#and all for that imagination they hesitated checking up what's weird and off going on between them

[rinbylin]

ms. and mr. sara farley i now pronounce you woman and husband‼️‼️😌❤️🚬🗣️

[lechrts]

Change. ✷ Lando Norris

Pairing: Lando Norris x Friend!reader

Summary: When you look a little too good for a night clubbing out with Lando and friends.

Word Count: 2.3k

Disclaimer/s: suggestive??? ish… POSSESIVE!LANDO. kinda made me AUUUUGGGH when writing.

Vera’s Voice! I MEAN what i said about making me AUUUGGGHH when writing. cuz ohhhh boy. there’s probs plenty of things like this out there but 👅 wassuhhhh. hope u enjoy!!! ^_^

Lando had been sitting on your couch for the past thirty minutes, scrolling aimlessly on his phone as he waited for you to finish getting ready. You’d already told him “five more minutes” three times now, and he was growing restless.

“Come onnnnn!” You could hear his irritated groan from down the hall. “Max and them are already there, I’m getting gray hairs!” He complained.

“Alright! Alright!” A small laugh escaped your lips as you were coincidentally walking out of your room, ready as ever. “I’m done!” Your voice rang out as you rummaged through your purse, double checking and making sure you had every essential needed for tonight.

With another exaggerated sigh, he shot up from his spot and glanced from his phone lazily, ready to toss out some sarcastic quip about you taking ages—until his eyes landed on you.

His jaw nearly dropped.

You were wearing a figure-hugging black mini skirt that left little to the imagination. Your red top sat delicately on your shoulders, the hem ending just a bit higher than what Lando would have preferred. Paired with black boots, your hair and makeup perfectly done, you looked… well, effortlessly stunning.

He blinked once. Then twice.

“Uh…” He cleared his throat, shifting awkwardly on his feet. “Wow.”

You frowned, pausing in the middle of adjusting your top. “What? Do I look bad?”

His eyes widened, shooting up to yours as he quickly shook his head. “Oh—No! Noo. No, no, no. Not bad at all.”

You raised a brow as he stammered over his words, his face growing increasingly red. “No?”

“No,” He muttered again, scratching the back of his neck. His gaze flickered down and back up quickly, as if he couldn’t help himself but glance at every inch of you. “You look… really good. Like, really good.”

The corner of your lips tugged into a shy smile. “Oh. Well… thank you!”

For some reason, Lando didn’t smile back. Instead, his expression tightened slightly, his brows furrowing in the faintest way.

“But um..” He hesitated, as if choosing his words carefully. “Are you… uh—Ahem.” His voice cracked mid sentence. “Are you sure you wanna go out in that?”

The question hung in the air like a bomb waiting to go off.

And it was about to go off.

On him.

You squinted your eyes before quirking a brow and crossing your arms. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Lando winced. “Nothing bad! It’s just… y’know. The club can get a little… wild. And I just… it’s a bit—” He gestured vaguely at your outfit.

“It’s a bit what?” You tilted your head, challenging him.

“Short,” He said finally, almost inaudibly. “It’s short.”

“Lando.” You stared at him in disbelief, eyes now wide as your raised your brows. “Are you serious right now?”

“I’m just saying!” He lifted his hands defensively. “You don’t wanna deal with guys being weird or staring at you like—like—”

“Like what?” You cut him off, glaring. “Like how you’re staring at me right now?”

Lando’s cheeks flushed. “I’m not staring!”

“You are.” You stepped forward, amused now as you watched him squirm. “Pig.”

“Come on! Don’t be like that!” Lando sighed. “You—you know what I mean..” He wasn’t sure how to word anything at the moment.

“Are you flustered, Lando Norris?”

“Wha—pSsshhh. No.” He scoffed, looking anywhere but at you.

“Liar.”

“I’m not!”

“Uh-huh.” You smirked, leaning closer. His Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed nervously.

“You’re acting weird,” You teased, poking his chest lightly. “What, you don’t like my outfit?”

“That’s not it,” Lando mumbled, eyes finally meeting yours. Something in his expression softened, his voice quieter when he added, “It’s because I do like it.. Like a lot.”

For a moment, you froze, your heart skipping a beat.

“Oh…”

Well, that caught you off guard.

Lando shifted closer now, his usual cheeky grin replaced with something more serious, more… tender.

“I just… I don’t like the thought of every guy in the club looking at you like you’re…” He trailed off, searching for the right words.

“Like I’m what?” you prompted softly.

“Like you’re something they can just have,” He said, his voice steady this time.

“Because you’re not.”

Your breath caught in your throat. The way he looked at you—intense and unguarded—made your skin warm.

“Well, it’s not like you have to worry about that,” You said quietly, trying to ignore how flustered you felt under his gaze. “I can handle myself.”

“I know you can.” His lips tugged into a small smile. “But that doesn’t mean I have to like it.”

You stared at him for a beat, your heart pounding against your ribs. “Good thing I dressed for myself and not for you!” A cheeky grin played at your lips.

“Oh, come on.” He shut his eyes tightly and let out a wide smiled laugh.

“Are you jealous?” You asked, testing him.

He opened his mouth to deny it, but the words didn’t come. Instead, he let out another sheepish laugh, rubbing the back of his neck again.

“Maybe,” He admitted softly.

You blinked. You really hadn’t expected that.

“…You’re jealous!” You repeated, a teasing grin breaking across your face as your voice was practically taunting.

Lando groaned, tipping his head back dramatically as if to escape the moment entirely. “I said maybe,” He muttered, voice muffled, cheeks turning impossibly redder.

You couldn’t help but laugh softly, though the sound felt tighter than you wanted it to. Something about the way he looked at you—the way his eyes burned into yours with that soft intensity—had your stomach twisting, your pulse quickening.

“You’re crazy,” You murmured, stepping back just slightly to give yourself some breathing room. It was stupid how much his gaze had affected you—how much he affected you.

“Yeah, well…” Lando sighed, his expression shifting to something unreadable. He glanced down at the floor for a second before looking up at you again, his voice quieter now. “I just don’t want anyone thinking they’ve got a chance with you… when they don’t.”

And now.

Your heart stopped.

Huh?

The air in the room thickened, and you suddenly felt hyper-aware of every inch of yourself—of him. You swallowed hard, feeling your throat dry up.

“Why… why would it matter if they did?” Your voice was barely above a whisper, a challenge wrapped in curiosity.

Lando stepped toward you this time, closing the distance you’d put between you two. “Because I can’t have people embarrass themselves,” He said simply, his words heavy, deliberate.

Your breath hitched. He was close now—close enough that you could smell the faint cologne clinging to him, close enough that your knees felt dangerously weak. Your mind screamed at you to say something, anything, to break the tension.

But then he tilted his head just slightly, his eyes dropping to your lips before flicking back up to meet yours.

You froze.

“Lando.” You started, your voice shaky, but you weren’t even sure what you wanted to say.

“Tell me I’m wrong.” His voice was so low it sent shivers down your spine. “Tell me you’d let anyone in the club have a chance with you.”

You blinked, stunned. “I—I mean, that’s not—”

“That’s not what?” He murmured. There was barely an inch between you now, his body heat radiating onto you like a fire you couldn’t escape. He was looking at you like he was waiting for something, like he was daring you.

You felt dizzy, caught in the push and pull of whatever the hell this was.

“You don’t get to decide what I do,” You managed to say, though your voice was far weaker than you’d intended.

“I know.” His eyes softened, his lips twitching into the faintest smirk. “But you know, I’d kill any guy who even looked at your way tonight.”

Your lips parted slightly, but no words came out. You couldn’t think straight—not with the way he was looking at you, not with the way he stood so close.

“You’re insane,” You whispered finally, though the words held no real weight.

Lando grinned. “Yeah? Then why aren’t you pushing me away?”

Oh.

Your heart stuttered.

God damnit.

You knew you should say something snarky—something to diffuse this unbearable tension that had your body practically buzzing. But you couldn’t. You didn’t want to.

Instead, you looked up at him through your lashes, your voice soft when you finally spoke.

“…Maybe I like it when you get jealous.”

Lando stilled, his expression faltering for half a second before his lips curved into something that was far too dangerous—a mix of smug and something else that you couldn’t quite name.

“Careful,” He whispered, his voice dropping into something almost husky, “or I’ll start thinking you have a little crush on me.”

The room felt like it was spinning now, and the tension between you both was so palpable you were sure you could reach out and touch it.

“And what if I do?” You shot back, though you couldn’t bring yourself to look anywhere but at his lips.

For a moment, everything was silent. And then—

“Then I’d say I’ve been waiting for you to figure that out.”

Your breath hitched, your pulse pounding so loudly in your ears that it drowned out everything else. Lando’s words hung in the air like a loaded promise, and the way he looked at you—eyes dark, jaw tight—sent a shiver down your spine.

“You’re so full of yourself,” You whispered, but your voice cracked, betraying you completely.

“Am I?” His lips tugged into a slow, teasing smirk, but his eyes—God, his eyes—were serious. “Because I think I’m just being honest.”

You swallowed hard, every nerve in your body screaming at you to move, to say something, to do something.

But you couldn’t.

You were frozen, stuck under the weight of him and the truth of what he’d just said.

“I’ve been waiting for you to figure that out.”

The worst part was you knew it was true. You’d felt this coming for months—maybe even longer—and you’d been avoiding it, brushing it off as nothing more than harmless banter.

But now, standing here with him so close, with his words replaying in your head like a song you couldn’t shake, it was impossible to deny.

Your silence stretched on, the tension between you growing tighter and tighter, winding like a coil ready to snap.

“Say something,” Lando murmured, his voice soft now, his tone almost… pleading.

You blinked up at him, your own voice barely a whisper. “What do you want me to say?”

“That you’re done pretending.” He stepped impossibly closer, the tips of his shoes brushing yours. “That you feel it too.”

Your heart thudded painfully, your breath catching in your throat. His words shouldn’t have made you this weak—this vulnerable—but they did.

Because you did feel it. The magnetic pull toward him, the way your skin lit up when he was near, the way he could unravel you with just a look.

Finally, you found your voice. “I’m not pretending.”

Lando exhaled, almost like he’d been holding his breath, his gaze flickering down to your lips before meeting your eyes again. His hand hovered at his side, his fingers flexing like he was resisting the urge to reach for you.

“Good.” He smirked faintly, but his voice was serious when he added, “Then let’s get one thing straight.”

You arched a brow, trying to mask how shaky your legs felt. “And what’s that?”

“You’re not leaving my side tonight.”

You blinked, surprised by the possessive edge to his voice. “Lando—”

“Non-negotiable.” He cut you off, his hand finally moving to rest at your waist—light, cautious, but firm enough that you felt its weight. “I meant what I said earlier. I don’t trust anyone else in there. So if we’re doing this—if you’re mine—”

“Yours?” You interrupted, though your voice was breathless now, the single word escaping before you could stop it.

Lando grinned, the kind of grin that made you feel like the ground had been pulled out from under you. “Yeah. Mine.” His thumb brushed against the hem of your top, the small movement sending a jolt through you.

“And I don’t share.”

You couldn’t breathe. It was like every word out of his mouth was knocking the wind out of you, leaving you reeling.

You should’ve pushed him away—told him he was being ridiculous and that you could handle yourself.

But you didn’t.

Instead, you whispered, “Fine.”

Lando’s grin softened into something warmer—something real—as his hand tightened ever so slightly around your waist. “Fine?”

“Fine,” You repeated, your voice steadying as you looked up at him. “But if you’re going to stay glued to my side all night, you better not embarrass me.”

Lando laughed, the sound sending warmth flooding through your chest. “No promises.”

You wanted to argue, to push back and tell him he couldn’t just claim you like that. But you couldn’t—because deep down, some part of you wanted it.

Your chest rose and fell rapidly as you tried to steady your racing heart. “You’re a little too confident, aren’t you?” You muttered, though the bite in your words was weakened by the way your voice trembled.

Lando’s grin softened into something that made your knees weak. “Not confident. Just sure.” His gaze flickered across your face—your lips, your eyes—and for a brief moment, he hesitated. Then, as if unable to hold back, he added quietly,

“And for the record, I’ve always thought you were beautiful. Not just tonight.”

The sincerity in his voice knocked the air from your lungs. He said it so simply, so effortlessly, like it was a fact he’d been carrying with him for far too long. And yet, it left you speechless, your mind spinning.

You stared at him, trying to process his words—trying to process him. “Always?” You whispered, like you needed confirmation that you hadn’t imagined it.

Lando held your gaze, his expression soft but unwavering. “Always.”

And just like that, the moment broke—but the tension lingered.

He didn’t let go of you as you finally grabbed the last bit of your things and headed for the door. In fact, his hand never once left your waist, his touch burning into you in the best way possible.

And as you stepped into the night, surrounded by the hum of music and people, you realized something:

You weren’t pretending anymore.

And neither was he.

likes, comments, & reblogs are appreciated ^_^ !!!

extra vera note!!!! Guys please bro is so Male in this it acc pissed me off kinda 🤦‍♀️🤦‍♀️🤦‍♀️ WHATEVER. for the plot 👅

tags! @planetpedri @halfwayhearted @wdcbox

[willowsnook]

When Love is Left Unspoken

max verstappen x reader

she isn't you i'd be insane not to love you

request from @formulaal

Pt. 2 here

"Alright, one more question from the chat," you said into your mic, scanning for a good one. One caught your eye, and you began reading it aloud before realizing it would reveal something from your past. “Would you choose a guy over your best friend?”

