, his brows furrowed in concern. She was usually the first to crack a joke, the one to bring energy into the room, but today, her whole demeanor was different. She was stiff, guarded, and Eddie could see the tension in her shoulders, the way she was holding herself together with an almost frightening precision.

“Y/N,” Eddie called out softly as he approached. “You sure you’re okay?”

Y/N glanced at him briefly before looking away, her lips pressed into a thin line. She appreciated the concern, but she didn’t want to get into it—not here, not now. “I’m fine, Eddie,” she said, her voice clipped but not harsh.

Eddie didn’t push, though his eyes stayed on her, worry etched in every line of his face. He knew Y/N well enough to know that ‘fine’ wasn’t fine at all.

As Y/N moved through the rest of her morning routine, the tension around her only grew. Her movements were brisk, efficient, but there was a hardness to her that wasn’t normally there. She didn’t engage in small talk, didn’t banter with the team like usual. The shift in her behavior was like a cloud hanging over the station, and everyone could feel it.

Then Buck walked in, his entrance loud and hurried, as though he was already feeling the weight of the guilt on his shoulders. He looked disheveled, like he hadn’t slept, and his eyes immediately locked onto Y/N.

Her entire body tensed the moment he entered. She could feel his presence without even looking at him, the air between them thick with unresolved tension. She didn’t want to deal with this right now—especially not at work. But Buck, clearly desperate to make things right, approached her anyway.

“Y/N, can we talk? Please?” Buck’s voice was quiet but urgent as he moved toward her.

Y/N stiffened even more, her back straightening as she turned to face him. Her eyes were cold, and her lips pressed into a tight, thin line. “Now’s not the time or place, Evan.”

He flinches at the cold use of his first name, “Please, Y/N, I just… I need to explain,” he said, his voice cracking slightly as he took another step closer.

Y/N tenses, her grip tightening around the locker door. She swallows hard, mortified that he’s bringing this up here, in front of everyone. She glances around and sees Chimney and Eddie looking at Buck with something akin to disgust. Hen’s brow is furrowed in confusion, and even Bobby has stopped pretending to read the morning paper.

Y/N hesitated, hating that he’s cornering her in the only other place she thought she’d be safe. The woman was trying so hard to stay professional, but he wasn’t making it easy. She could feel the eyes of everyone in the station on her, and the last thing she wanted was to make a scene.

“Fine,” she muttered through gritted teeth, motioning for him to follow her to a quieter corner of the station.

Once they were away from the rest of the team, Buck wasted no time. “Y/N, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean for any of this to happen.”

Y/N’s eyes flashed with anger, her composure slipping just a little. “You didn’t mean for it to happen?” she repeated, her voice low and dangerous. “You’re telling me you just accidentally ended up screwing Taylor on my couch?”

Buck winced at her words, his guilt written all over his face. “I—I wasn’t thinking. I was confused.”

“Confused?” Y/N’s voice was sharper now, her anger bubbling to the surface. “That’s your excuse? You didn’t know what you were doing?”

“I was in a bad headspace, Y/N. It just—” Buck struggled for words, clearly not understanding how badly he was making things. “It didn’t mean anything. You and me, we’re the real thing. That with Taylor… it was just a mistake.”

Y/N’s eyes widened, disbelief and fury warring in her chest. “A mistake?” she echoed, her voice trembling with the effort of holding back her rage. “No,” she scoffs. “No. No, a mistake is when you lose your keys. What you did was make a blatant choice without thinking of the consequences.”

Buck’s face flushed, and he shifted uncomfortably under her gaze. “I didn’t mean for it to happen like this. Please, I can’t lose you.”

“You should’ve thought about that before you cheated on me!” Y/N snapped, her voice rising. The anger she had been holding back all morning finally erupted, spilling out into the open. Her words echoed through the station, drawing the attention of everyone around them.

Buck’s face paled as he realized the entire team had heard her outburst. He looked around, embarrassment flooding him, but Y/N didn’t care. She was too angry, too hurt to worry about how this looked.

“Y/N—”

“No, Buck!” she yelled, her hands trembling as she tried to hold back the tears threatening to spill over. “You don’t get to do this! You don’t get to stand here and pretend like it didn’t mean anything. You cheated on me. You lied to me. And now you want me to just… what? Forgive you because it didn’t ‘mean anything’?” She shakes her head, failing at stopping herself from making the situation worse. “You try to act like you’ve changed, but you’re still the same freakin’ playboy who had sex with every girl who paid him the slightest bit of attention.”

The station was dead silent. The rest of the team, though trying not to stare, couldn’t help but listen to every word.

Buck’s mouth opened and closed as he struggled for a response, but nothing came out. The weight of Y/N’s words seemed to hit him all at once, and the guilt that had been simmering beneath the surface came crashing down on him.

Before Buck could say anything else, Y/N shook her head, her voice breaking. “I can’t do this anymore. I– I just– I can’t. We’re done.”

And with that, she turned on her heel and walked away, her heart pounding, her face flushed with a mix of anger and embarrassment.

The silence in the station hung heavy until Hen was the first to break it, her voice firm. “What the hell, Buck?”

Chimney sighed, his disappointment evident. “You messed up, man. You don’t do that to someone like Y/N.”

Bobby, usually the voice of reason, stepped in, his tone stern. “You need to figure out how you’re going to make this right. But more importantly, you need to take responsibility for your actions, Buck. This wasn’t just a mistake. It’s a breach of trust. We don’t do things like that to each other.”

Buck looked around, his face pale as he realized just how badly he had screwed up. But it was Eddie who delivered the harshest blow. He stepped forward, his eyes blazing with barely concealed anger.

“You had something good, Buck,” Eddie said, his voice low but full of emotion. “And you threw it away. She deserved better than that. Better than you.”

Buck’s face fell, the weight of Eddie’s words hitting him like a punch to the gut. Eddie never spoke like that—especially not to his friends—but this was different. This was Y/N. And Eddie wasn’t just mad—he was furious.

As Buck stood there, looking like the ground had been ripped out from under him, Eddie turned on his heel and followed Y/N outside. He found her pacing near one of the firetrucks, her hands shaking as she tried to calm herself down.

“Y/N,” Eddie called out softly.

She paused, glancing up at him, her eyes red and glassy. “I’m fine,” she muttered, though it was clear she wasn’t. She won’t let any actual tears fall. Not here. Not at work. She can’t lose it.

Eddie sighs before taking a gentle step forward. He stops her pacing by grabbing her hands as delicately as possible. He can feel the furious energy buzzing through her skin. It’s a rage similar to his own. As he looks into her gorgeous (e/c) eyes, his anger morphs into pain. His heart aches at how broken she looks. She trusted Buck with every fiber of her being and he took it for granted. He took her for granted. How could he throw away such a beautiful soul?

“No, mariposa, you’re not,” he shakes his head. His deep chocolate gaze makes her shoulders slump. Her tense posture falls, knowing that there’s no point in lying to him. For whatever reason, Eddie has always been able to read her like an open book. She couldn’t keep secrets with him. He knew them before she even knew herself. “Everything that happened in there… that’s not fine. So please, don’t pretend with me.”

Y/N finally forced herself to open up. She exhales shakily, blowing a big puff of air out as she laughs brokenly. A small sniffle escapes her, “It just… hurts, y’know? I mean, I kinda picked up on something weird with them, but I thought I was just being paranoid,” she looks back down at her boot-clad feet. “I try not to be jealous, I feel like it makes me look crazy. But… I guess I should’ve trusted my gut.” She sends a halfhearted glare over at Buck who’s still standing in the middle of the fire station, trying to avoid everyone’s wrath. “I’m such an idiot.”

“Hey,” Eddie stops her, a serious look on his face. He moves one hand to cup her chin, forcing her to look back at him. “You are not the idiot in this situation. He is,” he nods in Buck’s direction. “He didn’t see the amazing woman he had right in front of him. He’s the biggest damn idiot in the world for losing you.”

Y/N feels like she can let her walls crumble around Eddie. There’s something about the way his strong presence grounds her, silently reassuring her that he’s there, that he’s supporting her. She relaxes into his soft touch, “I just… I don’t know what I’m gonna do now. I mean, he lives with me.”

Eddie hesitates for a moment before pulling her fully into him, wrapping his arms around her as she rests her head on his chest. “Well, the best answer I can give you is that you continue being you. And trust me, there’s someone out there who’s going to see how incredible you are and never take it for granted. Someone who would treat you like the gem you are.” He pauses before planting a soft kiss on her forehead, “And if you want, you can always stay with Chris and I until he gets all of his stuff cleared out.”

Y/N looks up at him, her eyes glistening with unshed tears. “I think I might take you up on that.” She swallows, trying to keep herself together. “But… what if I don’t want to go through all of that again? Maybe I’m not meant to find anyone else. What if I’m just…done with relationships?”

Eddie’s expression softened even further. He knew how hard this was for her, and part of him hated seeing her in so much pain, especially because of someone like Buck. But he also knew she was stronger than she gave herself credit for. “You’re not done, Y/N. You’re just hurt right now. But you’ll heal, and when you’re ready, you’ll move on. And when that happens, you’ll find someone who’s going to love you the way you deserve to be loved.”

Y/N searched his face for a moment, her breath catching in her throat. There was something in the way Eddie was looking at her—something she hadn’t noticed before. A tenderness, an intensity that made her heart skip a beat.

She blinked, trying to shake off the feeling. Now wasn’t the time. “Thanks, Eddie,” she whispered, her voice shaky but sincere.

He gave her a small smile, his hand lingering near hers for just a moment longer before he stepped back. “Anytime.”

They stood in silence for a few moments, the air between them charged with something unspoken. Eddie wanted to tell her that he was there for her in more ways than just friendship, but he knew this wasn’t the right moment. Y/N had just been through hell, and she needed space to heal.

But he also knew that if she ever needed him—really needed him—he’d be there without hesitation.

Before Y/N could respond, the station doors opened, and Hen walked out, giving them both a look. “Everything alright out here?”

Y/N straightened up, wiping her face quickly and nodding. “Yeah, I’m good.”

Hen gave her a knowing look but didn’t push. “Alright. We’re heading out for a call in a few minutes, so just wanted to make sure you were ready.”

Y/N took a deep breath, mentally preparing herself for the day ahead. “I’m ready,” she said, her voice more steady now.

Hen nodded and headed back inside, leaving Y/N and Eddie standing there in the quiet. Eddie looked at her one last time, his eyes filled with a silent promise. “You’ve got this.”

Y/N nodded, forcing a small smile. “Yeah. I’ve got this.”

As they walked back inside together, the weight of the day ahead still heavy on Y/N’s shoulders, she knew that it was going to take time to fully heal. But with Eddie by her side and the support of the rest of her team, she knew she wasn’t facing it alone.

And as for Buck? She wasn’t sure what the future held, but one thing was clear: she deserved better than what he had given her. And one day, she’d find it. But for now, she’d focus on what she did best—being a damn good firefighter and an even better person.

══════ ∘◦❀◦∘ ══════

Working a twelve hour shift on absolutely no sleep had to have been the worst decision Y/N could have made. It’s not that she isn’t capable of doing her job, it’s just her emotions were already on overdrive after seeing Buck, but now that exhaustion is kicking in, it’s not good for anyone.

She pulls the hair tie out of her hair as she grabs the remaining items from her locker. Her eyes travel over to Eddie who is already waiting by the entrance of the firehouse for her. He sends her a small smile and she returns it, a small flutter in her chest catching her off guard. Y/N internally scolds herself for staring too long. She’s always found Eddie attractive, but she just got out of a relationship with Buck. Now is not the time to be casting ogling glances to Eddie.

She slings her bag over her shoulder before heading out of the locker room. Thankfully, she has enough clothes in her bag for the next few days to bring to Eddie’s so she doesn’t have to go back home. She bids a proper goodbye to everyone, narrowly avoiding Buck who just walked out of the showers. He looks like a wounded puppy when he watches Y/N walk away.

He walks away dejectedly, trying to avoid the angry stares from the rest of the team. Y/N feels a certain level of safety as she continues growing closer to the Diaz man. To her dismay though, someone felt the need to disrupt her journey.

Taylor.

“Y/N, can I speak with you for a moment?” She asks, tilting her head in a way that makes Y/N clench her jaw.

“I don’t really think that’s a good idea,” Y/N replies smoothly.

Taylor persists, “I’m just asking for a second of your time.”

“To interview me professionally or to try and explain why you were butt ass naked on my couch?” Y/N raises a confrontational eyebrow, yet her tone remains collected. Taylor purses her lips, trying to fight off her own embarrassment as more people in the firehouse look over to them. Eddie takes a few steps closer, getting ready to intervene if needed.

“Look, you have every right to be angry–”

“Oh, I know,” Y/N nods, crossing her arms. “I don’t need your permission or you to tell me I have the right to do anything.”

Taylor sucks in a deep breath, clearly getting impatient. “I just think that maybe you’re being too hard on Buck. He really was in a rough place. I think you owe it to him to hear him out.”

“Really?” Y/N lets out a humorless laugh. “I owe him? Oh sweetheart, I don’t owe anyone anything,” she shakes her head, taking a step forward with a condescending smile. “He made his bed, or in this case, the couch, so now he can lay in it,” she shrugs nonchalantly. Y/N looks Taylor up and down before scoffing, “You two deserve each other…” she grumbles before shoulder checking the journalist and finishing her journey over to Eddie.