Laughing humorlessly, you looked into the camera with a tight smile. “Anyone who’s been here for a while knows how relevant that question is to my life. But my answer hasn’t changed: if you’re choosing a romantic partner over your best friend, you can get fucked. Thanks for tuning in, everyone. See you around.”

Logging off, you grabbed your water bottle and headed to the kitchen to refill it. Checking your phone, you smiled at the stats from the stream—10k of your fans tuning in tonight was a big turnout. You’d gone viral on BookTok back in 2020, and now, your book podcast had a solid following. Normally, BookTok didn’t bring huge numbers, but thanks to your former best friend, your popularity had skyrocketed. As grateful as you were, his part in your success irritated you now.

Then a notification popped up on your screen, and you rolled your eyes.

MV: Nice stream.

You: Fuck off

MV: Glad I’m still living rent-free in your head.

You: Glad you got permission to text me.

You threw your phone down on the counter, boiling inside. Nobody got under your skin like he could, especially after 20 years of knowing exactly how to do it. Growing up, it hadn’t always been this way. At 10, you’d moved with your family to the Netherlands, right next door to the Verstappens. Max quickly became your best friend, your weekends spent watching him kart. Never in your wildest dreams did you imagine things would end like this.

You met Kelly in 2018 at a race Max invited you to. Right away, you got weird vibes. She looked at Max like a toy she had to have. It was creepy, especially given the nine-year age gap. By 2019, they were dating, and she made it clear she didn’t like you, refusing to acknowledge your existence. That led to rocky times between you and Max; he always had excuses to avoid seeing you. When you were together, he seemed tense, as if being watched.

Everything fell apart in Australia 2021.

Flashback

Max invited you to the first race of the 2021 season, though you almost didn’t go. It felt obligatory, as if he invited you just because you’d never missed an opening race. You hadn’t seen him all winter, just exchanging quick holiday texts. Walking into the paddock, you felt a strange sense of finality, like this might be the last one.

Spotting Carmen outside Mercedes, you walked over and hugged her. As you stepped back, she looked worried.

“What’s up?”

She hesitated. “I thought you should know, Kelly’s been saying some nasty things about you around the paddock. No one believes her, but… I wanted you to know.”

“What is she saying?” you asked, heart sinking.

“She’s calling you pathetic, saying you’re still pining over your childhood crush and using Max to become an influencer,” she said softly, looking at you with sympathy.

“You’re joking,” you said, anger simmering. She shook her head.

“Can I be real with you?” She asked, and you nodded. “I love you and George loves you and honestly, everyone does. But I will accept not seeing you here anymore if you finally realize that Max is not being a good friend to you. And he hasn’t been for a long time.”

Eyes filling with tears, you let her words sink in. She was right, but admitting it was brutal. Maybe staying around him was just self-inflicted pain.

You found Max later, pulling him aside.

“I only have a few minutes, so make it quick,” he said, barely looking at you. Seeing him like this, you realized that the man in front of you wasn’t your best friend anymore.

“Your girlfriend’s telling people I’m a pathetic loser here to use you for fame,” you said, voice flat.

“I don’t believe that,” he mumbled, avoiding your eyes.

“Really?” you laughed bitterly. “You don’t believe that from your girlfriend—the one who’s disliked me since day one?”

“Seems like you have something to say, Y/N. Just say it,” he replied, finally looking at you.

“There was a time in my life where I couldn’t imagine what it would be like to live without you. But now I’m living it. Have the past ten years been nothing to you? All it took was an older woman to bat her eyelashes at you and that was it?”

He opened his mouth, but you cut him off.

“I’m not going to stand here and tell you that we had a good run and that I wish you the best. Fuck you. Fuck you for choosing her over me and fuck you for even letting it have to be a choice. I hate you.”

End of Flashback

That was the last time you had spoken to him. There were no texts or calls after that; his life just went on like normal while you felt like you were dying inside. You had thrown yourself into your work after that and now had over a million followers and subscribers to your podcast. You’d stayed friends with Carmen but hadn’t returned to a race since that day. You had tried to block the memory of that day from your mind, but when you were low, one thing always resurfaced in your mind. Kelly was right about you pining after your childhood crush. You had been in love with Max back then. How could you not be?

Then Carmen invited you to the Austin GP, and after much persuasion, you finally agreed. Thanks to your online following, you flew down with her, officially a Mercedes guest. Wearing Mercedes colors felt like poetic justice.

When you entered the paddock, a wave of nostalgia and sadness hit you. But it disappeared as you saw familiar faces you’d missed over the years.

"Y/N!" Alex called, arms open. Hugging him, you sighed, realizing how much you’d missed everyone. “I’m glad you’re back.”

“Me too,” you admitted before greeting Lily, who gushed over your podcast and joked about being a guest. As you laughed with her, you noticed Alex subtly trying to block your view. Looking over, you saw Max walking by. He did a double take, but you turned back to Lily, ignoring his stare.

Later, as you waited for a coffee, you overheard Checo’s wife and Fernando’s girlfriend chatting.

“I heard Max and Kelly broke up,” Melissa said.

“Oh yeah, it’s been a few months,” Carola replied, shrugging. “Apparently, he was in love with someone else the whole time.”

You smirked. So Kelly finally experienced what it felt like to be second choice.

The race came and went, and you successfully avoided Max the entire weekend. You didn’t even think about the possibility of running into him when you accepted Carmen’s invitation to go out that night. George had actually wanted to go out, so you found yourself at a little country bar that night with what seemed to be the whole grid. You felt Max’s gaze the second you walked in, and you were doing a hell of a job ignoring him. Charles was trying to talk to him, looking confused between the two of you, but you didn’t care.

Ordering another gin and tonic you felt him come up next to you and you refused to look over.

“Put hers on mine,” Max said, handing over his card. You tried to leave, but he held out an arm to stop you.

“No ‘thank you’?” he teased, eyes intense.

You glared. “You can have it, then.”

“Stop being difficult,” he said, rolling his eyes. “You look good.”

“Can’t say the same about you,” you shot back, and his expression darkened.

He sighed. “Can we talk?”

“I said everything I needed to say three years ago. Have a good night.”

This time he let you go and you made your way back to Carmen who was looking at you with a raised eyebrow.

“You okay?” She asked, and you nodded.

A little while later, you were sitting at a table talking with Charles with Max hovering close by.

“Max, come sit down,” Charles slurred, and at this point, you were too tipsy to put up a fight about it. “Max is my best friend, ya know?”

“Ah yeah?” You asked head tilting. “Those words don’t mean much coming from him.”

Charles giggled, too drunk to understand what you meant and Max clenched his jaw looking at you.

“Insult me all you want schatje, as long as you’re talking to me I’ll take it,” he said and you didn’t say anything, just stared at him trying to figure out his angle.

“Is this the girl Kelly broke up with you over?” Charles asked and Max whipped his head towards him. “You always had a thing for her, so I told Alex that was my guess.”

Max’s face fell, and you froze. Shock turned into anger as you got up and stormed out. You felt Max following and soon he was in front of you, blocking your path.

“Come on,” he urged, leading you to a nearby park.

“Max, I don’t want to talk,” you said firmly, pulling away.

“I don’t care,” he replied, frustrated. “Tell me what I need to do to fix this.”

You laughed bitterly. “Crawling back because you got dumped? It’s too late.”

“It’s not like that.”

“You made your choice three years ago. Now live with it.”

“You want to know why we broke up?”

“I don’t really give a fuck,” you replied before turning to walk away.

“She isn’t you!” He yelled. Your legs stopped moving as your mind reeled.

Whirling on him you got into his face, “You don’t get to fucking say that to me. Not after all this time. Not after what you put me through. Not after you chose her over me. I was there the whole time Max. Me! I was there! It’s not my fault you didn’t realize that till I was gone.” 

“I realized it long before then,” he said softly, and you took a couple of deep breaths, trying to calm yourself. Tears were starting to fall, and you looked everywhere but him. 

“Then why?” You whispered, voice cracking. 

“Because I wasn’t good enough for you,” he said laughing sadly to himself. “The pressure was starting to cave in back then and I didn’t want you to see that. I didn’t want to burden you.”

“You were my best friend Max,” you said exasperated. “I would have done anything for you.” 

“It’s easy to see that now,” he said. “But then you were so full of life and starting your little videos that I didn’t want to disappoint you. She understood what I was going through, but I never stopped loving you.” 

“Then why did you still push me away?” 

“I had to do that so that I could try and move on. She knew and she hated that there wasn’t anything she could do to change how I felt about you. I knew what she was saying about you in the paddock, and I knew why she was saying it.” 

His words hit you like a ton of bricks, and it felt like heartbreak all over again. “You knew and you let it happen. You are the worst person I’ve ever known Max Verstappen.”

He was crying now too and the two of you stood staring at one another not saying anything. 

“I would be insane not to love you,” he said softly and it made you cry harder. “So I will do whatever it takes for however long to make up for what I did.” 

He let you go again and you left him there, crying silently as you walked back to the hotel. So many emotions going through your mind paired with confusing feelings. 

Happiness for your 15-year-old self that has wanted to hear those words for so long. 

Sadness for your 21-year-old self reliving those memories. 

And anger at your 24-year-old self for considering letting him make it up to you. 

[3rdgymbros]

━ 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐁𝐚𝐛𝐲'𝐬 𝐂𝐨𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐠 !

— pairing; nagi seishiro x reader  

— summary; set in the future, where your baby with nagi comes early while he's playing in a match.

— notes; please donate to my kofi if you like my content and and please commission me because im broke. kisses to everyone who reblogs.

❋ This is the most important game of Nagi’s career, and you’re not about to call him off the field for this.

❋ . . . Even if you might be in labour.

❋ You think you’re in labour, anyway.

❋ You’re looking into it.

❋ You try to brush it off as just another false alarm since the baby’s not due for another month, even as your stomach feels oddly tight and heavy.

❋ Now that you’re this far along, Nagi makes sure to pay extra attention to you, always checking on you before he leaves practice or matches. He kisses you sweetly as always, but he hesitates before leaving you alone in the stands, where you have an unobstructed view of the field. “Are you sure you're okay? You look kind of . . . Sweaty.”

❋ You wave him off with a smile, trying to act normal. “Just nerves.”

❋ The whistle blows and the match begins with all that usual fanfare. You try to lose yourself in the magic of the game, how effortlessly graceful Nagi looks when he’s dominating the field, but it’s hard as the contractions grow stronger, more intense than you could have ever imagined.

❋ You’re grimly determined to make it through the game, cheering for Nagi just as you’ve always done. So you dig your nails into the arm-rests of your seat and try to force the breath back into your lungs.

❋ Not yet. Not yet.

❋ It’s Reo who catches sight of you up in the VIP section of the stands; you’re shaking and doubled over, clutching at your stomach. A small crowd is already forming around you, and it’s hard to miss the panic on the face of Chigiri’s mother and older sister.

❋ “Nagi,” Reo says, an unusual urgency lacing his voice, and Nagi turns, follows the direction of his gaze.

❋ A very red-faced Chris Prince and the throng of fans are in an uproar when Nagi sprints off-field with a renewed burst of energy. His focus is completely on you now, the ongoing game now pushed to the very recesses of his mind. “Hey, what's wrong? You look weird.”

❋ You’re pale and tight-lipped, sweat sticking your hair to your face and neck, but you still try to act as though everything’s fine. “Nothing’s wrong. Go back to the game!” You try to shoo him away with a wave of your hand, but Nagi isn’t buying it.

❋ “Nah, you look like you're dying or something. That’s not normal.” he deadpanned, pulling out his phone to call his driver (well, Reo’s driver).

❋ “Go back to the game!” You try to tell him again, biting back a cry as another contraction rips through your body.

❋ Nagi shakes his head, already bending down to scoop you into his arms. "It’s just a game. You and the baby are more important," he mumbles, carrying you to the nearest exit with surprising strength.

❋ By the time you reach the hospital and you’re ushered into a private room, your contractions are coming in hard and fast waves, and you’re clutching Nagi’s hand like a vice. "Ow . . . How are you so strong? You’re so small . . ." he mutters, his face scrunching up in pain.

❋ Still wearing his jersey and cleats, Nagi stays by your side the entire time, which you’re grateful for since his calming presence helps more than you’ll admit. He’s completely unbothered by the fact that he missed the rest of the game (which his team, fortunately, won).

❋ What you’re NOT grateful for: his unhelpful comments. "Why does it take so long?”, “Can’t you speed it up?" Nagi gets the hint and shuts up when you hurl a pillow at him with a string of very colourful curses, because it’s his fault that you’re here, dammit.

❋ When the baby finally arrives, red-faced and announcing her arrival with a loud scream, Nagi stares at the tiny bundle in awe, his large frame completely dwarfing his child. But his large hands are gentle, holding his baby like she’s the most precious thing in the world. “Huh. She’s kind of like a mini you . . . So small and soft.”

❋ But when the baby yawns, all droopy-eyed and their small face a sleepy smudge, you think that your daughter looks more like Nagi.

[milla-frenchy]

Imagine Tommy pussing you off so go find Joel, Joel fucks you, you call Tommy and put it on voicemail so he can here you screaming Joel’s name

Does Joel put on a show? Does Tommy jerk off ti the sound? Does Joel get mad at you for getting him involved in this and and and and-

Mood board @aurorawritestoescape 😍🤌 (pic for mood only)

0k7 | Joel Miller x fem reader | ao3 | Masterlist Warnings: 18+ mdni. Infidelity, masturbation (m), degradation, piv, creampie. No age specified

a/n: @romanarose I changed a little part of your ask, hope you’ll like what I imagined 🙏 @aurorawritestoescape thank you for beta-ing 💕😘

***********

Joel was not particularly a good man. His sense of morality was questionable. It always had been, and that would probably never change. So when you knocked on his door to complain about Tommy after he ended up at Travis County for what seemed like the 100th time, Joel didn't think it could be a bad idea to let you in.

When you sat on the couch and told him that Tommy had hit on a waitress in a bar, and that her boyfriend had beaten him up before the two of them were taken away by the cops, he didn't even hide his smile. His brother had always been a loser, and that wasn't going to change any time soon.

“I’m so tired of his shit, Joel. How many times have I got him out of prison? And he was flirting with another girl. Again. I wonder if he fucked that one, too.”

And that’s how you ended up in Joel’s bed, legs spread, his cock pounding your cunt hard and fast, eyes fixed on your dripping hole, that was covering him in white.

When you got a call later that evening, your head was buried in a pillow and Joel was gripping your hips. You didn't even check who was calling you.

When your phone rang again the next day, Joel’s cock was buried balls deep in your core. And when he saw his brother's name on your phone, he told you to pick up. You were still pissed off and didn’t hesitate, putting the call on speaker just as Joel started fucking you again. Your moans were the only sounds that came out of your mouth.

“Uh, babe? What the hell is going on?”

“You broke your toy, little bro. Now I’m fixin’ it… oh fuck, that pussy’s so fuckin’ tight...”

“The fuck? Joel?! Babe, is that a fuckin’ joke?”

Joel was fucking you so good, spreading your walls around his cock and perfectly hitting your g spot, that you didn’t even bother to answer Tommy.  Besides, Joel was dealing with him perfectly.

“You didn't tell me she was so good at takin’ a cock. Suckin’ it too. Blew my load down her throat this morning. Been fuckin’ her all night, shit…”

“Fuck, baby? Why are you doin’ this to me?”

“Well, I think it has something to do with the other women you’re banging, jackass...” 

“Oh fuck, baby, come on… You know I love you, right?”

“Oh, shit. She’s suckin’ me in, Tommy. She’s squeezing my fuckin’ cock so tight…”

Joel knelt between your thighs, one hand gripping your waist, fucking you as if you were a rag doll. Rubbing your clit with his thumb, spitting on it for Tommy to hear. His brother was no longer talking, and you only heard his breathing. More and more unsteady.

Joel sneered and said “Jesus Christ, Tommy, you’re jerking off, hearing me fuck your girlfriend?”

You let out a moan that wasn't just from Joel's cock and finger.

“Gonna fill her up soon. Hope she’s on the pill or something, or we’ll have some weird family lunch, lil’ bro...”

You heard Tommy grunt, and the fist clenched on his cock sped up his movement. You could hear the fap fap fap as clearly as if he had been in the same room as you. Watching Joel railing you.

“Shit Tommy, you’re such a loser. Ya gonna fuck her through my cum tonight, uh? She’s so full of me, man…”

“Fuck, fuck, ‘m gonna come…”

“Yeah? Ya want your toy back after I fixed it?”

“Yeah, yeah. Baby, wanna fuck you… want you to be full of me too. Please? Please, baby. Lemme fuck you tonight.”

“Tommy…oh, fuck, Joel is fucking me so good… I’m gonna come on your brother’s cock… again.”

“Fuck, fuck. Yeah, keep talkin’ to me like that.”

“He made me cum so many times since yesterday, you know… Oh, god… His cock is so thick, baby…”

“Shit, oh….oh fuck I’m gonna…ah fuuuuuuuck.”

Tommy shot his load onto your bed and on his fist, and you came hearing his moans, clenching on Joel’s cock. He told you “what a good girl you were, taking his big cock so good” until he filled your cunt already full of his spend. You heard Tommy panting over the phone. “Get your ass over here and fuck her in my bed. And when you’ll stick your dick in her cunt, your cock will be soaked in my cum.And I bet you’ll cum in 5 seconds, little bro. Like a damn loser.”

***************

Thank you for reading 🙏

Comments and reblogs are greatly appreciated ❤️

Follow @millafics and turn notifications on for fics updates

@pascalsanctuary @littlemisspascal @survivingandenduring

[sapphic-kpop-fics]

Undercover (Hirai Momo x Reader)

Smut, fluff

Detective!Momo and Reader

Mentions of murder but nothing explicit, idk how being a detective works, overuse of “baby” probably, jealousy (yay), ends kinda abruptly I didn’t know how to end it

Sometimes your job as a detective is filled with the mundane, small crimes but not this week, it was different. A murder case, with many victims, and you had been at the office all week 24/7 and far enough away from home to have to get a hotel. Along with your work partner, Hirai Momo, you both worked tirelessly with no leads well until now when you’re in a conference room with your evidence board sitting and staring at Momo who was sitting across from you reading her files and working furiously on her computer trying to find a shred of evidence. You admit, she was very attractive, it was hard not to have a crush on the woman. Her black hair framed her face with bangs, she wore a suit without the tie and a pair of glasses. It was difficult to keep your eyes off her, all you could do was hope she didn’t notice your stares.

“I got it!” Momo exclaimed from her seat, breaking you from staring at her, “the connection, this nightclub, all of the victims were there in the weeks before their deaths. Maybe our suspect frequents or works there?”

“Y-yeah, it’s definitely something to follow. Good job Hirai.” You manage to get out as she looks at you in excitement from her discovery.

“I told you, call me Momo. I’d say we’re… friends so don’t be so formal.” She smiles, you don’t miss how she hesitates at the word friends. You had little moments with her, touches and looks like made you fill with hope that maybe she felt the same but you had always put them to the back of your mind as her just being friendly.

“O-okay. Well, Momo, what’s the plan?” Momo smiles at the use of her name.

“I’m generating a list of employees and frequent visitors so we know who to look for, and then I say we go undercover.”

“Is that necessary?”

“They don’t have cameras so It’s the easiest way to keep an eye out for weird behavior without spooking our potential suspect” she smiles, you had only started working as a detective a year ago which is when you were partnered with Momo as opposed to her 5 years of experience, “Why? Scared?” A teasing smirk on her lips.

“What!?! No.” Momo giggles at your response, “I’ve just…never done it before. Plus I can’t lie or act very well.”

“It’s easy, just be yourself without the cop part.” She says walking to your side of the table, “you’ll be fine, plus we’ll both be there together. It’s a gay club. Mostly rich couples, some singles looking to join said couples for their money.”

“Oh. So we..”

“Have to act like a couple. Yes.” She confirms, “is that okay?”

“I don’t have a problem with it.. but if you-“

“No no. I’m good.” Momo cuts you off and pauses for a moment, staring into your eyes before blinking out of it, “um- i should have that list of potential suspects soon so um until then, have anything nice to wear in your go bag? It’s a pretty��expensive place” She seemed more nervous now.

“Um, does a button up and jeans count?” You ask, that being your usual work attire and the only thing you keep in your go bag.

“Fortunately I prepared for this and I have an extra dress.” Momo was excited on the inside not only to see you in a dress, but to see you in her dress, “How about we go back to the hotel and clean up? I’ll leave the dress by your door.”

So you made your way to the hotel, Momo driving which was way more attractive than it should’ve been. Showering and doing some minor hair and make up, you check outside your door and as said there’s bag with a red dress, it was short and tight fitting leaving little to be imagined of your thighs. You wondered if this was the option she gave you, then what was she wearing. You didn’t have to wonder long as a knock on your door interrupted your thoughts, Momo stood on the other side a tight black dress, sleeveless with lace on the abdomen showing off her defined abs which you of course fixate on. Jewelry adorned her fingers and neck, rings highlighting her veined hands. You weren’t paying enough attention to notice Momo doing the same, eyes checking out the way her dress hugged your body, though she has the self control to pull her stare away.

“Um- should we go?” She says, making your eyes snap to her face, she was clearly amused at your staring though a bit flustered herself.

“Oh, yes.”

The car ride to the club proved difficult, Momo’s ringer finger resting on the wheel of the car as she drove, her dress raising on her thighs even more sitting in the drivers seat. It was hard not to look at her, your eyes barely leave her and when they do it’s only because of Momo’s gaze flickering over to you. A thick tension filled the car that made itself present since you left the hotel, the stolen glances (and/or stares) speak your feelings without words and now you don’t have to doubt if the attraction was mutual anymore. You pulled into the parking lot of the club, people scattered the side walk, all dressed up.

“Here’s the plan.” Momo starts after putting the car in park, “One of the customers here fits the profile, and I might’ve forgot to say that you’re kinda their ideal type..”

“Wh-“ you hadn’t even realized your resemblance to the victims until now.

“So I need you to lure them over and start a conversation.”

“Momo.”

“I know but you’ll do great.”

“I’ve never done this before, much less alone.”

Momo reaches over the console to grab your shaky hand, looking into your eyes, your heart skips a beat and your eyes flicker to her lips.

“I’ll be there the whole time, watching. If anything happens, I’m right there.” She assures, “After a you get some information, I’ll come in as your girlfriend, maybe get her number and then I’ll steal you away so we can leave, okay?”

There’s a calmness and overt confidence in her voice, a tone that makes you feel protected and a bit turned on. Your face flushes when she calls herself your girlfriend.

“Yeah, yeah. Okay.” You say looking away from her.

“Are you ready?” She asks, pausing for a few seconds watching your heavy breathing and shaky hands as you nervously prepare.

“No but, now or never.”

“Let’s go then.” Momo gets out of the car, as do you.

You don’t expect Momo to grab your hand, interlocking your fingers with a smile, looking away from you to open the door and holding it for you without disconnecting your hands.

“Stand at the bar, I’ll keep an eye on you from a distance.” She whispers in your ear when you’re inside, lips brushing against your skin as she’s way too close in order to sell the whole “in a relationship” thing, or at least that’s what she’s telling herself that it’s all pretend.

Momo walks away to find a place with a good viewpoint of the bar, you take a deep breath before walking to the bar and taking a sit on a stool and ordering a drink, without alcohol as you’re still working. It’s not long before you lock eyes with a woman who is walking towards you with a smirk and Momo who was at a table behind her, nodding at you to indicate she was your suspect.

“Hi, I’m Kate. What’s your name?” The mysterious woman said as she sat in the seat next to you.

You just mutter “Jane”, a fake name of course as to not blow your cover.

“Pretty. Are you here alone?” Her finger circles her drinks glass.

“Uh, No. My girlfriend is.. in the bathroom.” You say as your eyes flicker to Momo who is intently watching.

“Even better. The more the merrier.”

An awkward silence fills the space before she speaks again.

“Until she gets back, can I buy you another drink?” The woman inches closer and a hand makes its way to your waist making you tense up.

“I’m good.” Once again you look to Momo, a save me look in your eyes while a jealous one is set in hers but she puts that aside to come to your aid.

“Are you s-“

The woman is cut off by Momo coming up to you, removing the woman’s hand from you and replacing it with her own which sends shivers up your spine.

“Hey baby, who’s this?” You could tell by Momo’s slightly clenched jaw and tightening grip on your waist that this wasn’t an act anymore.

“Kate.”

“You must be the girlfriend?”

“I am.” A flat smile on Momo’s face, you expected her to ask for a phone number or something like planned but her jealousy got in the way of her professionalism, “We should get going.” Her dark eyes lock onto yours making you nod in response.

“Before you go, you should take this.” She holds out a piece of paper, “One of you should call me, or both.” She adds with a wink.

It’s clear she’s holding the paper out to you but Momo takes it between her fingers with a tight lipped smile before grabbing your hand and dragging you towards the door. She walks fast, almost too fast for you to keep up even as she guides you with her hand gripping yours, she only slows when you stop completely and her hand holding yours is met with resistance when you don’t let her pull you along.

“What?” She asks, her usual nice tone gone.

“Slow down. Are you going to tell me what’s wrong? Why you didn’t continue with the plan, get more information?”

“We got her number, which means we can get her identity.” Her voice flat before she turns to walk away again.

You follow, silently sitting in the passenger seat and immediately turning to look out the window instead of her. I mean you knew she was jealous, doesn’t mean you have to be happy with how she reacts or the fact that she won’t just admit it.

Your arms cross over your chest while there’s a light pout on your lips while she drives the short distance to your hotel, while Momo found it adorable she still couldn’t help the annoyance she felt as she thought about the woman’s hand on you. But she couldn’t help but apologize after seeing the sad look in your eye.

“I’m sorry.”

You don’t answer.

“I shouldn’t have acted like that.”

Still nothing. She knew you could be stubborn but a disagreement never caused you to ignore her. She sighed as she pulled into the parking lot of your hotel, putting the car in park before turning to look at you leaning her back against her door.

“I was jealous okay?” This got your attention making you finally look at her, “the way she looked at you and talked to you and… touched you.” She spat out the last part like it was a piece of food that tasted bad with her hands forming into fists, “I didn’t like it. At all.” Your partners jaw clenched at even the thought of someone else touching you.