He watches her with an impressed look on his face, “How’d that feel?” He asks with a small grin.

“So good,” Y/N breathes out with a victorious sighs. “If I could’ve punched her without getting fired, I would have.”

Eddie chuckles, wrapping his arm around her shoulder as he walks her out of the firehouse. “You’re too professional for that.”

“Yeah… I suppose,” Y/N leans into his side.

“Hey, why don’t you ride home with me?” Eddie suggests. “Since you’re staying at my place, we could just carpool in the morning.”

“I can’t just leave my car here,” Y/N says logically.

“You can get it tomorrow,” he brushes off, guiding her over to his vehicle. “C’mon… it’ll be fun. I’ll let you play Hamilton on the way,” he grins, knowing that’ll get her to say yes.

Y/N sighs reluctantly but ultimately ends up hightailing it towards Eddie’s car. It makes her flush at the thought that he pays that much attention to her and the things she likes. She loves musicals and everything related to theatre. It’s a guilty pleasure she’s had since middle school.

The moment they walked into Eddie's house, Christopher came sprinting toward them, his excitement contagious.

“Y/N!” he called, throwing his arms around her waist. “Are you staying over?”

“For a little while,” Y/N said, ruffling his hair. “Think you can put up with me?”

Christopher grinned. “Only if we make cookies.”

Y/N looked at Eddie, raising a brow. “That okay with you, Chef Diaz?”

Eddie smirked, leaning casually against the doorframe. “I guess I can allow it. But don’t think you’re getting out of clean-up duty.”

Christopher grabbed Y/N’s hand, dragging her toward the kitchen. “C’mon! I already know where the chocolate chips are!”

Eddie followed, shaking his head with amusement as he grabbed an apron. “You’ve got him wrapped around your finger,” he teased.

“Oh, please. He’s the boss around here,” Y/N shot back, tying her own apron and bumping Eddie lightly with her hip.

As they worked, the kitchen buzzed with laughter and lighthearted banter. Y/N and Eddie stood shoulder-to-shoulder at the counter while Christopher focused on cracking eggs without shell casualties. Y/N nudged Eddie when she caught him sneaking a handful of chocolate chips.

“You’re supposed to bake with those,” she said, trying to snatch the bag away.

“You’re the one who ate half the dough at the station,” Eddie countered, leaning closer with a playful smirk. “Hypocrite much?”

“Someone had to test it for poison,” she shot back, their faces just inches apart. She realized too late how close they were, her breath catching at the warmth in his eyes.

Eddie cleared his throat, stepping back as he tossed the chips into the mixing bowl. “Poison control. Got it,” he said, his voice quieter now.

Christopher’s cheerful commentary broke the moment, and Y/N refocused, though her heart raced.

Later, as the cookies baked, the three of them sprawled on the couch with mugs of milk and plates of their handiwork. They watched Moana, singing along at Christopher’s insistence, and Y/N felt herself sink into the comfort of it all—a fleeting glimpse of a life she hadn’t realized she wanted.

By the time Christopher went to bed, yawning through his goodnight hug, Y/N felt exhaustion settle over her. Eddie walked back into the living room with a blanket slung over his shoulder.

“You take my bed,” he offered, his tone leaving no room for argument. “I’ll take the couch.”

“Eddie,” Y/N protested, “don’t be ridiculous. I can sleep out here.”

“I wasn’t asking,” he said with a crooked grin, tossing the blanket onto the couch.

She hesitated, looking up at him. “I mean… we could just share. Your bed’s big enough, right?”

Eddie froze for a beat, his brows lifting. “You’re serious?”

“Why wouldn’t I be?” Y/N shrugged, trying to sound casual, though her cheeks burned.

He exhaled and nodded. “Alright, but if you snore, I’m kicking you out.”

Later, lying side by side in the quiet of Eddie’s room, Y/N broke the silence. “I thought Buck was the one,” she admits quietly, her eyes falling as she thinks about everything that’s transpired in the past twenty-four hours. “And, y’know, maybe he was… for a while.” She turned her head, meeting Eddie’s steady gaze in the dim light. “But I’d be lying Eddie if I said I never thought about you,” her voices comes out in a whisper, almost like she’s scared of how he’ll react.

Eddie didn’t answer right away, his expression softening. Then, before she could second-guess herself, he leaned in, pressing his lips to hers. The kiss was slow, deliberate, and unguarded, carrying loads of unspoken feelings. When his hand slid to her waist and she deepened the kiss, Eddie pulled back suddenly, resting his forehead against hers.

“Y/N,” he murmured, his voice rough. “I can’t… I don’t want to take advantage of you. Not after everything with Buck.”

She nodded, her chest tightening with a mix of disappointment and admiration. “You’re a good man, Eddie.”

He smiled faintly. “I’m trying to be.” A small chuckle leaves his lips, “Believe me, it’s not easy. Not with you here, like this,” he gestures to the closeness between them. “I’ve thought about this more than I’d like to admit. Probably an embarrassing amount of times. And while I would love to continue what just happened, I can’t do that to you. Not when your heart just got broken.”

Y/N reaches over to cup his cheek, “Then maybe you can help me figure out how to fix it.”

══════ ∘◦❀◦∘ ══════

Over the next few weeks, their connection only grew stronger.

At the station, Eddie would appear beside her with coffee, their hands brushing in ways that felt intentional. Y/N’s laugh came more easily around him, and the team couldn’t help but notice. Hen caught Eddie sneaking glances more than once, and Chimney started placing bets with Bobby about when Eddie would make his move.

At Eddie’s house, Christopher treated Y/N like part of the family. She helped him with homework, played board games, and joined them for Sunday dinners. Eddie would lean against the doorway, watching them, his heart full.

Things finally felt good for Y/N. Like every single piece of her life fit perfectly. She was getting over Buck while still getting along well with the team. She’s been spending a lot of amazing time with Eddie and Chris. She absolutely loves the little boy. It’s like being apart of them and their routine was that little spark she was missing before.

One evening, after dropping Christopher off at a friend’s house, Eddie finally asked her out. “Y/N,” he began, his voice tinged with nervousness. “What would you say if I wanted to take you out for real? Like a date.”

Y/N smiled, her heart soaring. “I’d say it’s about time.”

Their first date was simple: dinner at a small Mexican restaurant Eddie loved, followed by a walk under the stars. They talked for hours, and when Eddie kissed her goodnight, it was everything she’d been waiting for.

Back at the station, their relationship became the team’s favorite topic. Hen teased them mercilessly, and even Chim couldn’t resist joining in. Buck, though initially uncomfortable, eventually came around, admitting that Eddie made Y/N happy in a way he hadn’t.

For the first time in a long time, Y/N felt like she was exactly where she was meant to be—with Eddie, with Christopher, with a future that finally felt whole.

[yzzart]

okok but what about a fic with coriolanus based off of the unreleased version of national anthem, i want it all by lana del rey??? like she has the same ambitions and drive as him (a little coocoo) and they kind of just manipulate each other, but like they do really love each other yk?? food for thought 😙

"𝐁𝐲𝐞, 𝐛𝐲𝐞, 𝐛𝐚𝐛𝐲!"

pairing: young!Coriolanus Snow x f!reader.

word count: 674!

summary: if you wanted one thing, Coriolanus would give it to you.

warnings: mention of manipulation, excerpts from "I want it all" by Lana Del Rey, Coriolanus needy and wrapped around reader's finger, reader sitting on Coriolanus' lap.

The word "frustration" was so mediocre in your tongue that, at times, it burned your with pure bitterness. — With such an immoral meaning, there is no meaning in your life.

And you didn't even have a drop of pleasure in mentioning it in secret, in front of and outside the harsh and venomous gazes of your classmates. — After all, you didn't want them to be able to associate your fascinating image with that word.

Even if, at times, that feeling of relief, tranquility in your life and especially in the financial sense, turned into a knot of frustration, disappointment with factors that didn't go your way. — Taken for days, completely, fragile and indiscreet. — You would never admit or mention it, not even with your dying breath.

However, there was one person among those neat and arrogant vipers who recognized your despair, observed your fragility with his deep and beautiful blue eyes; who paid attention to you, getting to know you. — Silently admiring your steps on clumsy days. — Watching how you manipulated those who had something that marked your interest.

You loved to seduce any look to achieve your greatest desires. — Mainly, the look so full of feelings, displeasures and sensitivities

Coriolanus understood your body language, and was surprised by it; in most times and situations, you didn't even need to say a word, not even release a sigh, because he already had in mind what could have happened. — And that he could use that to his advantage.

But the prodigal boy, so admired and recognized by the university and envied by the majority, had no capacity to involve and blackmail you; no, he couldn't. — And it was an ironic play, because Coriolanus would commit such an action with anyone. — Even if your situation, his life is at a moment of failure and, intensely, unpleasant.

Coriolanus, in his reason for wanting, wanting everything he wanted most in his life, or that could help him or even favor him, he would do anything. — To enjoy his power, to lift his mediocre life from misery and poverty, Coriolanus would do absolutely anything. — Just like you, even in different circumstances.

Like, maybe, he would do anything for you. — And maybe, you would do anything for him and for him. — However, the factors that could benefit you always come first.

"Do you think you'll kill for me one day?" — Your voice, lost, in pure sympathy and your hands passing through some white and curly locks that were stuck on his forehead; a sweet gesture for a slightly inappropriate moment.

Sitting between Coriolanus's thighs, you settled, beautifully, on his lap; as if it were his favorite seat. — The distress, which didn't bother your so much, from his rich-looking fabric pants touched your skin. — You were so relaxed, carefree.

And also wrapping the young boy Snow around your finger, with an invisible string before his eyes.

Coriolanus was stunned, his cheeks red and hot, swallowing hard and trying his best to remain conscious; he was funny so ridiculous. — The one worthy of the surname Snow, the one who had a promising future and drew confident and ambitious comedians, was nothing more than a trembling and needy soul.

He had the answer on the tip of his tongue, between his bright, reddish lips, but he hadn't committed to saying it. — Coriolanus felt his heart beating faster and faster, feeling like it would leave his chest at any moment and he wouldn't even have the ability to control it.

"Yes." — Coriolanus sighed, so breathless and marking his bluish irises and poisoned by attention on your lips and, soon, your eyes. — "Of course i will, my darling."

God, he wasn't lying; Coriolanus would never do such a merciless and deplorable thing against you. — Even in his last circumstances, in his worst second of life. — He felt so pathetic, sensitive but only you could make him feel that way.

Your lips curved into a gratifying smile, feeling satisfied and fortunate, and almost brushed against Coriolanus's. — You always got what you wanted and wanted most.

[f14fun]

pixelated love (!simmer x mv1) - chapter 8

synopsis: in which the famous three time world champion max verstappen wants to learn how to play the sims 4. except, he doesn't really know how to. so what does he do, search up a youtube tutorial. low-and-behold, y/n's video is the first he watches.

smau + prose (8.4K words) ✮ ⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡°✩ profile | masterlist ⋆.˚✮🎧✮˚.⋆ prev | next | series index ˚୨୧⋆｡

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જ⁀➴✎ ❛❛Y/N's POV❞

The funny thing about catching feelings is that you never know when the walk becomes a stroll, then a jog, and eventually turns into what seems like a never-ending chase.

It’s a flurry of emotions, each step more fervent than the last. At first, you might think it’s just a casual stroll—something light and easy, just taking in the sights and sounds. But then, it evolves into a leisurely walk, where you find yourself more invested, more attentive to the nuances of the path you’re on.

As you get more involved, the pace quickens, and suddenly, what was once a gentle amble has turned into a brisk jog. Your heart starts to race, and every moment feels charged with potential and possibility. The thrill of the chase sets in; you’re no longer just moving along the path but running towards something that feels both exhilarating and daunting.

And just when you think you’ve reached the peak of intensity, the chase turns into a marathon. The emotions swirl around you like a storm, sometimes exhilarating, sometimes overwhelming. It’s as if you’re in a never-ending pursuit, where every stride is driven by hope, fear, and anticipation. It’s a whirlwind of highs and lows, where the finish line seems perpetually just out of reach.

The moment I truly felt my peak of intensity was the moment that I landed in Nice, France, ready to embark towards my ultimate destiny: Being the ultimate Monacan WAG. If you truly believed that last statement, dear reader, I must call you gullible.

Anyhow, the Nice Côte d'Azur Airport had welcomed me with open arms, giving me the twenty kilometer leeway of relief before I was due in the beautiful Principality of Monaco.

And don't get me wrong, but I was scared.

The facade that I put up everyday on stream, on social media, was only a fraction of who I really was. I was left wondering to myself in the hours leading up to meeting Max, "Would he really like me for who I was? What if this was one humongous joke I was apart of, and I was doomed to be the laughingstock?"

Arriving in Monaco, surrounded by its opulence and charm, only heightened my feelings of vulnerability. The grandeur of the setting made my personal fears feel even more pronounced. Would the real me, with all my imperfections and uncertainties, measure up to the expectations set by the facade I had carefully crafted online?

To be put simply, I was only a girl. And I really, really, really hoped that multimillionaire Dutch Formula One racer Max Emilian Verstappen would take pleasure in meeting me.

I had texted Max how I should meet with him, nonchalantly, of course. But on the inside, my palms were sweaty. I was nervous. In person, I wouldn't say I was the best flirt. I was more like that one twelve year old boy at the pool trying to impress a friend group of sixteen year old girls.

I fumbled on my words. I tripped. I missed. I blushed. I ran. I wept about my mistakes, and kept thinking what the absolute fuck did I just say? Why did that just come out of my mouth? I am stupid. I am so stupid.

Simply put, I didn't have much rizz.

Honestly, if I could headbutt myself, I definitely would. I had set myself up for utmost failure for acting like a confident prick, over text, over stream, and over Twitter. I acted like I had it all together, but in reality, if a tall, handsome guy were to actually approach me, you’d see me stumbling over my words and turning into a nervous wreck.

It was pathetic, really.

And oh my gosh, dear reader, if you had seen the look on my face when I had Googled Max Verstappen for the first time...

It was shameful, I will admit.

Learning that he stood six inches above me at his 5'11" stature... I was blushing in the comforting shadows of my bedroom, fearfully gripping my phone, as if Max himself was going to suddenly appear in my room and catch me red-handed, shamelessly watching edits of him.

Hiding under the covers at two am before a long day at work, and pondering if his big, big, bicep muscles from holding a steering wheel all day could eventually hold me in his comforting grasp. Daydreaming, in the middle of meetings with high-end game-development executives, if I could sudden run into his chest and have him hug me until I couldn't breath. Wondering, if I could sit on his thighs one day, and using his veiny hands, he could hold me by my waist and his steamy breath talk into my ear.

Yeah, I get no bitches and I'm horny.

It's pretty obvious to y'all at this point. Don't be a mean girl and judge, though.

And with all of these thoughts, I am not afraid to think them. In the shower, making dinner, watching him race...But it was all put in perspective when I stood outside of his apartment door, waiting for him to let me into his home.

It felt private. Intimate. Different, than all the displays of affection and joyous laughter we shared with the public.

But now I was in the comfort of his home. No prying cameras (at least I hoped that there were no hidden cameras), away from the never-ending watchful eye of the public.

The first thing I noticed about him were his eyes. They were a piercing, greenish, blueish, grayish color—a mix of the sea and comets, a blend of colors I couldn't quite put my finger on.

It was like they held the depth of the ocean, the intensity of a storm, and the mystery of the cosmos all at once. In the soft light of the doorway, they seemed almost otherworldly, drawing me in with their enigmatic allure.

Many people online had said that these eyes were constantly hardened, a result of years spent racing under intense pressure, dealing with tough words from his father, and the unwavering support and strength he garnered from his sister and mother.

They were eyes that had seen the highs of victory and the lows of defeat, that had faced criticism and expectation head-on, and had come out stronger on the other side.

These eyes told a story of resilience and determination, of someone who had been through the wringer and had emerged with a steely resolve. The internet was filled with tales of his focused, almost intimidating gaze on the racetrack, where every glance was calculated and every blink was a strategy.

They spoke of a man who had to grow up fast, who had to build walls to protect himself from the harsh realities of his world.

But when he looked at me, I could swear that I saw them soften.

They drew me in, and for a moment, I knew I could write poetry about them. There was a story in every shade, every flicker of light within those eyes. I could imagine penning verses about their depth, their history, and the way they seemed to hold entire worlds within them.

Suddenly, all my nerves and the fear of being a fumbling, awkward mess seemed to dissipate, at least a little. There was something in the way he looked at me that made me feel seen, like he was looking past the persona and seeing the real me. It was a mix of relief and disbelief, like maybe, just maybe, this wasn't going to be the disaster I had built up in my head.

I had never believed in the saying, "love at first sight", but I could've sworn my heart skipped a beat, if not multiple, when I locked eyes with him. Like I predicted, he was a tall, tall, man. And I, like a lot of people in this world, was not immune to the charm of a tall man.

"Oh, you are very tall," I blurted out.

What the fuck. What the fuck. What the fuck. The words had slipped past my tongue and out of my mouth, bypassing the more sensible part of me, aka my brain. Damn you, stupid weak heart.

I could feel my face heating up, a wave of embarrassment washing over me. Out of anything I literally could have said, my intrusive thoughts had gotten the best of me. My inner voice was screaming at me to pull it together, but it was too late. The words were out there, hanging awkwardly in the air between us. My poster slumped slightly, there was literally no way to recover this. I desperately needed to find a galvanized stainless steel block to bash my head against repeatedly.

Max chuckled softly, a sound that somehow made me feel a bit more at ease despite my flub. "And you must be Y/N," he said, his eyes twinkling with amusement. "Welcome."

Taking a deep breath, I tried to regain my composure. "Yeah, that's me," I said with a small, nervous laugh. "Sometimes when someone makes me hella nervous, it just happens, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to—" I started, but he cut me off gently.

"I make you nervous?" He smirked at me. "Well I didn't know that."

Okay. Cut the cameras, deadass. I quite literally felt like I was a main character in that weird-ass phone game Episode (yes, my guilty pleasure at three am but nonetheless a fun hobby to have) It was like one of those cliché moments where the charming love interest says something flirty, and the protagonist’s heart skips a beat. Except this was real life, and my heart was doing somersaults.

I could feel my face heating up again, but this time, there was a small part of me that felt… excited? Maybe this wouldn't be a complete disaster after all. Trying to play it cool, I flashed a shy smile. "Yeah, well, you're pretty intimidating in person," I said, hoping to keep the conversation light.

"I cannot believe you said that, I'm just a really big cuddly bear," Max laughed at me, opening his arms out for a hug.

For a split second, I hesitated, my mind racing with a thousand thoughts. But then, the warmth in his eyes and the genuine smile on his face melted away any remaining nervousness.

Stepping forward, I wrapped my arms around him, feeling his strong yet gentle embrace envelop me. It was like being pulled into a cocoon of safety and comfort, his presence immediately soothing the whirlwind of emotions inside me.

As we hugged, I felt the tension in my body start to ease. His arms were warm and reassuring, a stark contrast to the anxiety that had been gnawing at me since I landed. In that moment, it felt like all the awkwardness and worries faded into the background. It was just the two of us, sharing a simple, sincere connection.

The hug lasted only a few seconds, but it was enough to make me feel grounded and welcomed, a silent promise that maybe this really was the beginning of something special.

And I did believe him, that he was just a really big cuddly bear. His laugh was warm like honey, and I could definitely get used to hugging those biceps and burrowing my head in his chest, like a teddy bear. All I could think of was the moment I whipped out my phone to get on Twitter I would tweet, #needthat.

What???

I'm just a girl.

"You're really fucking cute," Max suddenly stated, his soft voice interrupting my daydream.

Wait wait wait what?? Backtrack please?? Did Max Verstappen just call me cute, as he leans on the fucking doorway and I can see his biceps bulge as he-

Noticing my shocked expression, and my jaw must have been hanging out for a considerably long time without responding, he started to laugh at me.

"I hope I was the first person to tell you that today," He continued.

"Y-you certainly were the first person to say that, oh my," I sputtered, a creeping blushing arising from my neck and blossoming onto my cheeks.

Max's eyes sparkled with mischief as he stepped closer, closing the distance between us. "Well, it's about time someone did," he said, his voice dropping to a playful whisper. "I've been looking forward to this moment for a while, you know."

I swallowed hard, trying to regain my composure. "You have?" I managed to ask, my voice barely above a whisper. The bold, flirtatious Max standing in front of me was a stark contrast to the more reserved person I knew online. It was disorienting, but also incredibly intriguing.

This side of him was magnetic, drawing me in with a mix of confidence and playfulness that I hadn't anticipated. I could feel my heart pounding in my chest, the realization hitting me that the dynamic between us had shifted entirely.

Online, I had always been the one with the witty comebacks and cheeky comments, but now, standing here in his presence, I felt like I was discovering a whole new dimension of our connection. His boldness was both thrilling and nerve-wracking, making me wonder just how many other surprises he had in store.

"Absolutely," he replied with a grin. "Seeing you now, in person, you're even more stunning than I imagined." He leaned in slightly, his gaze never leaving mine, and I felt my heart race faster with every passing second.

"Oh, wow, um, thank you," I stammered, feeling my shyness take over. It was surreal—here I was, the one who had always been confident and playful online, now reduced to a blushing mess in front of him.

Max chuckled softly, clearly enjoying the role reversal. "You know, I always found your confidence online really attractive," he said. "But seeing you like this, all shy and flustered... it's pretty adorable too."

I bit my lip, trying to steady my nerves. "Well, you were always the cool, mysterious racer," I said, attempting to regain a bit of my former bravado. "It's kind of unfair that you're also charming in real life."

He laughed, a rich, warm sound that made my heart flutter. (And I could swear I could hear hundred dollar bills when he laughed) "Guess we both have our secrets," he said, his eyes twinkling with amusement. "But I have to say, I kind of like seeing this side of you."

"Yeah?" I replied, feeling a small surge of confidence. "Maybe you'll see more of it, if you keep being this sweet."

Max took a step closer, his presence enveloping me like a warm blanket. "Oh, I plan to," he said, his voice low and intimate. "Getting to know the real you is something I've been looking forward to. Online was fun, but this...this is so much better."

I could feel the heat rising in my cheeks again, but this time it was mixed with excitement. "Well, you better keep up the charm then," I teased, trying to match his playful energy. "I'm not that easy to impress, you know."

He raised an eyebrow, a mischievous glint in his eye. "Is that a challenge?" he asked, leaning in slightly, his proximity making my heart race even faster.

"Maybe it is," I said, my voice daring but my insides turning to jelly. "Think you can handle it?"

Max grinned, his confidence unwavering. "Oh, I know I can," he said smoothly. "And by the end of this trip, you'll see just how serious I am."

His words sent a shiver down my spine, a mix of anticipation and thrill coursing through me. The flirty banter, the unexpected boldness, and the undeniable chemistry between us—it was all so intoxicating. As I looked into his eyes, I realized that this was just the beginning of an adventure that was sure to be full of surprises and unforgettable moments. Spending time with Max felt completely different from any of my past relationships.

There was a new air about him, a different kind of electricity that sparked between us. Unlike the fleeting attention I had received from past lovers, who barely gave me a minute of their day, Max's presence was all-encompassing. He made me feel seen and valued in a way I hadn't experienced before. Each moment with him was charged with genuine interest and warmth, making me feel like I was the only person in the world.

The thought of what lay ahead made my heart race with a mixture of nervousness and exhilaration. I knew that being with Max would be an experience unlike any other, a journey where we would both reveal our true selves and create memories that would last a lifetime.

Don't call me naive, dear reader, because in the moment, it truly felt that way to me...And I really hoped that he felt the same too.

"Alright then," I said, my voice steady despite the butterflies in my stomach. "Game on."

Max's smile widened, and he extended his hand. "Game on," he echoed, his touch sending a jolt of electricity through me as our fingers intertwined.

"Come on in," he said, leading me into his apartment.

As soon as we stepped inside, I realized that 'apartment' was an understatement. The place felt more like a huge penthouse rather than the modest apartment he had made it out to be. It was luxurious yet still quite plain and humble, a reflection of Max himself. The high ceilings, expansive windows, and elegant but understated furniture gave it a sense of grandeur without being ostentatious.

The living area was open and airy, with floor-to-ceiling glass doors that opened onto a balcony overlooking the city. The view was breathtaking, a sprawling panorama of twinkling lights and distant landmarks that seemed to stretch endlessly. Despite the grandeur, there was an inviting warmth to the space. The furniture, though minimal, was meticulously chosen—sleek modern lines with plush, comfortable seating that suggested a home where one could truly relax.

As we moved through the apartment, I noticed the subtle details: a few well-placed art pieces, not too many, just enough to add character without overwhelming the space. The kitchen was state-of-the-art, with shiny countertops and high-end appliances, but it was evident that Max wasn’t a chef—there were no intricate gadgets or utensils, just the basics. The sparse decorations spoke volumes about his personality: practical and unpretentious.

"Wow," I said, looking around in awe. "You really weren’t kidding when you said you had a big place. This is incredible."

Max shrugged, a hint of embarrassment on his face. "Yeah, I guess it’s a bit bigger than most apartments," he said with a sheepish grin. "But, as you can see, I didn’t exactly go all out on decorating. I’m not really into interior design and don’t have a clue how to make it look... well, more 'homey.'"

I laughed, finding his modesty endearing. "Well, if you ever want to change that, I’m your go-to person," I offered playfully. "I could definitely give this place a bit more personality."

"Oh, really?" he asked, raising an eyebrow with a smirk. "And what if I said I might be more inclined to actually spend more time here if you did?"

I grinned, feeling a spark of excitement at the prospect. "Challenge accepted," I said. "I’ll have to draw up some design ideas for you. Just don’t be surprised if you come home one day and find your place looking like a completely different world."

Max chuckled, leaning against the kitchen counter with a teasing glint in his eyes. "Are you saying you’re going to turn my penthouse into something out of a magazine?"