“You could’ve just said that.” A smile pulls at the edges of your lips, “Did you suggest going undercover just so we can pretend to be girlfriends?” You ask putting an elbow on the console as your chin rests in your hand, confidence filling you at her confession.

“Shut up.” Momo says shaking her head with a smile, but she grabs your face and pulls you into a kiss. It turns heated quickly, months of tension being put into it. Teeth hit against each other, tongues sliding against the other, and lips being bruised, “My room?” She breathes out after finally pulling away, hastily opening her car door and making her way to the entrance when you nod.

You follow her movements, jogging a little to catch up as you giggle at her eagerness. She grabs your hand when you appear by her side, once again dragging you along but this time with desire and neediness. The woman leads you to the elevator where her lips are immediately on yours again, pushing you against the wall, a hand falling to your thigh and pushing the edge of your dress up a bit. Her lips move to your neck, you can feel her making a mark which you’re definitely going to yell at her for later though she’s interrupted by the elevator stopping and a few people waiting outside making her detach from you quickly and once again pulls you to follow her out the doors. You mutter an apology to the people as you pass them, you quickly arrive at Momo’s room and she scrambles to pick her key card out of the little purse she’s carrying. You huff impatiently as she can’t find it for a minute, finally she pulls the card out and quickly opens her door and pulls you inside using your body to shut the door.

Her lips are attached to yours in an instant, hands roaming over the exposed skin of your legs eventually playing with the hem of your dress.

“I wanna see you.” She mumbles against your ear between kisses on your neck, fingers gliding a bit under your dress, “Please?” Her hands resting on the fabric as she waits for you to respond.

“Go ahead.” Your voice is weak at her utter desire for you.

She pulls you by both hands so you’re by the bed, “turn around.” A soft demand that you follow, her fingers finding the zipper on the back of your dress and pulling at it, letting the clothing fall to the floor. As the dress is strapless, you opted to not wear bra, a fact that Momo can’t get past so her hands move to your shoulders to turn you to face her.

Her eyes, which were taken up by her blown pupils, go to your now exposed chest. In a wave of confidence you grab her hands and put them on your chest, sighing as her cold rings meet you warm skin.

“Lay on the bed.” Her tone makes your core ache with need.

As you lay there, Momo stands at the end of the bed, at first just staring at you like a lion hunting its prey and letting her eyes wander, eventually her stares get to your underwear which have a visible wet spot on them. Then she starts taking her rings off, one by one, three on each hand and she sets them on the dresser in front of her. Crawling up the bed a smile settles on her face when she reaches your face.

“I’ve wanted this for so long.” She whispers as her lips brush against yours, “Since you got partnered with me.” Finally pressing her lips into yours when she finishes speaking, the kiss is softer now, “Always so pretty.” Mouth moving to your jaw and neck, once again leaving marks that you’ll bring up later.

“Momo. Please.” Her soft words mixed with her lips making you impatient for her touch, you can feel her smile against your skin at your begging.

“Want me to touch you baby?” She whispers, her lips once again wandering this time down to your chest, tongue swirling around one of the peaks and her fingers squeezing any skin she could find, brushing over your slit when she reaches your thighs.

“Fuck.” A breathy moan accompanied by your hips bucking up into hers, though her own legs serve as a barrier holding you down mostly, “Don’t tease.” A desperate plea, hoping her eagerness would make her give in. Lucky for you she’s easily persuaded.

Momo’s finger find their way to your underwear, hooking under the waistband and pulling them off quickly throwing them to the side. Her dark eyes fixate on your center making you squeeze your thighs together, though her large hands don’t let that slide very long.

“Spread your legs baby. Don’t be shy. You’re so pretty.” She says softly, voice thick with desire, hands sliding down to your knees to begin pulling them apart.

When your legs are parted fully and you’re on display for the woman to see, she uses her thumbs to pull your folds apart, her mouth opening slightly at the sight of you practically dripping for her.

“So wet.” She says mostly to herself as if you’re not there, her pointer finger teases your slit, “All for me, right?” The earlier jealousy seeping in again.

“All yours.”

Whether you’re talking about the wetness dripping off of you or you entirely, or maybe (definitely) both. Momo starts moving her index finger up and down on your clit, incredibly slowly you think. Moving so she’s face to face with you, fingers still working you while her other hand rest next to your head.

“All mine." Lips brushing against yours as she speaks, “my pretty girl.”

Little whimpers leave your mouth at her words and the little circles her finger is making, your hips moving off the mattress to get more pressure or to get her to go faster, causing the tip of her finger to go into your entrance making a gasp fall from your lips while hand clutch onto her clothed back though she doesn’t leave her finger there for long.

“More.” You eventually get out in between moans, giving her your best puppy dog eyes, “Need you inside.”

“Yeah? Want my fingers princess?” Head tilting as her blown pupils never leave yours, lust fills them and you know no matter what you say she’ll do whatever you ask for.

“Just fuck me already.”

You barely finish the sentence before she’s slipping two fingers inside of you, not giving you time to adjust before moving them at a mild pace, not giving in fully.

“Feel good, baby?” A smirk takes over her face as she looks at you, your head leaning back as your back arches a bit off the mattress accompanied by a loud moan leaving your mouth.

“Mm. So-. Fuck. So good.” You manage to get out, “Don’t stop.” Followed by a string of muttered pleases as you stuff your face in the space between her neck and shoulder, a hand tangling in her black hair to bring her closer if possible.

“You’re doing so good, you know?” Her praise going straight to your core, “My good girl.” The possessive nature of her words makes your mind even fuzzier than it already is, “look at me, baby.” Her other hand coming up to lift your chin so you meet her eyes, “I wanna see how hard I make you cum.”

“‘M so close.” Embarrassingly close for how little she’s been touching you, you didn’t care and you knew Momo didn’t care with how her pace sped up at your words eager to make you finish.

“Cum for me baby.” It’s almost as if she’s begging, eyes locked onto your face wanting to see your every reaction, “I got you.” She whispers as your body shakes underneath her, you let out a string of curses in between whimpers of her name. Her fingers still working you as you come down from your high only stopping when you reach a hand to grab her wrist with a whine. Your chest heaves as you recover, sweat covers your body along with purple and red mark. Momo looks down to you, eyes filled with adoration and a small smile on her lips.

“You okay?”

“Very.”

Your hands go to the hem of her dress to mess with it, pulling slightly.

“Let me touch you.”

“Whatever you want.”

And she kept her word, you got whatever you wanted for the night, whether it was her making you cum 3 more times or eating her out until she can’t take anymore. Though you eventually pass out, tangled together in her bed with bare bodies flush against each other.

You only wake up to the buzz of Momo’s alarm scheduled for 7 AM every morning (even weekends and off days), which she shuts off quickly before pulling you back into her.

“Good morning.” She rasps out, voice vibrating on the skin of your neck.

“Morning.” You mutter half asleep

After a few minutes when you’re about to fall back asleep Momo playfully mutters, “God, this is gonna cause so much paperwork.” Making you lightly hit her but you giggle anyways, “it’s worth it though.” She smiles when you finally open your eyes at her.

“Maybe I should text Kate and thank her, for making you jealous enough to make the first move.”

“Absolutely not.”

She kisses you with a playful jealousy, knowing you wouldn’t dream of being with anyone else.

[winxanity-ii]

⌜Godly Things | Chapter 32 Chapter 32 | of gods and beasts⌟

╰ ⌞🇨‌🇭‌🇦‌🇵‌🇹‌🇪‌🇷‌ 🇮‌🇳‌🇩‌🇪‌🇽‌⌝

❘ prev. chapter ❘༻✦༺❘ next chapter ❘

As you followed Telemachus through the dense woodland, you couldn't help but glance back every so often, checking behind you, half-expecting the fox to be silently padding along in the shadows.

But each time, the path behind you was empty.

Not even a rustle. Not even a flicker of movement.

It was as if the creature had never been there at all.

"You're looking for it, aren't you?" Telemachus' voice carried over his shoulder, amusement laced in every syllable.

You whipped your head forward, quickly composing yourself. "No. Of course not. Why would I?"

"Uh-huh."

"You're imagining things."

"Right," he hummed, stepping over a fallen branch with ease. "So you're not worried that you just bonded with a creature that should've eaten you?"

You exhaled sharply through your nose. "It didn't eat me," you muttered, stepping around a moss-covered rock.

"Not yet," he quipped, shooting you a sideways smirk.

You groaned, picking up your pace to get ahead of him.

Eventually, the two of you broke free from the thicker part of the woods, and the first thing you noticed was the sky.

The sun had begun its descent, stretching gold and pink hues across the horizon, staining the treetops in a soft, amber glow. The light filtered through the leaves, casting long, shifting shadows along the earth as the air cooled, carrying the crisp scent of water and damp earth.

The path sloped downward, golden light spilling over the ground in warm, shifting rays. Somewhere ahead, the soft murmur of flowing water filled the air, growing clearer with each step.

The watering spot was beautiful.

A long, slow-moving river cut through the land, its surface shimmering in the late afternoon light.

A few minutes down from where you stood, the river trickled into a smaller pond, tucked into a secluded alcove where large rock formations jutted from the earth, creating a natural barrier.

A thin waterfall cascaded over one of the cliffs, feeding the pool below, the sound of rushing water mixing with the rustling of leaves.

The entire area was enclosed by towering trees, their sprawling roots twisting over the rocks and dipping into the water's edge. The light filtering through the canopy cast shifting patterns over the river's surface, giving the space a serene, almost untouched feel.

You sighed softly, feeling the tension ease from your shoulders as you took it all in.

Telemachus dropped his hand from the knife at his belt, stepping forward to inspect the riverbank. "This'll work," he murmured, nodding to himself.

Then, turning back to you, he motioned toward the pond. "Stay here. I'm going to leave some markers for the others so they can find this place when they eventually get here."

You raised a brow. "What, afraid I'll wander off and befriend another man-eating creature?"

He smirked but didn't deny it.

"Just—stay put," he said before turning and making his way up the riverbank, disappearing into the trees once more.

And this time, you didn't look back.

Taking a few more minutes to look around, you made your way toward the edge of the river, the smooth stones cool beneath your steps. The soft trickle of water filled the quiet, mingling with the rustling leaves overhead. Crouching near the riverbank, you leaned forward, peering into the glassy surface.

Your reflection stared back at you—yet it felt strangely unfamiliar.

Despite everything—the lack of rest, the stress that had coiled itself around your chest over the past few days—you didn't look tired. No dark circles beneath your eyes, no dullness to your skin. If anything, you looked... refreshed, glowing even, as if untouched by exhaustion.

Your skin was smooth, your eyes bright, and there was something unnervingly pristine about your reflection, like a polished statue carved with divine precision.

Your fingers twitched, hesitating before lightly grazing your own cheek. Weird.

"You know, staring at yourself for too long might make you fall in love," a voice hummed right beside your ear, teasing and impossibly close.

You jolted violently, nearly losing your footing as your head snapped toward the source. Your mind immediately went to Hermes—who else would sneak up on you like that? "Herme—" The name barely left your lips before your breath hitched, realization striking you mid-word.

It wasn't Hermes.

The boy floating before you let out an exaggerated sigh, flipping midair to rest on his stomach, chin propped in his hands. "Hermes?" he repeated, lips curling in amusement. "My, my, my. I suppose I could take that as a compliment, but really, how many men—both god and mortal—do you have on your list, muse?"

His golden curls bounced as he shook his head, lips pulling into a sly, knowing grin. "First Princeling Telemachus, now Hermes—what a heartbreaker you are." His grin widened, something sharp glinting behind his teeth. "I wonder, do you even keep track of the names anymore, or do you just collect admirers as you go?"

You sputtered, completely thrown off guard. "What—"

He sighed dramatically, flipping onto his back, arms spread wide as if he were lounging atop an invisible cloud. "Oh, come on. Don't tell me you don't recognize me." His voice dripped with mock offense. "That stings, truly. What a shame, what a heartbreak—I was looking forward to our meeting, you know."

Your mind raced, taking in the small figure before you—the golden curls, the lazy smirk, the way he floated weightlessly as if gravity were beneath him. Then, there were the wings. Small, delicate things, fluttering lazily behind him like an afterthought. A quiver of arrows slung over his shoulder, the faint shimmer of something otherworldly woven into his very presence.

Your stomach dropped.

"Eros," you whispered.

The god of love grinned. "Ding, ding, ding! Looks like you are more than just a pretty face." He twirled midair, coming to a stop just above the riverbank, gazing down at you with far too much amusement. "Though, between us, I was really hoping I'd be higher up on your list of divine visitors."

Your lips parted, still struggling to process what was happening. "Why are you—"

"Oh, no, no, no," he interrupted, wagging a finger at you. "Let's not start with that boring question." His golden eyes gleamed, full of mischief. "I'd much rather talk about you."

You blinked, your thoughts stuttering over themselves. Me?

The way he said it, the way his golden eyes gleamed with something unreadable—mischief, curiosity, something else—made your stomach twist.

Quickly gathering yourself, you straightened, smoothing your hands over your clothes as you took a step back. "What do you want with me?" you asked, voice firm despite the strange tangle of emotions tightening in your chest.