"Something like that," I replied, trying to keep a straight face. "But with a touch of ‘Y/N’ flair. I promise it won’t be all pink and sparkles—unless you really want it to be."

"I think I'd rather die," He rolled his eyes, making me a victim of the sassy man apocalypse. Letting out a sudden bark of laughter, my eyes widened, surprised at the ugly ass noise I just let out.

"Wait no I take it back, it would be way better if I just paint it neon green and tweeted #BratSummerTakeover," I laughed.

"This is way worse than the pink what the hell..." Max laughed at my antics. Finally, he was matching my freak!

"Honestly, CharliXCX and Brat Twitter would probably save you if you got canceled, just because you made your apartment Brat themed," I countered, eye brows raising and daring him to challenge me.

"What would I even get cancelled for? Being too devilishly handsome, maybe," He asked, smirking at me.

I felt the heat rush to my cheeks, and I knew I was blushing a lot. "Well, maybe," I stammered, trying to regain my composure. "Or for making girls like me turn bright red with just a few words."

Max's smirk widened, clearly enjoying my flustered reaction. "I think I could live with that," he said, his voice low and teasing. "But seriously, I like seeing this side of you. It's cute."

I blushed even more, trying to deflect the compliment with humor. "Well, you might get canceled for making me turn this red," I quipped, feeling a bit bolder. "And for having terrible taste in decor. Honestly, who wouldn’t want a neon green penthouse? It’s the height of fashion."

Max shook his head, still laughing. "Okay, okay. Maybe we should stick to something a bit more... timeless. How about a black and white theme? Classic, elegant, and less likely to blind anyone who walks in."

I pretended to consider it, tapping my chin thoughtfully. "Hmm, that could work. But only if we add some gold accents. You know, to bring out the sparkle in your eyes."

He raised an eyebrow, clearly amused. "Gold accents, huh? You really think my eyes sparkle?"

"Like diamonds, just like that one Rihanna song," I said, batting my eyelashes and throwing my hands up in a dramatic fashion. "But seriously, I think we can make this place look amazing. Just trust me."

Max smiled, his gaze softening. "I do trust you. And I’m actually looking forward to seeing what you come up with. Just promise me one thing."

"Anything," I said, leaning in closer, our hands brushing against each other again. I was literally going bonkers from the sexual tension between us two, and I wasn't sure how long I could take it for the next week, before the dam overflowed. And trust me, I don't mind if this dam overflows. Wink wink.

"Promise me you won’t turn it into a jungle. I don’t think I could handle that much greenery," he said with a playful wink.

I laughed, nodding. "Deal. No jungle theme. But I can’t promise there won’t be a few plants. They add life, you know?"

Max grinned, shaking his head in amusement. "Alright, a few plants I can handle. Just no turning my place into a botanical garden."

I gave him a teasing look. "You never know, a few well-placed ferns could really spruce the place up. Besides, they say talking to plants helps them grow. Maybe it’ll work wonders for you too."

He raised an eyebrow, clearly enjoying the back-and-forth. "Are you implying I need help growing? Because I’m pretty sure I’ve hit my growth spurt."

I laughed, feeling more at ease with each playful exchange. "No, just that a little greenery might make this place feel more like home. Plus, it could give you someone to talk to when you’re not racing around the world."

"Well, if you’re around, I’ll have plenty of company," he said with a wink. "And maybe you can teach me how to take care of them without killing them."

"I’d be happy to," I replied, smiling. "But don’t worry, I’ll make sure to choose some low-maintenance plants. Wouldn’t want you to feel overwhelmed."

"Thanks," he said, his tone sincere. "I appreciate that. But seriously, it’ll be nice to have you help me make this place feel more like home."

"Anytime," I said, feeling a warm glow from his words. "Just promise you won’t get any bright ideas about adding a racecar in the living room."

Max chuckled, the sound rich and warm. "No promises. But I’ll try to restrain myself."

He glanced at my luggage and then back at me. "Let me help you with those," he offered, moving towards the pink suitcases. "I’ll take them to the guest room."

As he picked up the bags, I couldn't help but notice how effortlessly he handled them. The way his muscles flexed under his shirt made my heart race. It was impossible to ignore how strong and capable he looked, making even the heavy suitcases seem weightless. Every movement seemed to highlight his athletic build, and I found myself momentarily distracted by the sheer physicality of him.

He had insisted on me staying at his apartment for the seven days I was in town, refusing to let me book a hotel. "You’ll be more comfortable here," he had said on our phone call earlier, his tone leaving no room for argument. It was sweet, really, and incredibly sexy watching him take charge like this. The thoughtfulness behind his actions made me feel special and cared for in a way that I hadn’t experienced before.

As he carried my luggage, I couldn't help but admire the ease with which he moved, the definition in his arms and shoulders evident with each step.

I followed him down the hallway, my eyes shamelessly glued to his back, watching the way his muscles shifted beneath his shirt. Each step he took seemed to exude confidence and strength, a silent testament to his physical prowess. I couldn't help but admire how the fabric of his shirt clung to his form, accentuating every line and curve of his well-toned physique.

God, I could talk about his slutty little waist for days. The little fancams they showed on F1TV or YouTube did not do it justice. Seeing him in person, the way his waist tapered into those perfectly fitted jeans, was a whole different experience. It was mesmerizing, almost unfair how well his physique was sculpted.

As he walked ahead of me, the fabric of his shirt stretched taut across his back and narrowed at his waist, highlighting the lean, athletic build that had become a defining part of who he was. It was the kind of detail that fans like me only dreamed about, and here I was, witnessing it up close.

I was such a lucky little bitch.

My mind wandered to the countless hours he must have spent training, not just in the gym but on the track as well. It was a different kind of dedication, one that went beyond what most people understood. There was something undeniably attractive about a person who was so committed to their craft, and it only added to the allure that Max already possessed.

As he led me into the guest room, I couldn't help but feel a mix of excitement and nervousness. This was Max Verstappen's personal space, a glimpse into the life of someone I had admired from afar. The room was spacious and inviting, with large windows that allowed natural light to flood in, creating a warm and welcoming atmosphere.

Max set my bags down gently and turned to face me, his expression softening. "There you go," he said with a warm smile. "If you need anything, just let me know. Make yourself at home."

"Thanks, Max," I replied, giving him a grateful smile. "I really appreciate this."

Just as I was about to say more, Max’s phone buzzed in his pocket. He glanced at the screen and frowned slightly. "Sorry, I have to take this," he said, holding up the phone. "It’s important."

"Of course, no problem," I said, waving him off. "Take your time."

Max nodded and stepped out of the room, his voice already lowered as he answered the call. Left alone, I took a moment to absorb my surroundings. The bed looked incredibly inviting with its crisp, clean sheets and plush pillows. The journey had been long, and I could feel the fatigue weighing heavily on me.

Without much thought, I kicked off my shoes and sank onto the bed, the mattress soft and supportive beneath me. The room had a calming aura, and despite my excitement, my eyelids grew heavy. I lay back, letting out a contented sigh as I nestled into the pillows.

The last thing I remembered was the distant murmur of Max's voice from the hallway. The day's exhaustion finally caught up with me, and within moments, I drifted off into a deep, dreamless sleep, completely at ease in the unfamiliar yet comforting space.

જ⁀➴✎ ❛❛Max's POV❞

I couldn’t wait to see her cute face after my phone call.

Ever since she showed up at my door an hour ago, luggage in hand and blushing like mad, I knew I wanted to hold her in my arms and never let go. The way she looked so overwhelmed and charmingly nervous had struck a chord with me. But now, here I was, stuck listening to Lando Norris ramble about his trivial girl troubles when all I wanted was to see her again.

Lando’s voice was like a buzzing fly in my ear, and I found myself tapping my foot impatiently, wishing he'd get the hint and stop talking. His high-pitched voice grated on my nerves as he continued his endless rant about the latest drama in his life. I loved the guy, but seriously, this was not the moment for his soap opera.

“—and you would not believe what she said to me next,” Lando’s voice droned on, each word feeling like a needle in my brain. I barely registered his complaints, lost in my own thoughts about her.

“Max! Are you listening to me??” Lando’s voice suddenly pierced through the fog of my thoughts, making me flinch slightly.

“Mhm...” I trailed off, barely processing the words. My mind was focused entirely on her, on how she looked when she first arrived and how peaceful she appeared when I last saw her.

“Oh, what the bloody fuck mate, you’re not listening. Whatever, I'll talk to you later,” Lando said abruptly. Before I could respond, I heard the familiar click of the call ending.

“Hallelujah,” I muttered under my breath, rolling my eyes in relief. The endless chitter-chatter had finally stopped, and I felt a wave of relief wash over me.

“Oh, what the fuck,” I suddenly exclaimed, realizing that I had wasted enough time. I should be up and finding my houseguest—my possible future wifey—and spending more time with her. I shot up from my seat, a surge of excitement propelling me forward.

The house had been unusually quiet since I’d gotten off the call, and I was eager to see what she was up to. Maybe she was scrolling through her phone, or perhaps she was just getting comfortable. I tiptoed down the hallway, trying to be as quiet as possible, not wanting to disturb the calm atmosphere of the house.

As I approached the guest room, I could hear nothing but the soft hum of the air conditioning. My heart skipped a beat as I slowly opened the door, peeking inside to see what awaited me. The sight that met my eyes was unexpectedly delightful. There she was, nestled in the bed, having kicked off the fluffy house shoes I’d given her. Her luggage was neatly set aside, and the room was serene, illuminated by the gentle late afternoon light filtering through the curtains.

Her position on the bed was both endearing and surprisingly casual. She had managed to kick the blankets off completely, leaving them in a crumpled heap at the foot of the bed. The sight of her sprawled out, so relaxed and at ease, made me pause. She looked incredibly peaceful, her hair spread out like a halo around her, and her cheeks were slightly flushed.

My beautiful girl was tired.

A soft smile crept onto my face as I approached her. It was clear that she was deeply asleep, her breathing even and steady. I carefully grabbed the blanket from the end of the bed, making sure not to disturb her. The blanket was warm and soft, a stark contrast to the cool air of the room.

In her sleep, she shifted slightly, letting out little breaths.

As I gently draped it over her, I couldn’t help but notice how cute she looked in this vulnerable state.

The way her lips were slightly parted and her eyes were closed made her seem even more endearing. She had a certain tranquility about her that was utterly captivating. It was a rare and precious sight, and I felt a surge of affection just watching her. Her presence in my apartment, in my space, felt strangely comforting and intimate.

I adjusted the blanket carefully, ensuring it covered her snugly. She stirred slightly but didn’t wake, which made me breathe a sigh of relief I didn't realize that I had been holding. I took a moment to appreciate how serene and beautiful she looked. The gentle rise and fall of her chest as she slept was calming to observe, and it made me feel even more connected to her.

I lingered in the doorway for a few seconds, letting the peaceful scene sink in.

In that moment, I really wanted to be her boyfriend. Even though I had just met her in real life a mere forty minutes ago, I wanted to give her everything that she wanted and deserved.

I imagined us spending more time together, exploring new places, and sharing our dreams and fears. I wanted to be the person who made her feel special and loved, who supported her in all her endeavors and celebrated her successes. The thought of being that person for her was more appealing than I’d ever expected.

It wasn’t just about the romantic gestures or grand declarations; it was about the everyday moments of care and attention. I wanted to be there for her in the small, meaningful ways—like making sure she was comfortable, listening to her stories, and sharing in her joys and struggles.

Don't call me naive, but I really, really, really like her.

જ⁀➴✎ ❛❛Y/N's POV❞

In my dreamless state, I could still remember a few things. Like the warm breath of someone hovering over me. I could feel watchful eyes on my back, curious, worried, then relieved. I remember feeling gentle hands pulling my blanket from the foot of the bed to my shoulders, gently covering me.

And when I woke up, I really questioned whether what I felt was a dream. In my room it was silent, almost no trace of whether someone was there or not.

The only anomaly was the fact that before, I had completely shut the door. Now, the door was left ajar, a tiny sliver of the hallway could be seen from where I was propped up in my bed.

Yawning, I could hear the soft hum of the ongoing AC in my room. But if I listened a bit more, I could hear the whirring of the range hood in Max's kitchen further down the hall.

He was cooking?

Wow. Call me surprised.

A few days ago when we called on Discord, he had narrated a few cooking horror stories that had happened to him.

I remembered one particularly gruesome story he shared, one that sounded like it came straight out of a sitcom. It was supposed to be a simple pasta dinner. Max had invited a few friends over, and in his eagerness to impress them with his culinary skills, he decided to make everything from scratch.

(I know, I know, he told me he wanted to have his little Nara Smith moment...I'll give it to him, I guess)

It started with the sauce. He had carefully selected ripe tomatoes and fresh herbs, determined to make the best marinara his friends had ever tasted. But things quickly went downhill. First, he accidentally doubled the amount of garlic. Not a huge issue, right? Just a little more flavor. But then, in his attempt to balance it out, he added way too much salt. Desperate to fix it, he threw in some sugar, which somehow made it even worse.

Next came the pasta. Max had repeatedly watched one Nara Smith video of her making fresh pasta and he figured it couldn’t be that hard.

News flash, incorrect answer buzzer.

He miscalculated the flour-to-egg ratio, resulting in a sticky, unmanageable dough. By the time he managed to roll it out, the dough was uneven and tearing. When he finally got it into the pot, it clumped together into a gooey mess.

Meanwhile, the kitchen was descending into chaos. The range hood was whirring at full blast, struggling to keep up with the smoke billowing from the pan. In his panic, Max forgot to turn the stove down, and the sauce began to boil over, spilling onto the burner and creating a scorched, acrid smell that filled the entire apartment.

Then came the final straw. Max decided to make garlic bread as a last-minute addition. He put it in the oven and got so distracted by the pasta disaster that he forgot about it entirely. By the time he remembered, the bread was more akin to charcoal, emitting a foul, burnt odor that overpowered even the smell of the burnt sauce.

His friends (He told me it was Lando, Daniel, and Carlos) arrived just in time to witness the aftermath. The kitchen was a war zone, with sauce splattered everywhere, clumps of dough sticking to various surfaces, and smoke lingering in the air. The range hood was doing its best, but it was no match for the chaos Max had created.

His friends tried to be polite (Well maybe Daniel and Carlos did but Lando certainly was not), but the horrified expressions on their faces said it all.

Max ended up ordering pizza, and the story became an infamous legend among his friends. They still teased him about it, making jokes about his "gourmet" cooking skills whenever they had the chance.

It was quite a funny story, as Max had vlogged the whole thing, originally wanting to use the video footage as evidence that he could actually cook.

That's fucking hilarious, if you ask me.

When he showed the video footage, I was quite literally cracking up. I swear I had never laughed as hard as I did in my life when he showed me it.

Remembering that story now, I couldn’t help but smile. The fact that he was back in the kitchen, despite that disastrous experience, said a lot about his determination.

And maybe, just maybe, this time would be different. I decided to get up and see for myself what he was up to, hoping that I wouldn't walk into another kitchen catastrophe.

On that account, I found myself to be, again, very much wrong.

It smelled funny in the kitchen.

There was a peculiar mix of something burnt and something…well, unidentifiable. As I approached, the smell intensified, and I began to worry. I rounded the corner to find Max standing over the stove, looking flustered. Smoke billowed up from the pan, and the range hood was struggling to keep up.

"Max, what on God's green earth are you doing?" I asked, trying to keep the amusement out of my voice. I was also, clearly failing at that too, as a hitch in my voice gave away what I was truly feeling.

Dear reader, I was about to burst into a torrential fit of laughter.

He glanced up, his face a mix of sheepishness and determination. "I was trying to make fried rice with beef and onions, but...uh, things aren't going as planned."

I raised an eyebrow. "Clearly. What happened?"

He sighed, waving a hand at the pan. "Well, first, I realized there wasn't much food in the fridge to begin with. I found some rice, a bit of beef, and an onion. Seemed like enough for a simple dish, right? But then the beef started to stick to the pan, so I added more oil, which made the onions cook too fast and burn. And now the rice is clumping together and sticking to everything."

I couldn't help but laugh. "Max, you are a disaster in the kitchen. This is even worse than the pasta incident."

He groaned, rubbing the back of his neck. "I know, I know. But I wanted to impress you. Clearly, I'm failing miserably."

I walked over and peered into the pan. The beef was charred in some spots and raw in others, the onions were practically disintegrated, and the rice looked like a sticky, burnt mess. "Impressive isn't exactly the word I'd use," I teased.

He grinned, despite the chaos. "Hey, at least I'm trying, right? That's got to count for something."

I shook my head, laughing. "It counts for effort, sure. But maybe you should stick to ordering takeout."

He gave me a mock serious look. "Or, you could teach me. You're the one with the design ideas. Maybe you have some cooking tips too?"

I pretended to think about it. "Hmm, I suppose I could. But only if you promise to listen and not improvise."

Max chuckled, holding up his hands in surrender. "I promise. No more kitchen disasters."

I smiled, feeling a warm rush of affection. "Alright, let's see what we can salvage here. First things first, let's get rid of this burnt mess."

As we started cleaning up, Max kept sneaking glances at me, his eyes twinkling with mischief. "You know, I didn't just burn the food on purpose to get you to come out here and help me, but it's a nice bonus."

I rolled my eyes, playfully nudging him with my shoulder. "Nice try, Verstappen. But if you keep burning things, I might have to take over all the cooking."

"Deal," he said, his grin widening. "As long as you stay."

My heart skipped a beat at his words, and I couldn't help but smile. "You're lucky I'm a sucker for a cute guy who tries to cook."

Max chuckled, shaking his head. "And you're lucky I'm persistent. Now, let's make something edible before we both starve."

I glanced at the pitiful remains of our attempted fried rice. "Or," I suggested, "we could go to the grocery store and get some proper ingredients. Maybe start from scratch with something we can't mess up."

Max's eyes lit up with excitement. "A late-night grocery run? That sounds like a great idea. It's only 8 PM; we've got plenty of time."

I smiled, feeling a rush of excitement at the prospect of a spontaneous adventure. "Alright then, let's go. But first, let me change out of these pajamas."

Max grinned, leaning a little closer. "Deal. I'll clean up here while you get ready. But you know, you look pretty cute in those pajamas. Maybe we should make it a pajama party instead?"

I rolled my eyes playfully, feeling my cheeks warm. "Nice try, but I think I'll stick with something a bit more appropriate for public."

Max chuckled. "Alright, but don't keep me waiting too long. The sooner we get to the store, the sooner we can start our culinary masterpiece."

I raised an eyebrow, smirking. "Oh, now it's a culinary masterpiece? You have high hopes, Mr. Verstappen."

He shrugged, flashing a charming smile. "What can I say? I'm an optimist. Plus, with you by my side, how could it be anything but perfect?"

I laughed, shaking my head as I headed to the guest room to change. "We'll see about that. I'll be back in a few minutes."

Max's voice followed me down the hall. "I'll be counting the seconds, chef."

After changing into something more appropriate—a pair of jeans and a cozy sweater—I met Max in the living room. He had cleaned up the kitchen mess and was now waiting by the door, car keys in hand.

At the door, I slipped on a pair of Birkenstocks, leaning on Max to stabilize myself. Feeling myself slipping all of a sudden, Max grabbed onto my waist and steadied me up. His grip was firm, and I could feel the warmth of his hand through my shirt, sending a little shiver down my spine.

"Careful there," he teased, his voice low and close to my ear. "Wouldn't want you to fall for me… again."

I glanced up at him, catching the mischievous glint in his eyes. "Oh, I don't know, Max. It seems like you're getting pretty good at catching me."

He smirked, his hand still resting on my waist, holding me just a little closer than necessary. "Well, practice makes perfect, right?"

I couldn’t help but laugh softly, the playful tension between us impossible to ignore. "You might need a few more tries, though. I’m a bit of a klutz."

He chuckled, his thumb brushing lightly against my side. "Lucky for you, I’ve got all the time in the world." My heart was quite literally beating out of my chest and the sexual tension was getting to me. Noticing my beet red face, Max continued.

"Ready to go?" he asked, his eyes twinkling with excitement.

"Ready," I replied, feeling a mix of anticipation and nerves. (And still giggly from the whole previous ordeal)

Max held the door open for me with a dramatic flourish. "After you, my lady," he said with a mock bow.

I laughed, rolling my eyes playfully. "Such a gentleman. You really know how to impress a girl."

As we headed down to the underground garage, Max couldn't resist a bit more teasing. "So, do you have a grocery list, or are we winging it?"

"I think we should wing it," I said, grinning. "Who knows, maybe we'll discover some hidden culinary talents."

"Or set off the smoke alarm again," Max added, smirking.

I nudged him with my elbow. "Hey, I'm a decent cook. I promise I won't let you burn anything."

"Good to know," he replied, his smile widening as we reached his Aston Martin Vantage.

The sleek car gleamed under the garage lights, and I couldn't help but admire it. "Nice ride," I said, running a hand over the smooth surface.

"Thanks," Max said, a hint of pride in his voice. "I figured it would make a good impression."

"You figured right," I said with a wink.

As we pulled out onto the street, the city lights cast a warm glow over everything. The drive through the city was peaceful, the streets mostly empty at this hour. We chatted casually, the conversation flowing easily as we navigated through the urban maze. Max seemed to know the city well, effortlessly weaving through the streets as we made our way to the nearest grocery store.

As we drove through the city, the conversation continued to flow easily. "So, what kind of snacks are we getting?" Max asked, glancing over at me.

"Definitely some chocolate," I replied. "Maybe some chips too. What about you?"

"I was thinking ice cream," he said, his eyes twinkling with mischief. "You know, for dessert after our gourmet fried rice."

I laughed, shaking my head. "You and your sweet tooth. Fine, we'll get ice cream. But only if you promise not to eat it all in one sitting."

"Deal," Max said, grinning. "I promise to save some for you."

"Max I've seen you devour so much food in one sitting, are you sure you are keeping that promise?" I roll my eyes in mock frustration.

He smirked, glancing over at me. "What can I say? I'm a growing boy."

"Growing boy, huh?" I teased. "Last time I checked, you were already fully grown."

"Just because I'm tall and handsome doesn't mean I can't still grow," he shot back, winking.

I snorted. "Tall and humble, too. Such a rare combination."

"Only for you," he said, placing a hand dramatically on his chest. "I reserve my best qualities for special occasions."

"Well, aren't I lucky?" I said with a laugh. "I guess I'll have to make sure to keep you around for more grocery runs."

"Hey, I'll take any excuse to spend time with you," he replied smoothly. "Even if it means resisting the urge to eat all the ice cream."

I pretended to ponder his words. "Hmm, maybe I should test your willpower. Get a couple of pints and see how long they last."

He raised an eyebrow. "Are you challenging me?"

"Maybe I am," I said, grinning. "Think you can handle it?"

"Oh, I can handle it," Max said confidently. "But can you handle me winning?"

I laughed, shaking my head. "We'll see about that. Just don't cry when I catch you sneaking spoonful's in the middle of the night."

"You're on," he said, eyes twinkling with amusement. "But be warned, I play to win."

The hum of the Aston Martin's engine was a soothing backdrop to our conversation. The car's interior was luxurious, with plush leather seats and a state-of-the-art dashboard. I couldn't help but feel a thrill of excitement as we sped through the city, the lights blurring past us in a kaleidoscope of colors.

"So, do you do this often?" I asked, glancing over at Max.

"Late-night grocery runs?" he replied with a grin. "Not really, but I'm always up for an adventure."

I laughed, feeling a sense of camaraderie growing between us. "Well, I think this might be the most exciting grocery run I've ever been on."

Max chuckled, his eyes sparkling with amusement. "Just wait until we get there. I might even let you pick out some snacks."

"Now you're talking," I said, grinning. "I will never not indulge in big back activities," The prospect of picking out snacks together felt oddly intimate, a small but meaningful step in getting to know each other better.

"Hey! You can definitely tell a lot about a person based on their favorite snacks. People who simply like spicy shrimp crackers are superior!"

Max raised an eyebrow, a playful challenge in his gaze. "Spicy shrimp crackers? That’s a bold choice. I guess we'll see if our snack preferences align."

"They better," I said, rolling my eyes in mock annoyance. With that, we stepped outside, the crisp air greeting us as we made our way to the grocery store. The city buzzed around us, but all I could focus on was the warmth of his presence beside me and the anticipation of what was quickly becoming an unexpectedly perfect day.

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yourusername

liked by maxverstappen1, landonorris and 278,121 others

yourusername: what in the #domesticlife...#breadbedandbred

view comments:

maxverstappen1: This is a VERY misleading caption, Y/N

maxverstappen1: Nice post, though (please change the caption)

maxverstappen1: Christian also said that the caption is "sussy as hell"... whatever that means

user1: BYEEEE christian "horny" horner strikes again 🤕

user2: ain't nothing SOFT about this LAUNCH y/n 😖😖🤯🫣

yourusername: 🫣🫣🫣

user3: not her casually serving in a groccery store at night, i aspire to be second-slide-y/n

user4: DAMNNNNN IM SLEEPING ON THE HIGHWAY TNNNN GUYS 😐🤧

user5: AYO MAX

user5: hand placement.... you better WATCH yourself

user6: guys i need this so bad, accepting bf applications RIGHT NOW

user7: dude.... Dude.... DUDEEEEE

user8: his gorilla ass grip on the hook of her jean hook im ILL guys I'M SO ILL 🤕🤕

user9: u r so right queen, it's giving #domestic #hubbyandbubby #narasmithlife #walkhimlikeadog

yourusername: i like #walkhimlikeadog 🤯

maxverstappen1: I like #hughimlikeacat better 😌

yourusername: 🐶🐶🐶 ARF MAX

maxverstappen1: You are very VERY weird, Y/N 🤣🤣🤣😂😅

yourusername: ARF ARF ARFFFFF 🐕🐕🐩

user10: we got #walkhimlikeadog daughter versus #hughimlikeacat son before gta 6 😈😈😈🥲

landonorris: Damn, Max, get a grip, you are getting SOFT my boy 😹😹😹

maxverstappen1: Not funny, Lando

yourusername: 😹😹😹

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taglist: @hiireadstuff @sinofwriting @mehrmonga @the-untamed-soul @glai1023-blog @loloekie @avada-kedavra-bitch-187 @sheastri @llando4norris @gwginnyweasley @carmenita122 @ririyulife @pausmoon @ur-fav-ave @eveninggstar @maddie-naps @erin-odonnell04 @rexit-mo @ems-alexandra @si1ver06 @iamred-iamyellow @bibissparkles @percypie @formula1blog @lanadelray1989 @rylieverstappen-sargent @luvsforme @eiaaasamantha @kaysmiles42 @mvaldez7821 @stinkyjax @sweate-r-weathe-r @laneyspaulding19 @mingyusbigrighttoe @scott-mccall-could-lift-mjolnir @stinkyjax @fandomz-queenie @theblueblub @mayusaatma @lanadelrey @formula1-motogpfan

some of these didn't get tagged, and i'm having trouble (?) it's being very weird, idk, so please let me know if your name is here and it didn't tag you ❣️

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author's note: ty guys for reading this fic! 😍🫶🏾

[mythicmanuscripts]

Hello, Sea, how are you? I hope your migraine is gone and you're fully recovered from it 💖

If you don't mind me being super self indulgent, I really sad at the moment, so I'll ask how hotd boys would try to cheer wife if she was down.