Eros let out a soft hum, twirling midair before flipping upside down, his curls bouncing as he floated in lazy circles around you. "Can't a deity be curious?" he mused, his voice thick with amusement. "You are quite the talk of Olympus lately."

You scowled, crossing your arms. "That's not an answer."

With a dramatic sigh, Eros righted himself, dropping down onto the riverbank with effortless grace. Now standing before you, he tilted his head, examining you in a way that made you want to shift under his gaze—like you were a particularly interesting puzzle he was trying to solve.

Then, to your surprise, his usual teasing smirk faded into something softer. "Alright, alright. I suppose I should start with an apology."

That threw you off. Your brow furrowed. "An apology?"

Eros exhaled, placing his hands behind his back as he rocked on his heels. "For indirectly being the cause of your prince's rather passionate behavior weeks ago."

Your breath hitched.

Telemachus. That night.

The heat of his touch, the way his hands had held you so firmly yet so reverently. The rasp of his voice when he'd spoken your name, his confessions, the way he'd looked at you like you were something sacred—something he couldn't let go of.

And then Aphrodite's words echoed in your mind, the memory hitting you like a wave crashing against the shore.

"And, of course, my son Eros sometimes takes things a little too far, but that's love for you."

Your throat felt tight as you forced yourself to remain composed, to ignore the way your pulse betrayed you. You inhaled through your nose, exhaled slowly. "You mean..." Your voice came out measured, restrained—because if you let your emotions get the best of you now, you weren't sure you'd stop. "...the love potion."

Eros winced, rubbing the back of his neck like a scolded child. "I mean… yeah. That." He clicked his tongue, shaking his head. "Though, to be fair, I wasn't the one who decided to meddle. That was all her." His lips curled—not quite a smirk, but not exactly a frown either. "But..." He rocked on his heels, tilting his head. "I won't pretend I didn't enjoy the outcome."

You exhaled sharply, crossing your arms over your chest. "Oh, well, that's just wonderful," you deadpanned, raising a brow. "I'm so glad my personal life has been a source of entertainment for the gods."

Eros pouted. An actual pout, his golden curls bouncing as he dramatically clasped his hands over his chest like you'd just mortally wounded him. "Come on," he whined, "don't be mad. I meant well."

Your expression remained unimpressed.

Sensing he wasn't winning you over, he sighed, rubbing his temples before launching into what you could only assume was meant to be a heartfelt explanation. "Look, princeling over there is a wreck. I mean really—have you heard his prayers? There's never-ending!" He rolled his eyes, floating backward lazily. "It's all oh, gods, what do I do, and oh, please, let her see me and if she looks at me like that one more time, I might combust where I stand! It's honestly pathetic."

Your lips parted, blinking in surprise. "He still... prays about me?"

Eros gasped, grinning as he pointed at you. "Ha! I knew that'd get your attention."

You scowled.

But the words stuck.

"Have you heard his prayers? They're never-ending."

The fact that Telemachus was still sending prayers about you to the gods was shocking enough. But knowing it wasn’t just passing thoughts or idle dreams—that he had sent his words beyond himself, had let his wants slip into the hands of the divine—and that Eros had listened…

Your fingers twitched.

"Listen, love," he continued, floating closer. "I wasn't trying to make things difficult for you two. I just thought, you know, maybe he needed a push. And maybe you did too. I mean, come on—you were both skirting around each other, it was exhausting just watching it."

"Why are you telling me this?"

Eros considered you for a moment before shrugging. "Because I like you," he said simply. "And you intrigue me. I don't really do apologies, but..." He met your gaze, something unreadable flickering in his golden eyes. "I suppose you deserve one."

You weren't sure what unsettled you more—the fact that Eros was apologizing at all, or the way he was looking at you now, the teasing edge of his usual demeanor dulled into something almost sincere.

You pursed your lips, trying—really trying—to hold onto your irritation, but something about the way Eros said it, the way he seemed so earnest in his own, frustrating, mischievous way... It made it difficult to hold onto your anger.

Eros, ever perceptive, caught the way your shoulders loosened slightly, the way your expression softened just enough to give him an opening.

His golden eyes brightened, and in the next second, he bounced toward you, wrapping his small arms around your own in an eager hug. His curls tickled your skin as he grinned up at you, his expression completely unapologetic. "So, we're good now, yeah?" He batted his lashes, flashing an innocent smile that you knew was anything but.

You sighed. "That's not how apologies work."

Eros only grinned wider. "But you forgive me, don't you?"

You glanced up at the sky as if seeking divine patience. "I���"

His eyes sparkled, squeezing your arm lightly. "Come onnnn, you like me, don't you?"

You groaned, head falling back. "Why are you like this?"

Eros laughed, and you weren't sure if it was at your expense or out of pure delight. Probably both.

Just as you were about to pry Eros off of you, a voice cut through the clearing. "They shouldn't take long. The markers were obvious enough—"

Both you and Eros snapped your heads toward the source, freezing as you found Telemachus standing at the edge of the trees. His words faltered mid-sentence, his expression hardening the moment his eyes landed on the cherubic deity still clinging to your arm. His jaw clenched, the muscle twitching as his sharp gaze darkened.

"Eros."

The name was spat like a curse, and in response, Eros only tilted his head, batting his lashes as if he hadn't a care in the world.

Telemachus took a step forward, his shoulders squared, his entire frame tensed with restrained irritation. "What are you doing here?" His voice was low, edged with barely-contained anger. "Haven't you caused enough trouble already?"

Eros gasped dramatically—though you didn't miss the mischievous glint in his golden eyes.

Instead of answering, the little god darted behind you, clutching your arm like a frightened child, burying his face into your sleeve with an exaggerated whimper. "Oh no, he's so scary," he whined, gripping onto you even tighter. "Save me! Protect me, divine one! Your princeling is going to tear me apart, and I—" He sniffled, rubbing at his eyes with a pout. "I'm so sorry! I have learned the error of my ways! My heart weeps with regret!"

Telemachus' nostrils flared. "Get off of her."

Eros clung tighter, his lower lip jutting out in a dramatic pout. "But she likes me, don't you, dearest?" He turned his wide, golden eyes up at you, feigning heartbreak. "Tell him! Tell him we've made amends and he has no reason to be such a grump!"

You opened your mouth, trying to find the right words before Telemachus actually exploded, but the prince had already taken another step forward, his glare sharpening.

Eros, sensing he was losing, peeked out from behind you and hummed, tilting his head. "You know, princeling," he mused, tapping his chin with a finger. "You're even more tense than last time. I really did a number on you, huh?" His smirk widened. "Or maybe it's just her—"

Before he could finish that thought, Telemachus' patience officially snapped.

He lunged forward.

With a delighted shriek, Eros ducked further behind you, using you as a shield as Telemachus lunged. You barely had time to react before instinct took over, your hands shooting out to press against Telemachus' chest, stopping him mid-motion. His muscles were coiled tight beneath your palms, tense with restrained frustration, his breath coming fast.

"Telemachus!" you scolded, your voice firm despite the ridiculousness of the situation. "Stop it!"

Eros peeked from behind your shoulder, his golden curls bouncing as he snickered. "Yes, princeling, do calm down. It's very unbecoming for a future king to lose his temper like this." His fingers dug into your sleeve in mock fear. "Honestly, you'd think I actually ruined his life instead of just giving it a little push in the right direction—"

"A little push?" Telemachus barked, his glare sharp enough to cut through steel. He sucked his teeth, rolling his shoulders as if physically restraining himself from grabbing the god. "You're lucky you look like a child, or else—”

Eros cut him off with a loud, exaggerated snort. "Child?" He scoffed, the word tasting like offense on his tongue. "Oh, dear princeling, I am no child."

Before you could blink, the air around Eros shimmered—a pinkish hue wrapping around him like silk before stretching, shifting, expanding.

His small frame elongated, limbs lengthening with an effortless grace, his cherubic softness melting into something far more refined. His golden curls remained, though they now framed a sharper, more angular face, one with high cheekbones and a jawline that could put even the most beautiful of mortals to shame.

His boyish mischief evolved into something undeniably more alluring—his smirk teasing but dipped in a confidence that was far more dangerous than before.

Gone was the childlike god. In his place stood a man draped in effortless charm and divine beauty.

His toga had adjusted with his form, sitting in a way that was far too perfect to be accidental—one shoulder bare, revealing the cut of his muscles beneath smooth, sun-kissed skin. His golden bracers gleamed against the flickering light, and his wings—once small and delicate—were now grand and regal, their pearlescent feathers shimmering faintly as he stretched them lazily.

Eros rolled his shoulders as though shaking off the last remnants of his smaller form, flexing his fingers as he glanced between you and Telemachus. "See?" he purred, tilting his head. "The other form is far more practical. Easier to get things done when you look like something no one would outright hit."

Silence hung between you and Telemachus as the reality of what just happened settled in.

You swallowed hard, your fingers still resting against Telemachus' chest. He hadn't moved, his jaw set tight as he stared at Eros with narrowed eyes, his expression unreadable.

You weren't faring much better.

The impish boy who had once clung to your arm in false fear was now a man who looked as though he belonged carved into marble and worshipped at the feet of altars. His golden eyes burned with knowing mischief as he watched your reaction, and you hated the way your stomach twisted at the sight.

It was still Eros. That much was clear. The glint of trouble was ever-present, woven into the curve of his lips, the taunting gleam in his gaze. And yet, the shift was... jarring.

Telemachus exhaled through his nose, his fists still clenched at his sides. "Is this supposed to impress me?" he muttered, unimpressed.

Eros laughed, his voice richer now, carrying more weight. "Oh, princeling," he said smoothly, stepping closer. "You impress so easily. But no, this isn't for you—this is for her."

Then, with deliberate ease, he turned his gaze onto you, his golden eyes latching onto yours with something that made your pulse stutter.

"Tell me, divine one," he mused, his voice a lazy drawl. "Do you like this form better?"

You nearly choked on air.

Lips twitching in amusement, Eros leaned in closer, his golden eyes half-lidded with mischief. He tilted his head, voice dropping to a purr. "Oh, come now, muse. Don't be shy."

Before you could react, his fingers lifted—light, teasing—as he tilted your chin up, forcing your gaze to meet his. His touch was featherlight, deceptively soft, yet it held a quiet command, his thumb barely grazing your jaw. "I asked you a question," he mused, lids lowering further, his smirk curling. "Do you like what you see?"

Your breath hitched, heat creeping up your neck, but before you could so much as form a response—before you could decide whether to swat him away or stammer out some semblance of an answer—you were yanked backward.

A startled gasp left your lips as you stumbled, colliding with something solid and warm. Hands steadied you—broad, familiar hands—gripping your arms as your face met the firm expanse of a chest. Telemachus.

The prince moved you behind him, shielding you from the god’s reach. His body was tense, radiating barely contained ire, and when he spoke, his voice was low, edged with something dangerous. "Watch yourself, Eros."

Eros merely blinked at the sudden aggression before snorting, utterly unbothered. "And what if I don't?" he challenged, tilting his head in mock innocence. His wings fluttered once, lazily. "What exactly will you do about it, princeling?"

The space between them crackled with tension, an invisible pull that felt like the start of a storm, but before you could intervene—before you could even begin to think of a way to de-escalate—Eros suddenly faltered.

His smirk wavered for a fraction of a second.

Then, just as quickly, it was back, sharper than before, though this time his golden gaze flicked past Telemachus, as if sensing something beyond what mortal eyes could perceive. "Well," he exhaled, tipping his head to the side. "A pity. Seems my fun is being cut short."

You frowned, confused, but before you could ask what he meant, Eros grinned wide, as if to make a point of it, his voice singsong as he dramatically placed a hand over his heart. "Alas, duty calls. But don't worry, little muse—I'll be back soon." His gaze flickered to Telemachus, and his smirk deepened, teasing. "Maybe."

Telemachus scoffed, but before he could snap out a reply, Eros merely laughed. And with that, his body shimmered—light blooming around him in soft golden dust, his laughter echoing in the air as his form dissolved into nothingness.

The forest was silent again, save for the distant rush of the river.

Gone.

But even as he disappeared, the warmth of his presence lingered, the ghost of his touch still pressed against your chin, the weight of his words swirling in your mind.

"Tell me, divine one, do you like this form better?"

You exhaled sharply, shaking your head as if to physically dispel the thought. Ridiculous. Yet, your skin still prickled from where Eros had been, as if the god's very essence had left behind an imprint.

The silence between you and Telemachus stretched, filled only by the rustling of leaves and the distant rush of the river. The prince hadn’t moved much, his arms crossed tightly over his chest, his lips pursed in something dangerously close to a pout.

You cleared your throat, shifting awkwardly before murmuring, "I... I'm sorry."

That got his attention. His head snapped toward you, brows furrowing in confusion. "What?"

You swallowed, pressing your hands together. "About, um... about what happened. With the potion. With everything." You hesitated, your fingers curling slightly. "Technically... I was the reason it happened."

Telemachus' expression darkened slightly, but instead of looking at you, he exhaled through his nose and rubbed at his jaw. Then, with a shake of his head, he muttered, "It's not your fault."

"But—"

"It's not your fault, ____," he repeated, more firmly this time, glancing at you with something softer beneath his frustration. "You didn't ask for any of this. You didn't make the gods stick their noses into your life."