Thank you for sharing your qork with us, it always make me happy to read

I'm doing much better now thanks! Unfortunately I'm just someone who gets migraines occasionally and there's not much I can do about them, but I'm feeling much better.

Anyway, I love this question! I'm gonna write a little bit about our three main lads. This whole answer was supposed to be SFW but then I reached aegon and well... he's Aegon. So needless to say, I've had to put a cut in

JACAERYS:

So the first thing to note about Jace is how good his memory is? He always remembers all the things you tell him. He takes careful note of the things you like and the things you don't, and also he learns how you act when you're upset and what can upset you.

So he will notice almost immediately when you're feeling down and he will always try to help. Jace just wants you to be happy and healthy and so he will literally drop whatever it is that he's doing to try and help you. And if someone else needs him to be doing something else, he will distracted the entire time because he can't stop thinking about you and about what he can do to try and help you.

His go to method is to bring you your favourite flowers or wine or treats or whatever. If there's anything you have mentioned you really like in the past few weeks then he'll make sure to get that as well. He also just won't leave your side? Sure you can be in a bad mood and sulk all day if you want, but you certainly can't do that alone he won't let you.

AEMOND:

So I actually think realising you're feeling down would be genuinely distressing for Aemond? Especially if it's something he has absolutely no control of. He has no idea what to do, no idea how to make this better. His entire being is centred around making you happy and pleasing you and now you're upset and he feels like he failed. Even if whatever is upsetting you has absolutely nothing to do with him and can't be changed, he'll still feel like a failure.

He usually ends up asking you what you need. He would do whatever you want to make this better. No request would be too big. He would make anything work to make you happier. And you do have to actually give him something to do because if you don't he will be paralysed and not know what to do.

Needless to say, if he thinks there's even the smallest chance of someone having caused your distress then that person's days are numbered.

AEGON:

The moment Aegon realises you arent as happy as you usually are, he immediately asks you who needs to die. You always just roll your eyes and make him promise he won't set the kings guard on anyone, but he still might do it anyway.

When you inform him that no, he can't just murder every person to mildly inconvenience you, he sighs and then proceeds to promptly ask you if he can go down on you. Aegon's horny little gremlin mind literally goes, "Oh I can't kill someone? Fine, can I eat you out?"

Aegon will try his best to help in his own chaotic little way. Of course he will ask you what's wrong and listen to you, but to be honest he's one of the worst people to vent to. You'll say someone is making your life difficult and aegon is just like 'oh I'll have them killed' like no, no aegon don't do that.

Oh and also, he will cancel his appearances that day without a second thought if you're distressed. He could not care less about all the lords and ladies who travelled far and wide to see him, his pretty wife is upset so obviously the entire kingdom must come to a standstill until you feel better.

[thegnomelord]

what if reader worried about speaking around the 141 boys because he worries what if his voice alone is too overwhelming for simple human minds to grasp and the sound of it alone could accidentally melt their brains into mush? Being finally comfortable to say a few words around them but still being hyper-aware of keeping his voice and all aspects of his form under control so nobody gets hurt.

Okay the absolute angst you could come up with this is astounding anon but also I'm in the need of fluff after a depression inducing exam sooo;

Imagine Calling Their Name For The First Time

CW:SFW, Fluff, Gaz, Price, Soap, Ghost x Eldritch reader (separate) slight hurt/comfort with Price, each part is roughly 600-700 words.

Imagine GAZ — As a cat, your presence used to help him sleep calmly on nights when his mind was hell bent on reminding him of his failures. Petting your belly or scratching down your spine while you laid on his chest gave his hands a mindless task he could succeed in, the sensation of your fur on his fingers just enough to keep him lucid and grounded when it felt like his bed wanted to swallow him whole. But now that you've revealed your true nature... things have changed.

He was the first one on the taskforce to trust you again; but make no mistake, it still took him months to stop jumping at shadows in the corners of his eyes. He still touches you, but it's different. Now his touches are contained to a pat on your shoulder or a small scritch under your chin when he thinks no-one's looking.

Even in the body of a cat you'd been silent as the grave, so he knows better than to force you to speak. Hell, he even offers an alternative after he sees how you struggle to express your thoughts through paper and pen: Sign language

It's a joint effort as he doesn't know it either, but you can't be mad at him when he giggles so sweetly every time your uncouth hands sign something ridiculous. It's hard to move your fingers with finesse when you've forced yourself in such a limited body and it translates to your language with it ending up bastardized and warped when compared to the real thing just as you are to reality itself.

On a night when his mind has run him ragged and chased away any hope of sleep, you find him on the roof of the base. He's easy to track when millions of your eyes dot the night sky; though you may be a god, you are so small you escape his notice as a storm of thoughts clouds his bloodshot eyes, not even the blanket you drape over his shoulders gets a reaction.

So like a young fool, you try something else.

Just like your sign language, just like you, the sounds escaping your throat are a distorted mockery of the real thing. What should be clean notes come out filled with whistles and chirps and the whispers of a million dead sacrificed to you over the millennia, each one speaking a fraction of a second out of sync to form a low and warbled "Kyle."

His name comes out like tar and sticks to the fabric of all that is, the air around you vibrating. He deserves far more than this, but it's the most human you can make yourself sound.

His head snaps to look at you, mouth agape and wetness around the corners of his eyes. For a second your nonexistent heart shreds itself into pieces thinking you'd broken him and you're ready to disappear into the blackness you crawled out of in an attempt not to harm him further; his hand stops you, pulls you by the front of your clothes so his sturdy hands can wrap around your body.

"Took your sweet time." He whispers so quietly even you need to strain your ears, burying his head into your shoulder. His rapid heart drums so hard against his ribs like it's trying to leap into your cold chest, and for a moment you can almost believe you have one of your own.

Against your better judgement you open your mouth again, speaking in just as quiet a voice as him, yet it still shakes every bone in his body. "You broken?"

He hugs you tighter. "Nah." Gaz gives a weak chuckle, squeezes his arms to check if you hadn't disappeared; that you're more solid than the dead men in his nightmares. "Keep talking to me, please? Say my name again, yeah?"

How can you refuse?

Imagine PRICE — At first, he doesn't know what to do with you.

Finding out the cat Soap and Gaz had begged his ear off into getting is actually some unspeakable god is one thing. Realizing he'd been letting said god use his tits pecs as stress balls and nap on them is a whole 'nother can of worms. Having to chastise a damn god about what is and isn't appropriate, let alone why trying to burry your head into his pecs in front of recruits isn't, is just down bizarre.

But he still treats you like any other soldier in need of guidance, he gives you structure despite the fact you, by definition, are structureless. He's strange like that, perhaps due to age, perhaps due to his asinine stubbornness, but he's a little more resistant to your existence than most. This lets him sit you down every week on the same day and try coaching simple words like 'yes' and 'no' and 'here' out of your throat, wearing ear muffs more for your sake of mind than protection.

Granted, you're as bullheaded as you are old, so most days he ends up talking with himself. But he considers it a small victory every time he manages to pull a word out of you.

Then your hubris makes a mission go to shit, because while you may be immortal in your human disguise, the three bullets in Price's chest that nearly kill him can attest he isn't.

Humans often speak of a god's wrath and they are right; you make a blackened hole out of the enemy base when you find him bleeding out, steel and stone bent into obtrude ways to ensure it may never be restored. You are lucky he's too exhausted to see parts of you burst out of your human back, tentacles of liquid abyss reaching through solid walls to grab the enemies and pull them down into the waiting jaws of nothingness. Not even a bug can save them from being erased from existence like they're drawings on a paper sheet...

But they hardly speak of a god's sorrow; you stay by his bedside while he sleeps, every inch of every surface of the room dotted by your eyes so you can make sure his chest continues to rise and fall in an even tempo, bearing your teeth at Death until it scampers off.

But it's still not enough with how regret claws at you, so you lean over to cover his body with your own, mindful of his sutures as you bury your head into his chest and let out all the words clogging your throat.

It's the tremble of his bones that finally wakes him, his eyes fluttering open to be met with a sea of maddening eyes across the ceiling staring back at him. But with exhaustion clouding his mind the incomprehensibility of the sight simply washes over and past him like a small wave, not even tickling his brain.

But your voice gains his attention, the soft saccharine croon in your voice, the little crackle of lightning in the bleakness behind each syllable vibrates every rib in his chest as you mutter something into his skin, like you're trying to pass a secret to his heart without him hearing it.

"Now what's that, Mittens?" He calls you the name he used when you were a cat, raising a hand to ruffle your hair. Your body hovers over his, enough to feel you against him but not enough to crush him. "Speak up, c'mon, ain't going to hurt."

You raise your head to look at him, his eyes are too blurred to see the gateways to oblivion yours have become, little drops of starry tears bleeding from the ceiling. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry for getting you hurt." You speak before you can even remember you shouldn't, "I'm sorry John."

He just chuckles as much as the stitches will let him. "Well look a' you." He slurs and kneads the muscles at the nape of your neck, hand trailing down to hook his fingers over the harsh edge where your back is still hollowed out like a rotten tree until he can feel solid nothingness press against his skin. "Only took me nearly dyin' for you to finally talking in full sentences." He draws in a sharp breath and pulls you by your back so you're splayed out on top of him fully. "Go on, purr for me some more."

So long as he forgives you, you'll speak until the whole world's gone deaf.

Imagine GHOST— Ghost is the most vary of you after you reveal what you are, he still is in a way. You can feel his eyes on you whenever you two share a space as if he's just waiting for you to drop the charade and turn monstrous, but at the very least his fingers don't twitch for the trigger of a gun each time you draw close.

He doesn't force you to speak, not when he's not much of a talker himself. A simple grunt or a shift of the eyes is all it takes for you to understand him and vice versa, he even learns a few simple words in sign language, though he doesn't acknowledge it when Soap calls him out for growing soft on you.

Because your control of your human body is amateurish at best, he pulls you into sparring frequently. Of course he won't admit that he likes the power trip he gets when he pins you down, even if he does mock your godhood in his deep baritone that makes something new churn in your stomach. And he pins you down frequently, your superior strength of little use when he knows better techniques.

Somehow, this time you manage to knock him down on his arse with only a little cheating on your part. He stares back at you and you grin down at him to the best of your ability, not quite right but close enough, and with a happy glow in your eyes you let out a short and quiet "I win." without even noticing, the air around you vibrating with the laughter of reality.

You freeze and it feels like the cold oblivion in your veins turns to ice, and Ghost uses that distraction to grip your shoulders and roll you over so he's on top of you. But this time something feels different; you can't read his mind like you do communicating with your kin, but you see the tenseness in his muscles, the stiffness in his shoulders, the dark look in his eyes like he's on a mission.

"I win." He growls, pushing all of his weight down to pin your shoulder on the ground despite you not struggling as he rests his hand on your throat with his fingers on your silent pulse points. "Now, say my name." He orders. "Go on, sing fer me."

You swallow and feel the tightness in your throat from the resistance of his hand. It's funny; he is like a fly to you, yet you're the one who feels small. "Ghost?" You warble out with just enough intonation to phrase it as a question, something echoing in the silence behind your voice like the crackle of flame and the snapping of old bones.

A shiver races down his spine as he feels the you wiggle and shift beneath your human suit, pushing against his hand as if to caress him through the thin separation of skin. It makes something hot burn in his chest, something primal demanding to feel this supposed god trapped beneath him; to taste twisted divinity and maddening oblivion.

"No, not that one." He growls, lifts his mask just up to the bridge of his nose and then leans down so his eyes are level with yours. "Say my name." His order is clear even as he mumbles it against your cold lips.

You breathe in his scent, the edges of your form rippling in and out like fog or a glitching computer in a desperate attempt to hold on to your body. You tilt your head so your lips brush against his, suddenly short of breath despite the fact you don't need to breathe. "Simon." You whisper and you can taste heat on your tongue with each letter, the ground beneath you shuddering.

You feel him smirk. "Much bettah." Then the hand on your throat is tilting your head up further and his lips descend on yours. Distantly you can feel a bit of your oblivion seep from the pores of your skin, dark abyss clutching him tightly as the sweet taste— of heat, of life, of Simon —steals your ability to think.