He sucked his teeth, arms tightening over his chest. "Besides, it's not like Eros is the only one making a mess of things," he grumbled, voice low and bitter. "Apollo keeps throwing gifts at you, Hermes keeps showing up, and even C—"

He cut himself off, snapping his mouth shut. A muscle in his jaw twitched.

You blinked, watching him carefully. His shoulders were tense, his fingers twitching slightly against his biceps. The tips of his ears had gone pink, and despite his attempt to seem unaffected, you could see the slight downturn of his mouth.

Your lips twitched.

Without fully thinking, you tilted your head and asked, voice light, "Telemachus... Forgive me for assuming, but are you perhaps... jealous?"

The reaction was instant.

Telemachus stiffened, his head jerking toward you as if you had just accused him of treason. "What? No! Why—why would you say that?"

You bit back a laugh, watching as his face rapidly flushed, his hands uncrossing just so he could gesture vaguely at the air, looking utterly and completely caught.

"You are jealous," you teased, voice turning almost sing-song, delighted by the rare sight of a flustered Telemachus.

He sputtered, jaw working as though trying to form a rebuttal but failing miserably. Instead, he turned abruptly, pretending to cough into his fist, his shoulders now unnaturally stiff.

"I just—" He coughed again, still not facing you. "I just think they—the gods—should mind their own business, that's all."

You hummed, stepping closer, your smile growing. "Mmm. Sure. Has nothing to do with Eros holding my chin, or Apollo's gifts, or Hermes—"

"Enough." He groaned, rubbing his forehead. "Enough."

You giggled, feeling an unfamiliar lightness in your chest. Telemachus scowled at you, but the redness on his face betrayed him entirely.

Telemachus let out a sharp huff, shaking his head as if trying to rid himself of the embarrassment clinging to him.

You watched, barely suppressing another laugh as he muttered something under his breath—words you couldn't quite catch but sounded suspiciously like not jealousy and reasonable. His hand raked through his curls in frustration, tugging at them slightly before he exhaled deeply, as if to steady himself.

"I'm going ahead," he finally grumbled, still avoiding your gaze. "Getting a fire started before the others arrive." And without another word, he turned on his heel, stalking away with stiff shoulders and hurried steps.

His voice was flat, forcibly neutral, but the way he turned—just a little too fast, his ears still tinged with color—told you everything. 

You bit your lip, rocking back on your heels, watching him disappear between the trees. The warmth of amusement still lingered in your chest, but beneath it was something softer. Something... fond.

The mighty Prince of Ithaca, flustered beyond belief.

It was a sight you weren't sure you'd ever get used to.

☆

☆

The firelight flickered in the distance, a warm glow against the encroaching darkness of the forest. The sun had long since dipped below the horizon, leaving behind a sky painted in deep indigos and violets, the first few stars beginning to peek through. The air had cooled, carrying with it the faint scent of pine and damp earth, mingling with the distant aroma of roasting meat from the camp.

You crouched near the water's edge, the soft gurgling of the river filling the quiet as you worked. The pond reflected the night sky like a fractured mirror, rippling softly each time you dipped a jug beneath the surface. The water was cool against your fingers, sending small shivers up your arms, but you welcomed it.

It was a distraction—a quiet task away from the sharp knives and the guttural sounds of fresh kills being prepared.

Not too long ago, the hunting party had returned, trailing in with triumphant grins, a few carrying their successful catches slung over their shoulders. Some had managed to track down a few more animals along the way—hares, fowl, even a decent-sized boar that had taken a group effort to bring down.

Telemachus and the others had immediately set to work, their practiced hands moving with efficiency as they prepared the night's feast. You had been quick to volunteer for water duty, taking any excuse to be away from the process of skinning and gutting.

It wasn't something you found disturbing exactly—you'd lived in Ithaca long enough to be used to such things—but if you could avoid watching it, you would.

Humming softly under your breath, you set aside the jug you had just filled and reached for another. The repetitive motion was soothing, keeping your mind pleasantly blank as you focused on the task. You counted the jugs lined up beside you—three full, two more to go. You were nearly done.

The gentle rhythm of the water, the distant crackling of the fire, and the occasional murmur of voices from the camp settled around you, peaceful in its own way. It was easy to lose yourself in the quiet work, the rest of the world slipping into the background for just a little while longer.

Just as you finished filling the fourth jug and reached for the last one, a strange movement in the water caught your eye. The gentle ripples along the pond's surface were shifting—spreading outward as though something unseen had disturbed them.

You stilled, your fingers tightening slightly around the jug as you scanned the darkened waters, trying to make sense of what you were seeing.

Then, just beyond the shimmer of reflected starlight, a pair of familiar dark, onyx-like eyes locked onto yours.

Your breath hitched.

The Askálion.

Shock jolted through you, and in your attempt to push back from the water's edge, your foot slipped against the slick river stones. You let out a sharp yelp as your balance gave way, arms flailing as you tumbled forward into the shallows.

Cold water soaked through your clothes instantly, and you barely managed to catch yourself with your hands, stopping just short of fully submerging. The front of your garments clung uncomfortably to your skin, the sudden chill sending a shiver up your spine.

Before you could even scramble upright, a blur of dark fur and glowing ember-like ears leaped toward you. A startled gasp turned into a breathless laugh as the fox-like creature landed right on top of you, paws pressing into your chest, its weight knocking you fully onto your back with a soft splash.

The Askálion let out a series of excited yips, tail wagging in long, sweeping motions as it circled you, the cool night air carrying the sound of its clear delight. You barely had a moment to register its playfulness before it nuzzled against your neck, making you squirm as laughter spilled from your lips, the sensation oddly ticklish.

Despite the warning Telemachus had given you earlier about its nature, it was hard—impossible—to associate the creature currently rolling against you with the ruthless predator he'd described. It was warm, its fur softer than you expected, and the way it nudged insistently at your hands reminded you of an overeager pup desperate for affection.

"You—you're not supposed to be this friendly," you managed between giggles, halfheartedly trying to push the Askálion off. "Didn't anyone ever tell you that?"

The creature merely let out a chuffing sound, unconcerned with your protests as it pressed its head under your chin, seemingly claiming you as its own.

And, gods help you, you let it.

Hearing the telltale crunch of approaching footsteps, you stiffened.

Your heart lurched into your throat, and without thinking, you quickly gathered the Askálion into your arms, cradling it against your chest. It let out a small, surprised yip but didn't struggle—just stared up at you with those gleaming onyx eyes, its damp fur pressing cool against your already-soaked clothes.

Panicked, you turned your back to the treeline, making sure whoever was coming wouldn’t immediately see the creature in your arms. "Shhh," you whispered urgently, running your fingers over the Askálion’s sleek fur in a desperate attempt to quiet it. The fox-thing merely panted up at you, its tail flicking lazily in what you could only describe as amusement.

The footsteps drew closer, and then—

"What's taking you so long?"

Telemachus.

You sucked in a breath, whipping your head up to see him standing just at the riverbank, his arms crossed and his brow furrowed. He wasn't impatient, but he was clearly puzzled, scanning you as you sat half-submerged in the shallows.

You swallowed thickly, trying to compose yourself. "The fox—" you hissed, voice just above a whisper. "It followed us."

Telemachus frowned, clearly not believing you. "What? No, it didn't."

You exhaled sharply through your nose, barely resisting the urge to roll your eyes. Of course, he wouldn't take your word for it. Fine. He wanted proof? You'd give him proof.

Gritting your teeth, you shifted slightly—just enough to tilt your body so he could see over your shoulder.

The Askálion's ears perked up, recognizing him instantly. Then, to your horror, it let out another delighted yip.

Telemachus froze.

His gaze flickered from you to the fox, then back to you again.

The Askálion, utterly unbothered, wriggled in your grasp before reaching up to paw at your hand, clearly demanding more scratches.

For a long, drawn-out second, neither you nor Telemachus spoke. The prince's jaw clenched, his nostrils flaring slightly as he stared.

Then, he sighed—long and slow, pressing his fingers to his temple. "Of course it did." He took a slow step closer, squinting down at the drenched creature curled contently in your arms. His jaw ticked as he exhaled, then, glancing up at you, he asked, "Where did it even come from?"

You swallowed, shaking your head. "I don't know. I was just filling the last jug when I saw the ripples, and then—" You glanced down at the Askálion, which blinked up at you before nuzzling into your chest, its tail flicking idly over your lap. "It was just... there."

Telemachus hummed, his expression unreadable as he crouched down, balancing on the balls of his feet. He kept a slight distance, eyes locked on the fox as though it might lunge at any second.

"They don't usually leave their dens," he murmured, tilting his head. "Not unless they're hunting or migrating to new territory."

Your eyes widened slightly. "So you think it'll... go back?" you asked, the words leaving you before you could think them through.

The Askálion’s ears twitched.

Telemachus caught the way you tightened your grip around the creature, how your fingers subtly curled into its thick fur. He sighed again, rubbing a hand over his face before resting his elbow on his knee.

"That's what it should do," he admitted. Then, leveling you with a look, he added, "But something tells me this one doesn't care much for what's 'supposed' to happen."

Before you could respond, the distant crunch of footsteps over leaves sent a jolt through your spine. Voices—familiar and loud—filtered through the trees.

Callias and Kieran.

Your eyes snapped to Telemachus at the same time his locked onto yours, a shared moment of wide-eyed panic passing between you.

"Come here," you hissed, beckoning him urgently.

Telemachus barely had time to react before Callias' voice rang out through the clearing. "Oi! How much longer are you two planning on taking? We're starving over here!"

Kieran grunted in agreement. "You should've been done ages ago. What's taking so—"

Both voices cut off abruptly.

From behind you, you could feel their gazes settle on the scene.

The pond was bathed in the soft glow of the rising moon, its silver reflection shimmering against the water's surface. Telemachus stood directly in front of you, waist-deep in the river, his figure outlined by the cool luminescence. From an outsider's perspective, it must have looked intimate—almost painfully so.

A prince and his Divine Liaison, standing chest to chest in the rippling water, faces close enough to share a breath.

Except, of course, for the small, dark-furred creature wedged comfortably between the two of you.

The Askálion sat smugly, tail curled around its body, looking completely unbothered as it rested its head against your collarbone.

A thick silence stretched between all of you.

Then—

"Ohhh," Callias practically purred, dragging out the sound as if savoring it.

Kieran barely had time to blink before Callias shoved him backward, hissing under his breath, "We are absolutely interrupting something."

Kieran, not one to miss out on an opportunity for chaos, still managed to call over his shoulder, "Sorry for the interruption, lovebirds!"

The two of them barely dodged the splash of water that Telemachus sent their way, their laughter trailing off as they disappeared back into the trees.

Silence settled once more, save for the soft lapping of the water against your legs. You exhaled shakily, glancing at Telemachus. He still looked vaguely exasperated, his hand resting on his hip as he shook his head.

After a few more moments, you hesitated, then whispered, "Are they gone?"

Telemachus sighed, rubbing his temple. "Unfortunately, yes."

You let out a breath of relief, shifting the large animal in your arms. Your hold was starting to falter, the weight of the Askálion beginning to strain your muscles. Its thick fur, now damp, made it heavier than you anticipated, and you struggled to readjust your grip.

Seeing your struggle, Telemachus took a small step forward, reaching out instinctively. "Here, let me hel—"

A low, warning growl rumbled against your chest.

You both froze.

The Askálion's ears flattened slightly, sharp eyes locking onto Telemachus. Though its body remained relaxed in your hold, its tail twitched, and its lips curled ever so slightly, baring sharp teeth in a silent warning.

Telemachus slowly straightened, his eyes narrowing. The growl ceased immediately. The creature's ears perked up once more, its expression shifting into something far too smug for a wild animal. Its tongue lolled lazily out of its mouth, as if it hadn't just threatened a prince of Ithaca.

You swallowed thickly, looking from Telemachus to the fox and back again.

Telemachus arched a brow at you, then let out a dry chuckle. "Looks like you've got a new pet."

You let out a groan, tipping your head back dramatically before sighing in reluctant acceptance. "Great. Just great." Looking down at the fox nestled against your chest, you muttered, "I'm convinced Apollo has something to do with this." It made too much sense—the god had been relentless lately with his gifts, and now, an unnaturally docile, potentially mythical creature had decided to follow you around.

Of course, it had to be divine intervention.

Shaking your head, you finally stepped out of the water, wincing slightly as your damp clothes clung to your skin. The cool night air bit at your arms, but you ignored it, more focused on lowering the fox gently onto the ground.

As soon as its paws hit the earth, the Askálion gave an exaggerated shake, sending water droplets flying everywhere. You lifted your hands to shield yourself, barely suppressing a laugh as it gave one last dramatic shake, fluffing out its thick black fur. Then, with a pleased huff, it trotted up beside you and sat at your feet, its tail curling neatly around its paws.

Telemachus, who had just wrung some of the water from his own tunic, flicked a glance at the creature before leveling you with an unimpressed look. "Oh yeah, wholly normal behavior."

You huffed, crossing your arms. "Don't look at me like that. I didn't ask for this."

The fox let out a soft yip, tilting its head at you before pushing its nose against your leg. You sighed again, bringing a hand down to scratch between its ears. "Looks like I don't have a choice now, anyway."

Telemachus ran a hand through his damp curls, shaking his head with a small, knowing smirk. "You really don't."

You groaned, rubbing the bridge of your nose as the weight of your predicament settled fully onto your shoulders. "How in Hades' name am I supposed to hide it at the palace?" You gestured vaguely at the fox, which merely blinked up at you, utterly unbothered. "I mean, even if I tried leaving it behind, it'd probably just follow me there."

Telemachus hummed thoughtfully, stepping over to the jugs you had filled earlier. With an ease that had you both impressed and mildly annoyed, he hoisted four of them at once, carrying them as though they weighed nothing at all. "Well, you are the Divine Liaison now," he mused, glancing at you with a teasing lilt to his voice. "I'm sure my parents won't mind too much."

You spluttered, staring at him wide-eyed. "Weren't you the one going on about how dangerous it is?" You gestured at the fox, which was now happily trotting in circles around your feet, as if mocking your plight.

Telemachus only shrugged, an infuriatingly relaxed smile tugging at his lips. "As long as it does no harm to you, then it doesn't matter." He adjusted his grip on the jugs before nodding toward the direction of the camp. "Come on, grab the last one. We should head back before Callias and Kieran assume we drowned."

You opened your mouth, ready to argue, to remind him how ridiculous this entire situation was, but then you stopped. What was the point? The fox had already chosen you, and if divine intervention was at play, you doubted you had much of a say in the matter.

Letting out a long, weary sigh, you ran a hand down your face before looking down at the creature sitting so proudly at your feet. "Fine," you muttered, more to yourself than anyone else as you went to grab the last jug. "Guess I have a new shadow."

The Askálion yipped in delight, and as Telemachus chuckled beside you, you begrudgingly followed him back toward camp—your newest, unexpected companion padding faithfully at your side.

A/N: listen, i swear i want them to bang—i mean, kiss—just as much as everyone else, but alas, everything is already written in stone, and i'm just editing and posting. 😭 this is my first attempt at slow burn, and i don't wanna throw away my discipline by indulging in fan service too soon like i usually do with my fics/one-shots. hope y'all understand. also!! since i'm new to the whole fanart thing, if anyone wants to send some my way, you can email me at wattywriter04@gmail.com (??!?!?! i can't believe i can actually say that now lmao). oh—and before i go, i heard y'all's pleas and couldn't help myself—so yeah, the fox is staying. 😌 i'm a sucker for canines, can you blame me?? my favorite pokémon is literally vulpix. i even have a fox!reader fic somewhere, so really, this was inevitable. 🦊😂 see you all next update! 💕

also, i've been blessed with more fanart, hehehe

from @Xyxxeviya works (@alucardswifeyy on tumblr)

AHHH IDKY BUT THIS HAS TO BE MY FAV 😩❤️ ⬇️

here's fvckcare (idk but i feel like i shouldnt be looking 😭 like ahhh, yall not me being shy over a drawing)

EKKK ANd I GOT ANOTHER FANART SUBMISSION from iconic-idiot-con----(this is exactly how i imagined the fox! cute but with a lethal rbf, my spirit animal fr)

YESS YESSSS YESSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS I swear fanart just does something to me as a writer, it's like i'm seeing the way my words being brought to life just---ACCKKK my heart ❤️😩😩😩😩 the way imma (selfishly) need this for the rest of my life, i cant go back 😔❤️

Tag List: nerds4life246 ace-spades-1 uniquetravelerone alassal thesimppotato11 jackintheboxs-world kahlan170 akiqvq matchaabread danishland uselessmoonlight apad-ravya suckerforblondies jolixtreesunn dreamtheatre woncloudie byzantiumhollow kisskisskys b4ts1e sarcasticbitchsblog trashcannotbealive

[yanderes-galore]

I'd like to o so formally request a Monkie kid Redson alphabet! (If I already sent this request feel free to delete my brain is being weird rn XD)

Sure! Just a fair warning, I'm only on Season 2 still so if something's off... you know why.

Yandere Alphabet - Red Son

Pairing: Romantic

Possible Trigger Warnings: Gender-Neutral Darling, Obsession, Clingy behavior, Manipulation, Stalking, Threats, Violence, Kidnapping, Validation issues (?), Trackers, Burning/Branding, Delusional behavior, Attempted murder, Forced relationship.

Affection: How do they show their love and affection? How intense would it get?

Red Son, from what I've seen, seems like a character who would often want attention and approval from his obsession. When it comes to affection, he isn't big on physical affection. However, I feel when he finds the right person, he just can't get enough of them.

Once he deems you as the person he loves and trusts most, Red Son comes off as clingy intense, and smothering.

Blood: How messy are they willing to get when it comes to their darling?

He's short tempered and I feel he'd threaten... but I'm not sure if he'd really enjoy killing someone. His parents are both villains, yes, but I think he'd hesitate on following through unless someone pushed him.

Cruelty: How would they treat their darling once abducted? Would they mock them?

Honestly, I can see Red Son kidnapping you and trying to play it off as some big villainous scheme... But in reality he just really likes you.

At first he has you tied to a chair in his room, acting like he's going to interrogate you. Then all of a sudden he's confessing... trying to hold your hand... and showing you around with a smile.

He would not mock you, he treats you with a surprising amount of care.

Darling: Aside from abduction, would they do anything against their darling’s will?

He may seem like he will... but he actually tries not to as you're the only one he feels he can open up to.

Exposed: How much of their heart do they bare to their darling? How vulnerable are they when it comes to their darling?

At first it doesn't seem like a lot. However, eventually you become the main person he can open up to. With his obsession, he's vulnerable and open with his heart as he really wants you to accept and validate him and his feelings.

Fight: How would they feel if their darling fought back?

Disappointed, in denial, and upset. He confides in you... and you fight him???

He is completely ignoring the fact he has most likely kidnapped you.

Game: Is this a game to them? How much would they enjoy watching their darling try to escape?

No and he wouldn't like it at all.

Hell: What would be their darling’s worst experience with them?

Well, he's a Fire Demon... son of the infamous Bull King. As an inventor, he may create things to keep you in check or have an eye on you.

I imagine two worst things could either be him kidnapping you and forcing you to wear a tracker... or seeing him lose his temper on someone and nearly killing them.

He hates to scare you.

Ideals: What kind of future do they have in mind for/with their darling?

He probably wants something like his parents as it's the only relationship he knows. He wants to love you, get married, and have you as his spouse.

It would help if his parents approve of you.

Jealousy: Do they get jealous? Do they lash out or find a way to cope?

Yes he does. He will most likely lash out due to his temper. Usually he lashes at other people, although sometimes he accidentally yells at you.

Kisses: How do they act around or with their darling?

Obsessive, Clingy, Manipulative, Controlling, Caring, Possessive, and probably also Protective.

Love letters: How would they go about courting or approaching their darling?

He probably met you through MK, as much as he hates to admit it. Ever since then he's found himself thinking about you, growing fond of you to the point of following you around or stalking your socials.

Eventually he drops his ego enough to try and be your friend. You're one of his only friends and you listen to him. He's never had such a connection with someone like this....

Then, he thinks this must be love! Clearly he can't stop thinking about you, so he must be in love! Which gets him plotting on how to go about this.

He gives gifts, attempts to be close to you, and it's safe to say... he has no idea what he's doing... and his emotions certainly aren't normal or healthy. Not like he knows that though.

Is this not how villains love?

Mask: Are their true colors drastically different from the way they act around everyone else?

Not really... although he is softer with you.

Naughty: How would they punish their darling?

I want to say burning but I'm not sure if he's that cruel? Branding does seem like something he could do... if not restraints and isolation.

Oppression: How many rights would they take away from their darling?

Originally he tries not to take any, but he'll take what he feels his "necessary."

Patience: How patient are they with their darling?

Red Son falls under impatient more than patient. He has a temper issue so he has his limits.

Quit: If their darling dies, leaves, or successfully escapes, would they ever be able to move on?

He probably wouldn't and would be desperate to find a way to bring you back to him.

Regret: Would they ever feel guilty about abducting their darling? Would they ever let their darling go?

Not really, but he might. Also, he probably would not let you go without knowing exactly where you are.

Stigma: What brought about this side of them (childhood, curiosity, etc)?

Probably a combination of curiosity and childhood.

Tears: How do they feel about seeing their darling scream, cry, and/or isolate themselves?

He feels upset and confused. He isn't the best at comfort, but since he loves you he should try, right? He does his best... for better or for worse.

Unique: Would they do anything different from the classic yandere?

SKIPPED

Vice: What weakness can their darling exploit in order to escape?

Reciprocate his affections, or at least play along... and you'll have some freedoms to work with.

Wit’s end: Would they ever hurt their darling?

Not unless he has to punish you.

Xoanon: How much would they revere or worship their darling? To what length would they go to win their darling over?

I feel there's times he can be a worship yandere when he looks past his own ego. He'd do anything to have you... he's the Demon Bull King's son. He should have you if he wants!

Yearn: How long do they pine after their darling before they snap?

I'd say months to a year and a half, maybe?

Zenith: Would they ever break their darling?

Not intentionally.

[moonstruckme]

Hii!! I have a request if thats okay, its kinda weird tho so if you don't wanna do it thats totaly okay<3

So i have like a really sensitive stomach so if i eat like anything greasy or a lot of one thing i get a really bad tummy ache, especially after supper like i don't throw up or anything im just kinda useless for like 2 hours. So the request is if you could do poly x fem!reader (or one of them, whatever you prefer) and have them comfort her and stuff? Maybe like cuddles and belly rubs? Idk

Thank u for excisting btw, you really make my day everytime you post<3

Thanks sweetheart, hope you like it :)

Remus Lupin x fem!reader ♡ 1.1k words

Remus knocks at your door tentatively. He’d known something was off when you’d left dinner early, vague about why you had to get home but urgent in a way that unnerved him. He’d followed you out of the restaurant, hoping to catch you in the parking lot, but you’d already gotten on your bus. Remus knew you were probably fine, but he couldn’t shake his anxiety about the way you’d left and he’d made his excuses a few minutes later, ignoring the jeering protests of his friends as he set out for your apartment. 

After knocking again, he tries the handle, surprised and a bit alarmed to find the door unlocked. He calls your name as he steps inside hesitantly, wary of startling you if you’ve gone to sleep or have just gotten out of the shower (that’s something he’d like to see under more consensual circumstances). “It’s Remus,” he says into the dark apartment, feeling a bit silly. “Are you here?”

“Rem,” a soft voice comes from the direction of the living room, “what’re you doing here?” 

He moves toward the sound. “I came to check on you. Sorry for just letting myself in, but you left dinner so suddenly and I…oh, sweetheart.”

He finds you on the couch, all curled up with your face pinched in obvious pain.

“Honey, what happened?” he asks, crouching beside you. His hand comes up to pet your hair of its own accord. 

“Nothing, I’m fine,” you say, the strain in your voice belying your words. “I just came home because my stomach was bothering me.” 

Remus feels his brows pinch. “It hurts?” you nod, seeming embarrassed. He can’t imagine why, it’s not like you’ve any control over that sort of thing. “Do you think it was something you ate?” 

You’re looking down at your knees, held tightly to your chest. “I…kind of,” you sigh. “This happens sometimes. Like, when I eat a lot of the same thing, or greasy foods.” 

Remus nods thoughtfully. “So like, when James won’t stop piling fries onto your plate all night, and you feel like you have to eat them?” You look sheepish, and James is going to feel awful when Remus is through with him. He’s going to make damn sure nothing like this ever happens again on his watch. “I’m sorry, lovely,” he says. “Is there anything I can do to help?” 

You hesitate. “I’ve got ibuprofen in the bathroom, but I haven’t wanted to get up. Could you bring it to me?”

Remus squeezes your shoulder lightly, standing. “Of course, sweetheart.”

 He hurries to the bathroom, finding the small bottle of pills under the sink and bringing it back along with a cup of water. He shakes a couple of tablets into his hand, passing them to you, but withholds the water when you reach for it. 

“Sorry.” He really is. “You’ve got to sit up to drink it, don’t want you to choke.” 

You shuffle into an upright position, bracing your back against the couch with your knees still drawn tight to your front, and Remus hands the cup over. You swallow the pills with a light exhale, as if you’re already anticipating the relief they’ll bring. 

“Thanks, Rem.” 

“It’s no problem,” he replies, and he hopes you understand how much he means it. “How long does the pain usually last?” 

You sigh. “A couple hours. I’ll probably just lie here and wait it out, I won’t be able to get to sleep until it stops.” 

Remus tries not to pout at you, his heart aching with sympathy. “If you’d like, we could watch a movie or something,” he suggests, adding quickly. “But if you want me to leave so you can relax, I completely understand, love.” 

You ponder for a second, your face still tight with pain. “No, that sounds nice,” you say after a second. “A distraction could help, and I’ll be more relaxed with you here anyway.” 

Remus has to turn away so you don’t see the full force of his smile, occupying himself with your television. He holds up a movie for you to see, putting it in the VHS player once you approve. You waste no time in snuggling up to him when he sits next to you on the couch, and Remus wraps his arm around you happily, rubbing gently up and down your arm. You all but melt under his touch, softening against his side. 

It’s a few minutes into the movie before he works up the courage to ask. “Do you think it would help,” he says, hoping his voice sounds at least remotely casual, “if I rubbed your stomach for you?”

You look at him in surprise. “Remus, that’s alright. You don’t have to.” 