You suffer a thousand deaths when he pulls away, the air turning heavy like cement. A low warbled whine escapes your throat and Ghost just chuckles. "Say it again."

You do, you do it as many times as he asks, each word rewarded with a kiss that leaves your eternal mind blank like paper.

Imagine SOAP — You think he's gone mad when he's more bummed out about losing a cat than learning you're actually a creature beyond human comprehension that can destroy him with a blink. If anything, it's like he sees no difference between human 'you' and cat 'you'.

He's touchy and tactile, his fingers always lingering on your cold skin like he's trying to pass the warmth of life into you; his hand ruffling your hair after a job well done, his fingers feeling up your bicep when you work out, the little tap tap tap on your side when you and him cross paths in the hall, his possessive grip on your hip whenever some recruit gets too close to you.

And all the while he's yapping for the two of you, talking with you as if you'll answer only to continue speaking about some other topic a second after you remain silent. You let him because the sensation of his touch and the sound of his voice outweighs the annoyance you feel when he tries to pry words from your mouth.

Even after witnessing first hand what you can do, how reality pours through your fingers like wet sand, he's arrogant to think he can withstand what you are. He's worse when he's drunk, booze loosens the chains on his tongue and inhibitions and makes your Icarus to jump into your lap when you're reading.

"Now what's thaet for?" He slurs as he knocks the book out of your hand, "Thought yea was some all knowing dobber." He nearly makes you topple over when he winds his arms around your neck and pulls your head down until your noses touch, the scent of booze washing over your face.

He hopes to get a reaction out of you- even elephants swat away flies when they buzz in their ears long enough -maybe a curse or a harsh 'MacTavish' with how many mannerisms you've picked up from them; the only thing that makes it's way out of your hollow throat is a small hum of surprise, ringing like the inside of a dead planet and scrapping against his ears like an iceberg on the ocean floor.

Soap gives you an indignant huff like you've offended him, shifting in your lap until his knees are on either side of your hips, thick thighs caging you in on the couch as if something without true form can be contained. "What's thaet s'posed tae mean?" He tries to lean in but overshoots, bonking your foreheads together before nuzzling his nose into your hair. Under the veneer of standard issue bodywash and cologne he can smell something exclusively you, like the heat of a dying star and the cold of the void you spawned from.

You furrow your brows, worry gnawing on your stomach. You know alcohol is poisonous to men though you've seen them drink plenty of it, and Johnny is more out of it than usual. "You are drunk." Each letter crackles though the air like firecrackers, his hair standing on end as your words are warped by an accent of a language so ancient the earth is too young to know it.

"Nea I'm not." His brain is so drowned in booze your voice barely gets pop rocks to fizzle in his ears, but he wiggles his hips like a tempter and when you don't catch the hint he grabs your hands and places them on the curve of his arse. "'M nae as think as ye drunk ah am." He whines, pulling back to look at you with wide blown pupils before he grinds his hips down into your lap.

His name flies so fast out of your mouth it nearly sucks the air out of the room, "Johnny." the lights overhead flicker, your traitorous hands gripping his rear tightly. Your voice continues to echo after you've closed your mouth, each letter creating little pockets of nothingness in the space you share for a second before reality can fill them back up.

"That ah am." He grins like a child and bonks your heads together, placing a wet kiss on your cheek seconds before he passes out on top of you. You sigh and recline back into the couch, letting him use your shoulder as a pillow while he snores like a pig.

And, perhaps, you let yourself whisper his name a few more times...

[lullabyes22-blog]

hi <3

i am once again asking your thoughts on the latest act of arcane?

Honestly, my feelings on S2 so far are pretty mixed.

:')

On the one hand, visually, it's absolutely heartstopping. The cinematography is incredible, and it's the first time in a while where every episode felt like an experience I had to endure in a good way. Plus the score, the voice-acting, and the sound design is, as usual, top notch.

Buuuut when you have all these stellar spheres working on this show, it makes the areas where they drop the ball stand out.

For me, that's the plot.

Alot of folks have criticized the pacing and how there's too much piled into one season. Personally, at this point I've made peace with the breakneck speed and sort of taken it as a given in a series where 'War' is the overarching theme. I can even let go of the fact that certain plot beats don't feel earned, as there's so much subtlety and foreshadowing that you can easily make the case for them via long-drawn out analyses of every frame.

But the writing, ohhhh boy. The writing. It feels like there's a disconnect between the overall plot and the individual character moments.

It's really hard to articulate, but I'll do my best.

I love that we're getting so much characterization for the main cast. Every episode, it feels like there's a new layer peeled back, and each of our leads has an opportunity to shine.

And that's exactly the problem. They're all shining.

Separately.

When I think about it, the reason why S1 worked so well was because every episode gave us a glimpse into the mind of someone different. We got a taste of what it was like to be in the head of every major player in the cast, and through this, we grew to understand their motivations, their fears, their hopes. I've used the 'gem' analogy in previous reviews, and the way the show handled that concept was amazing. Every character was a facet of the gem that was Arcane, and each shift of PoV allowed us to see them from a new angle.

There was coherence. There was cohesion. And there was a sense of complexity told in a concise and well-planned format.

S2, for me, doesn't quite work the same way.

It's not that I don't understand the characters, or that I don't appreciate the way they're handled. It's just that their individual journeys are so self-contained. I'm not getting a sense of their interpersonal connections. More as if they're crashing into and out of each other's lives, without ever stopping to have a proper conversation.

It's a common complaint with ensemble casts, and I don't mind it for the most part, but the problem here is that Arcane has been very careful about establishing its characters as part of a cohesive whole. They're not just random individuals who happen to share a stage. They're siblings, lovers, colleagues, friends, enemies, etc. And the reason why we can relate to them is because, on some level, they mirror our own relationships. We've seen how they treat each other, and we've come to care about them.

But in this season, I feel like there's been a failure to communicate.

Scenes between characters feel like a series of disconnected vignettes, some of which are great and some of which are not so great. It's as if the writers are trying to force the characters to react to the plot rather than the other way around.

I don't want to be overly critical. So much love and effort has gone into making this show, and I'd never want to disparage the efforts of so many talented artists.

But, yeah. Coherence is a bit of an issue.

I will say, however, that re: the subject of grief, especially in Jinx's journey, this season has delivered some beautiful moments. It's a surprisingly nuanced treatment of a complicated and ugly emotion, and it's something I wish more shows would tackle. The problem with a lot of modern storytelling is that, because it's trying so hard to be edgy, complex and subversive, it doesn't really leave any room for just letting characters exist. And Jinx's arc in particular is a perfect example of this.

I was worried, going into the season, that they'd take the easy route and paint her as a pure monster, utterly deranged from her loss. That's what the fandom seems to want, anyway, and it's what you'd probably expect given the general climate.

But instead, the show has chosen for Jinx to be vulnerable, and to let her arc be honest. Granted, Isha, though she's adorable, still doesn't quite feel like a full-fleshed out person, but Jinx's bond with her has been written with such heartbreaking realism that I'm inclined to forgive the former for the sake of the latter. It's just refreshing to see the series not to take that insulting and reductive 'but Jinx is crazy' route, and instead allow her to grapple with the pain of losing her family and the horror of what she's done, but to also heal old wounds with brand-new connections.

'Crazy' does not mean 'irredeemable.'

And it's about time more mainstream media got this memo.

The series also continues to be stellar at showcasing so much with such restraint. A lot of the scenes don't last longer than a few minutes, and yet you can feel so much conveyed in that brief window. And the framing and composition is consistently masterful.

Overall, though, I'm a bit underwhelmed by this season so far. It feels like an incomplete masterpiece, and the sense that the narrative has lost control is starting to get overwhelming. We've still got Act 3 left, and I'm hoping the final stretch is able to tie things together a little more neatly.

Anyway, thank you for reading this mess! And feel free to share your thoughts as well. I'm curious to hear how other people are finding the series.

<3

[2-dsimp]

Hey, for your Spotlight Boys, how would they react if they met their Darling and they already had a partner?

Who would take out the competition immediately and who would just want them to be happy? What would they do if there were signs they weren't actually happy?

Cw: jealousy/manipulation/coercion/blackmail/gore/death

➴➵➶➴➵➶➴➵➶➴➵➶➴➵

The types who’d take out competition:

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Rashiq the rabbit

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In his version you’re a nun supposed to be serving the lordship. So of course having any type of romantic relationship with the other gender is forbidden.

But if the rabbit hybrid priest finds out that you were having relations with another… He devilishly grin at how much fun he’d get out of ruining that dipshits life. While also getting you into his paws up and far away from that bastard Zebad’s grasp. With a little bit of playing instigation he’d sooner have your partner branded as a cheating heretic and stoned to death as punishment. Of course he’d get his 2 cents in beforehand, what can you say? This rabbit is petty, so what’s wrong with leaving that bloke with a couple bones broken? It’s not like they’d need em anytime soon. Especially if they’re set to die at the stake.

➴➵➶➴➵➶➴➵➶➴➵➶➴➵

Quio the Dilf

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Well in his version you wouldn’t be allowed to have any significant others. As one of the requirements for being his nanny would be that you’re completely single. That way your focus would be primarily on his daughter Peina.

But hypothetically speaking, Quio’s the type to act like he’s happy for you but he’s plotting on the downfall of your relationship. When he got the information relayed to him, the A list actors perfect image twisted into one of pure insanity that he kept under lock and key. He’ll bide his time and wait for the moment your relationship reaches its sugar high. Only for him to crash it and burn it to the ground in one fell swoop. It pains him to see you so devastated but at the same time it made him feel such ecstasy. As He’d be the one to pick up the pieces one by one and make you all his by design.

➴➵➶➴➵➶➴➵➶➴➵➶➴➵

Temothy the Bull

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He’d be utterly heartbroken… If he weren’t such a schemer underneath that klutzy innocent exterior of his. Being an info broker on the side of being your assistant. The bull knows everything about what’s happening in his surroundings in real time. So with a simple searches on the internet, He’d fabricate blackmail to prevent anyone. From even getting the idea that you were on the market. That’s why every single date you had was a failure, leaving you to be ghosted the next day. Even if the first date was absolutely perfect. Your assistant would accidentally stigmatize you as a forever alone without even knowing.

➴➵➶➴➵➶➴➵➶➴➵➶➴➵

The types who’d just want you to happy:

➴➵➶➴➵➶➴➵➶➴➵➶➴➵

Moros the Torturer

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All he’d ever want for his sunshine is for them to be happy. In fact he’s one of the very few men who’d be willing to be in a poly relationship with his darling. But if you already seemed to be fine with a partner of your own he’d stand by the sidelines watching over you like a guardian angel.

On the flip side if you were noticeably unhappy even worse if your partner had been abusing you. That’s when this gentle giant’s shell cracks into a vengeful ogre. He won’t tolerate anyone dimming your shine and would deal with them the best way he knows how. Via torturing them, it’s the job he’s well versed in. Besides that he genuinely wants to know how they were audacious enough. To think that they could break your precious heart. Unfortunately, Moros would never get the answer he so desired. Since his hands would’ve already subconsciously cracked open his victims rib cage with his machete. As if he were splitting open a watermelon. To tear out their beating heart that died out, Before he could even register what happened.

[lovelyiida]

THE RACE TO WEDDING BELLS ❤︎︎

CHAPTER 10 : MOMMY'S BOY; SISTERS PAWN

"The scandal of it all!"

❥ SYNOPSIS: as the years passed, Bakugo realized he was the last among his class to tie the knot. As the days grew colder, and the nights became lonelier. Bakugo finds the desire to get married, but he doesn't really feel like falling in love. At least he has his trustee secretary!

implied fem reader, aged-up! Pro-hero MHA characters over the age of 27, vulgar language, suggestive wording and content

❥: CHAPTERS

❥ MASTERLIST

❥ JOIN TAG LIST!

WORDS: 3K

[ DISCLAIMER!!! YOUR BODY IS BEAUTIFUL JUST THE WAY IT IS!!! AND YOU ARE WORTH MORE THAN A TRILLION GAZILLION KABILLION BUCKS!!!]

“That dress makes you look fat.”

“I agree, you look a tad… robust.”

For today’s catastrophe, you had the joy of honing in on the final detail for you and Katsuki’s wedding. The dress, of course!

You’ve always watched TV shows where the excited, bubbling bride brings their loved ones to shop for “the dress.” Only to be filled with anger and distraught over the absolute gall their family was.

You thought to yourself how you would never let this happen to you. If there was a problem, you tell them to get the fuck out! It’s your wedding anyway.

But now that you fit the quota (and maybe not the dress), you’re starting to think otherwise. And who else is better to go dress shopping with, than your fiance’s mother and your beloved sister?

Swallowing your pride, you show a defeated smile and step down from the elevated space. Turning around, you head back into the dressing room and look in the mirror. Letting out an exhale, you brushed your hand through your hair and placed it back on your hip with a plop.

“Just a couple of more dresses until they break,” you chuckled, reassuring yourself from the absolute nightmare this whole day has been. Biting your lip, you began to look at yourself a bit more. Straightening out some flimsy pieces here and there, swaying side to side in the dress.

You can’t believe you’re doing this…

You’ve fantasized about moments like these in your head millions of times. You’d be the perfect wife, marrying the perfect husband, who has the perfect family.  But now that everything has come to the forefront— it just seemed so dull.

You’re thankful you get some chance of normalcy… paparazzi included.

It was only an amount of time until you’d walk down the aisle to the “man of your dreams” and sign yourself away for the rest of eternity. And not even that will be set in stone.

“You’re just an open book of failures, aren't you?”

You spoke quietly to yourself. Scrunching your mouth to the side, you held back tears. You didn’t have the money to stain a 10-thousand-dollar dress with a 10-dollar mascara.

“Failed job, failed love life, failed marriage, failed quirk…” you trailed.

When was there a time when your life gave you a break? A moment of grace? When was the last time you felt genuine happiness beyond your prowess?

A singular tear streamed down your cheek.

Chin held high, you extended your hand out and under your cheek. “10 thousand dollars,” you whimpered. You’re wearing a dress worth ten thousand dollars, and yet you amount to nothing.

It's like placing birthday makeup on a potato sack.

As the tears kept streaming down your face, your whimpers grew louder. So much for trying to beat the sad-bridal-dress-shopping troupe.

God, when will you ever get a break?

Knock knock knock

Before you could even compose yourself with the little amount of time you had, the door was opened and someone barged in. “Y’know— if you’re gonna invite us, be respectful of other people's time. We’ve been sitting outside like a deer in headlights because you decided to dress yourself in that hideous mermaid tail–”

Mitsuki moaned on and on until she raised her head, and as her eyes fixed on your broken position; she was left speechless.

“Oh… um.”

“No, it’s fine. I’m sorry,” you mumbled with a hick in your breath. As you wiped your tears with the back of your hand, you then placed them on the sides of your neck. You stared at Mitsuki’s speechless look, unable to care for how she might scold you next.

The mother then let out a sigh before she reached into her purse. As she rummaged around, she found a package of napkins and opened them with haste. Handing them to you, you reached out with hesitance before you took them from her grasp.

“You know that dress is designer?” she deadpanned.

“Gee whiz! I don’t think I thought of that,” you spoke a cutting remark as venom oozed from each word.

“Who are you talking to?” Mitsuki scowled at your remark. You couldn't help but break out into a strained laughter at her words. “I’m talking to a woman who thinks I’ll never be good for their son!” You exclaimed with an anguished, teary smile.

Mitsuki jumped at your exclamation…

“I’m talking to someone who has only met me once, and now they have to call me their daughter-in-law, knowing they’d rather drop dead! Someone who knows that me and Katsuki should’ve never been together. Someone who is just as confused as I am, because we both know that whatever Katsuki sees in me is a lie!”

Your voice harshly trembled with each agonizing word, “is that what you wanted to hear?”

Mitsuki was unable to utter another word.

“I admit it! I’m a fucking fraud! I’m just some girl who’s trying to hold on to this false sense of happiness and drain it for whatever it’s worth because something always tells me it’ll be worth it. And it never fucking is!”

“Failure after failure, and I still don’t know what my purpose is on this earth! I’ll never be good enough for the life I’ve always dreamed of, the life where me and your son are in love and are getting married happily. Not by some phony contract!”

Mitsuki growled at your words, “what contract?”

“The…stupid-fucking marriage contract! This whole marriage is a sham!” You cried out. Mitsuki lets out a breath and begins to ponder around the dressing room, taking in the words you’ve spoken.

“Your son wanted some shot at normalcy and roped me into all of this mess. And you know what’s crazy? I said yes because I didn’t want to lose my job! My one shot of living the life I always dreamed, hanging by the thread of a shitty NDA and a seven-carat ring!”

Your words sunk deep into his mother's chest, weighing her down one by one, until she was left leaning against the wall with her hands cradling her face.

“And you know what’s even worse? I used to fucking hate his guts! But now…”

But now… what? You were silent.

The room hung heavy with silence, a palpable weight that seemed to press down on the both of you, muffling every breath and stifling any attempt at speech. The stillness was deafening, a stark contrast to the lively conversation that had filled the space moments earlier. An eerie hush blanketed the room as if the very air had stilled, holding its breath in anticipation of something yet to come.

Mitsuki’s hands drag from her face and her eyes bore into your disheveled state. Standing back up, she then neared towards you and then threw her purse down on the floor.

Unable to look into her eyes, your knees fall weak and you lower to the floor. Following suit, Mitsuki lowers herself and sits on the floor with you. “Listen, about my son…”

“Since the moment he was a young boy, I always knew he’d be destined for greatness. He was such a bright and confident spirit. Very sure in himself and his purpose in life

But ever since the war.”

You notice the drop in her tone, you nice her let out a defeated breath. She shook her head and continued to speak.

“That spark left him.”

“What do you mean?” You spoke softly.

“When I saw my son in the hospital— all his life was sucked out of him. His eyes were dead and he just looked out the window. Then the next moment he burst into tears…” Mitsukis voice wavered as her throat began to tighten, taking herself back to that dreadful day. 

“He never told me why he cried but I could put two and two together.”

Mitsuki wiped her tears with her finger, trying to gain back her composer. “Why was he crying?” you asked.

“Because he’s tired.”

Your brows were furrowed, eyes concentrating on her face. A heavy silence blanketed over the both of you, broken by the sound of a sniffle. “I knew at that moment I had lost my son forever. He’s not the same bright little boy anymore, he’s distant, reserved, and he’s completely shut out me and his father.”

“I apologize for how we’ve treated you.”

You turned to see Katsuki's mother, Mitsuki, looking out with a rueful expression. Despite her blunt words, you detected a certain softness there.

"I was the one who pushed him into heroics from a young age," she continued with a sigh. "Katsuki always had a...driven personality, even as a little kid. I figured that channeling it into becoming a pro hero would be good for him."

Mitsuki shook her head. "But I look at that son of mine now and I can't help but wonder if I steered him wrong somewhere along the way."

"With how angry and arrogant he is, maybe I should've pushed him into a different hobby," Mitsuki lamented. "Something where he could put that intensity to better use than constantly fighting and yelling."

She turned to you then, giving you an appraising look. "You must be a real saint to put up with that spitfire attitude of his. So, I understand you hate him–”

“I don’t hate him… I feel the exact opposite, actually.”

“So then what do you feel?”

“I feel like he’s worthy… worthy of love beyond his own comprehension.”

Mistuki nods in silence, “and I know that he’s been hurt in the past, and he’s willing to give this another try. And I’m happy for him because he’s just like any other person on earth with the right to experience love. Heroic title or not… I’m glad he was able to find something close to that with me.”

You showed a soft smile, satisfied that you were finally able to get that off your chest.

Mitsuki smiles back as she then rests her hand on your shoulder. You looked up to meet her gaze, falling into the familiar crimson irises.

“No matter how this marriage came to be,” she spoke, her voice thick with earnest emotion. “Whether it was by chance or by contract…” She gave your shoulder an affectionate squeeze. “The way my son looks at you tells me all I need to know.”

You felt your eyes prick with tears at her words, overwhelmed by the depth of her acceptance. “You two kids have found something real,” she continues firmly. “As parents, that’s the only thing we could hope for— that our children find genuine love and devotion.” Her smile turned impish, “even if it is with that hotheaded son of mine.”

A teary giggle bubbled up from your chest. An arm swept around your shoulders, and Mitsuki hugged you close in a warm embrace. “As long as you two have each other… that’s all that matters to an old lady like me.”

You pulled away from her embrace and showed her a smile, “thank you.”

Mitsuki chuckled before shuffling on the floor. “Now, let's get you up! My legs are killing me.”

As you both rise from the floor, you look at each other in a comfortable silence.

After Mitsuki finished gushing about how beautiful the wedding dress looked on you, she gave you an affectionate pat on the shoulder.

"Alright, let me give you some privacy to try on the next one," she said with a warm smile. "I'll be right outside if you need any help with the zipper or laces."

You nodded gratefully as Mitsuki slipped out of the fitting room, leaving you to carefully remove the lace gown. Just as you had stepped into the next dress sample, a sharp knock came at the door.

"Who is it?" you called out, doing a little shimmy to pull the dress up over your hips.

"It's me," came your sister's muffled voice from the other side. She didn't sound pleased.

Furrowing your brow, you quickly zipped and smoothed the dress before cracking open the door. Your sister's frown deepened as she looked at you over.

"Sis? What's wrong?" you asked with a tinge of worry. "Did something happen?"

She exhaled sharply through her nose. "Oh, nothing... except I just got a call from mom. Apparently, she's refusing to come dress shopping because, and I quote, 'That unstable brute isn't good enough for my baby.'"

You felt your jaw drop as realization set in. "Wait... she's boycotting my wedding dress shopping because of Katsuki?" 

A beat of silence passed between you before your sister's stony expression cracked and she let out a barking laugh.

"Leave it to Mom to find the most dramatic way to voice her dislike of your fiance," she giggled, shaking her head. "The scandal of it all!"

Unable to help yourself, you soon joined in the laughter, doubling over at the sheer ridiculousness of your mother's actions. Trust her to make a fuss at every turn about your perfectly wonderful relationship.

"Well, her loss then!" you managed between gasping breaths. "We'll just have to celebrate without her negativity!"

“Speaking of that… I can't wait to see his face when you say no and embarrass him in front of thousands! It’s what the brute deserves.” She chuckled.

You chose not to respond, and she took notice of that.

“About that… this whole elaborate plan— I think we should give it a rest.” You spoke firmly. Your sister shot you a look of disgust, “excuse me?”

“All I’m saying is… I’ve gotten to know him a bit more and—”

“You’ve fallen in love with the prick?” Your sister’s voice raised. You frown at her words, too embarrassed to argue back at her. A distressed break of laughter falls from her chest, “I fucking knew it!”

“I knew you’d find a way to mess this up and ditch me! As per usual” she spat. A look of disbelief cascaded over your face, “ditch you?” you asked.

“Yeah! Y’know— you go to the perfect school, get the perfect job, the apartment, the husband.” Your sister snarled as she pointed at the wedding dress. “And you leave the people you knew the longest behind to pick up the scraps!”

“And you wonder why you had to pick up scraps? Because you decided to run away and live your life without us! Leaving me to do all the work! So yeah, something good is finally happening to me and I’m gonna take advantage of that!

It’s not my fault you were a lost cause!” You yelled in anger.

Your sister's eyes went wide at the biting remark that had slipped out in the heat of your argument. "Did you really just say that to me?" she asked in disbelief, shaking her head slowly. 

For a moment, an awkward silence hung in the air as you stubbornly avoided her gaze. But then her expression hardened and she let out a derisive chuckle, taking a step closer until she was mere inches from your face.

"You're going to regret those words, sis," she said in a low, dangerous tone. "I don't take that kind of insult lightly, especially from family."

You refused to be intimidated, squaring your shoulders as you met her glare head-on. "Well then, if you know what's good for you, don't bother coming to my wedding," you retorted.

Her eyes flashed with fury before she gave a mocking laugh. "Oh, I'll be there alright. And you'll wish I wasn't by the time I'm through with you."

Refusing to be baited further, you simply shrugged one shoulder coolly. "Suit yourself. But any scene you cause, I'm holding you responsible.”

"We'll see about that," she hissed venomously. With one last withering look, she turned on her heel and stormed out, leaving you to anxiously play with the skirt of your dress.

Beneath the veneer of the joyous celebration raged a storm of bitter envy and resentment. Lurking in the shadows was the black sheep sister— a stark contrast to you. While you basked in the warmth of acceptance by Bakugo's hero circle, your sisters' lives had been a vortex of misery and poor decisions.

Cast out by their parents years ago, she found herself adrift and desperate on the streets. A chance encounter with a nefarious villain gang seemed her only lifeline, despite the cost. Slowly but surely, she buried herself deeper into their seedy underworld— committing petty crimes, and gathering intel, all to pay off her mounting debts owed to the merciless criminals.

What should have been her salvation became a noose around her neck. The more she witnessed your charmed life and success, the more her resentment mutated into a toxic obsession. The favoritism, the accolades, the love from the famous Dynamight— it all fanned the flames of her hatred.

When she discovered her pathetic sister had secured the heart of the renowned hero, something snapped inside Akari. She could never truly find happiness knowing you had achieved the perfect life. If she couldn't have that perfection for herself, she would ensure you burned with her in misery.

Trading villain information about Dynamight and his colleagues became her twisted obsession. Your sister bided her time, waiting for the perfect opportunity to strike - when she could sacrifice her sister on the altar of her malicious envy. Ruin both their lives with one brutal act, while settling her debts and finally living the life she deserved. 

But as you seamlessly got accepted by your fiance's friend group, seeing the genuine love and joy surrounding the both of you, it unraveled the last threads of your sister's unraveling sanity. Her fingers tightened around the serrated blade she'd been concealing, her eyes glittering with madness. If she could never attain that happiness for herself, then you didn't deserve to either.

She was done watching her sister have everything while she wallowed in darkness. One way or another, the path of perfection you walked would be drenched in ashes and ruin—

she would die trying.

I know the chapter's short, but I'm saving a big juicy chapter for the ending!

— lovelyiida

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