“I don’t mind,” he says, and he doesn’t. Even though he’s giddy from the feel of you pressed up against him, he’s not offering as some excuse to touch you. He just wants so desperately to help. Seeing you in pain is like a gut punch every time he looks at you, and if there’s anything that can make you more comfortable, he wants to be the one to do it. “Really, I just want you to feel better.” 

“Okay, yeah.” You relax your grip on your knees, letting your thighs fall a few inches from your stomach and making an opening for him. “That’d be nice, thanks.” Remus watches your face, wary of any signs of discomfort as he brings his hand to your midsection. 

“You’ll tell me if I hurt you at all, yeah?”

“I will,” you say. “But you won’t.” 

Remus glows with your surety in him, but he’s still cautious as he draws his hand in small circles, gratified when you sigh. The movie casts blue light across your features, so he can see you a bit better as the crease between your brows evaporates, the tension around your mouth easing. Remus does his best to look like he’s watching the movie, but all his focus is on easing the upset in your abdomen, adjusting his methods any time you react even slightly in the positive or negative. Soon you’re completely molten against his side, blinks slowing as your eyelids start to droop heavily. 

“Did the ibuprofen kick in?” he asks softly. “You look like you’re getting sleepy, dove.” 

“I dunno,” you yawn, laying your cheek on his bicep, “maybe.” 

Remus almost hates to suggest it, but he’s not quite selfish enough to keep himself from asking. “If you want to get to bed, I can go.” 

“No, can you stay?” you yawn again, hugely. Remus tries not to stare, but you look adorable, cheek squished up against his arm and face soft with sleepiness. “Just until the movie’s done, please?”

Remus adjusts you against him, slouching so that you can lay your head on his shoulder without hurting your neck. “Yeah, of course I can stay, lovely.” He resumes rubbing your stomach, dropping a quick kiss on the top of your head. “I’ll stay as long as you’ll have me.”

[bluurene]

Can I ask Kazuha younger sister to fuck her older sister?

- gp!kazuha x stepsis!reader

- smut

side note: i had to make this gp just because i had an idea going on in my head. hello and hi's do NOT exist in this fic😭😭😭

kazuha, your younger sister, had been avoiding you every now and then. you found that weird because she wouldn't avoid you, ever. she would always hang out with you, even if you were with your friends. but now it's different.

everytime you'd approach her, she immediately walks away. even if you had the chance to speak to her, normally, all she did was nod or reply with short answers which was unusual for her.

but you're just oblivious about the fact that she had a crush on you.

-

kazuha was home alone, you went shopping with your friends. you told her to come along but she said she didnt want follow. you understood that she probably felt lazy so you just left her in the house alone. you would sometimes check on her because you're worried about her, she is your younger sister after all and you care alot about her.

although the reason why she didn't want to follow wasn't because she was lazy, it was because she wanted to get off from the thought of you and being with you 24/7 would make it harder to deal with so she chose to just stay.

right now, she was on her bed, your panties in her hand as she stared at it. she brought it a bit close to her face. "this is..weird.." she whispered to herself. she can't just stop right now. she needed to fix her problem.

hesitating a little, she finally whipped her dick out of her shorts then bringing your pair of panties to the tip of her cock. she takes a deep breath then started stroking it using the piece of fabric, moaning at the feeling. she imagined her fucking you from behind, making you scream her name out as she relentlessly thrust in you.

she was too focused on the moment that she did not hear the constant ringing coming from her phone. you were calling her for five times and you got worried when you received no answer from her so you had to come back home to see if she was okay.

after arriving at your house, you walked to kazuha's room. hearing a noise coming out from her room made you even more worried, scared that she might hurt herself so you quickly open the door to her room and was shocked by the sight.

kazuha turns her head towards you, her eyes widening when you caught her. she quickly got up and threw your panties aside, rushing up to you. "unnie! why are you home early?! i thought-" you shut her up by giving her a kiss. she was surprised by this but immediately returned it.

one of your arm were around her while the other reached for her dick. after grabbing it, you gave it some strokes which made her to moan in the kiss.

you pulled away, smirking at her. "you're so dirty, zuha." you whispered to her before letting go of her dick and getting on your knees so you were facing her hard on. "you always wanted this didnt you?" again you grab her dick, and gave a kiss on the tip.

you look up at her and noticed how her eyes had a hint of lust in them. "dont worry, unnie will help you." was what you said before you gave her member a long lick from the base to the tip, causing kazuha to whine and slightly shudder. her hands suddenly found them around your head the second you sucked her off. her cock was long and not to mention, big so the tip hit the back of your throat everytime.

"unnie..i about to-.." she moaned out before she started to thrust her hips, thrusting her cock in your mouth herself then soon after, she came and painted your mouth full with her cum. seeing you swallow all her cum made her even more hard so when you got up and pushed her on the bed, she knew what was about to come.

you removed your skirt and threw it somewhere, your panties were moved to the side as you aligned the tip of her cock to your hole. you pushed yourself down on her cock, moaning when you felt how big she was.

she had her hands on your hips, looking at the bulge that was seen in your stomach. you had both of your hands on the bed beside kazuha's head then you began riding her.

the feeling of your tight pussy made kazuha throw her head back, moaning your name out. "unnie..you feel good.." she whines. her hand also guide you to ride her even faster.

your pussy clenched around her cock, meaning that you're close to cumming. you gave her one last kiss before the both of you came together. her cumming in you rope by rope, feeling you to the brim while you squirted around her cock.

you both took a breather, then pulling her cock out and laying down next to her. "y/nnie, i like you." she confessed. "i know."

[insightfulllama]

ANYWAY HERE’S A MASSIVE LIST OF OBSERVATIONS AND THOUGHTS FROM REWATCHING THE CABIN VOD AHAHAHAHA

(Spoilers)

The first thing Ranboo clearly says is, “It wasn’t supposed to…be like this…” They are very disoriented and confused, verging on distress.

When the mask turns on, they panic and yell “no” several times, before standing and going, “Where am I?” and “This place sure looks weird!” in the NPC voice. I believe he knew something was wrong and was able to scream, but not anything more before they took full control. 

The NPC behavior isn't as obvious as it is in "Warehouse", but I definitely see it now that I'm looking for it. Pretty unsettling. 

Ranboo checks locations they had already looked at before the mask turned on. (The door, the bookshelf, the ashes, etc)

Ranboo can see us, but with the masks influence we appear as a “weird painting”. 

When he is flipping through the magazines and waiting for chat to decide where they go, he says, “These are just old pajamas.” I think that’s what they say, I have no idea what it means. 

When Ranboo first goes to look at the window, he bends out of frame and messes with something (I think the VHS’s) and says, “Those don’t seem too important.” Pretty interesting considering he later uses a VHS to communicate with the one trying to get him out. (Showfalls influence?)

He’s complained about his head hurting twice now, I think this may become a pattern

They find a set of teeth in the drawer

The red key is IN the red bat- mirroring how the key is in Slimecicle later? Did he have to dig into a dead animal to get it here as well and we just didn’t see it because of the mask? 

Ranboo’s spacial awareness seems impaired. He doesn’t know where Slime went because he can’t directly see him. This happens again later with Sneeg, Ranboo looking the entirely wrong way when Sneeg calls out. Both Slime and Sneeg call attention to this- “It’s a house, there’s door frames! How did you get inside if you do not know what a door is?” and “How do you not hear me?...How did you look over there, man?”

JUST realized the key colors match the “characters” we’ve been introduced to. (The Savior, The Taken, The Villain)  I don’t know if there’s further symbolism connected to where the keys are found and stuff but it’s pretty neat. 

When Slime does the pinkie swear promising that Ranboo can leave after he does the cooking challenge, they have their fingers crossed behind their back. 

Slimy Guts is one of the available ingredients, bit sus considering our new knowledge. Also chinese leftovers got 0% of the votes LOL

The random cutaways are kinda strange. Don’t know what to make of them. 

Ranboo uses a pretty big knife to open a little package of slime, is instructed to “beat up” the food and call it names, and later he offers to cut Slime off the floor when he gets stuck. I think there’s a good chance ranboo stabbed someone and made a meal with their guts. Or something in that vein. (Several times Ranboo points out that these aren’t REAL ingredients and he doesn’t know how someone could eat it. What’s happening is probably so horrifying that he can’t imagine it as something normal like chicken, so his brain is substituting with stuff that’s weird but TECHNICALLY not morally reprehensible.)

Fridge says “BEHIND YOU” on it

Gummy worm was in the freezer, body parts can be kept in freezers, idk

Someone really likes mayo, cause they stopped it when it was on the turntable and gave the camera a thumbs up

Slime tries the meal but he’s really reluctant and needs specific circumstances to do it. If the theory of the meal being human guts it true, the hesitation probably didn’t have anything to do with airplane noises…

What is in the backgrounds of these cutaways? It’s so blurry idk, I can’t tell. It’s sort of purply. 

The dish in the end turns to slime with all the possible ingredients mixed in, even the ones we didn’t pick. In universe it reinforces that our choices don’t really matter, from a meta perspective it’s probably so they only had to make one slime prop. 

The timing of the marshmallow string stretching as slime tries to feed ranboo is HYSTERICAL, golden comedic timing

The mask starts blinking when ranboo gets the tape message. 

The person on tape instructs Ranboo “not to resist”. I believe this is said in the second message as well. Perhaps they don’t want Ranboo drawing attention to themself

Like in the room they woke up in, Ranboo checks areas multiple times, seemingly with no memory of the first time he checks. He does the exact same “flashlight in the eyes” gag each time he picks it up. It really enforces that in this moment he is a puppet, not making his own choices. 

“What’s over here?” NPC!Ranboo back in full swing with this dialogue. 

Ranboo did the cooking game, Sneeg didn’t. Sneeg refused to kill? Maybe cause he didn’t have a mask? Hmmm idk

The baby skull on a background shelf has a MASSIVE forehead

Light starts flickering when slime appears

What does the fight between evil sneeg and ranboo mean? Maybe they were both trapped and had a fight?? What does it mean without the obscuring mask? 

Ranboo is able to get sneeg out of slimes influence, and sneeg says a few times afterward that he’s immune now. Ranboo can help people get out of Showfalls influence? (The gooey hat does bring Sneeg out of the influence later, extension of that Ranboo effect?)

When Sneeg looks to see if Slime is in the box, there is a “shhhh” sound effect

Sneeg says Frank is his eyes and ears- was Frank a whistleblower, feeding information about Showfall to the outside? Unsure

Goo chest- possibly full of human bits? Corpse in a trunk is a pretty common trope

Jello on the shelves of Slime’s room

Same picture that was on the fridge is in a frame on the table

Ranboo looks at the mirror the same way twice, reinforcing the NPC vibes

Another false choice- the story only progresses if you go to sleep. Talking to Sneeg only gets some more NPC dialogue. Most of sneeg’s other dialogue sounds genuine, so this is strange.

Sneeg seems unable to move or act while ranboo is asleep

Could the eight hours that passed be literal? If things are obstructed by the mask it very well could be

“You would have known had you been awake!” Before the reveal of the mask making things look different I thought the streams were going to be revealed to be a dream. Clearly it’s not entirely a dream, but this dialogue is still fun. 

SHARK PICKLE LOBSTER TIME!! What would this be in real life? An actual human experiment? Security dogs? Full on hallucination?

This is a pretty funny way to promote the merch honestly lol (referring to ranboo using his merch to trick the thing into cage)

Ranboo seems baffled by his idle fighting animation for a second. He says, “Why am I just standing here? What’s going…” and when the camera pulls back the mask is flickering. 

When Slime sends his ghouls to grab Ranboo I believe he tries to move out of the way. They kind of jerk a bit, like they're trying to move their feet, before saying, “Why can’t I just- get out of here? I just need to get out of here-” The mask is once again flickering during this

After the fight the mask starts flickering a LOT, plus the other lights in the cabin. Tv comes back on. 

The TV man is named Hetch? He says, “My name is-” I think he says Hetch? Unsure

Mans gets drugged up at the end, rip

[0wldn0]

can we start with mama bear Motormaster? what are some examples of her going all mama bear on people targeting her boys?

I can imagine a scenario where the autobots may decide to try and pre-emptively stop the stunticons from forming up Menasor (and thus making it harder to kill Megatron) by capturing just ONE of them. Thing is they dont realize Motormaster watches over them like a hawk. So naturally it goes wrong.

I LOVE YOUR BRAIN YES YES 👀💥

Motormaster used to be always angry, lashing out at any of the Stunticons at any given time. Her emotions were completely out of control and every Decepticon found her unapproachable for that. But after re-joining with the Stunticons to make amends, Motormaster acts composed and silent all the time. She barely ever shows any emotion, or honestly barely moves at all. She's kind of like an intimidating statue.

Regardless of that, there's still a burning anger inside her. She's just much better at keeping it in check and not letting it out, especially if she's with the Stunticons.

However, this also means that she is kind of like a ticking bomb, and if someone is hurting the Stunticons then that bomb is guaranteed to go off immediately. I can totally see her just doing a complete 180 when one of the Stunticons are in danger, and using that built up anger to her advantage. Imagine her absolutely wrecking whatever is on her way no matter the damage it might cause her as she does so. Just locked in to tearing apart the person that tried to harm her brother.

Of course, the whole "she doesn't care what happens to her as she's too focused on wrecking everything" is not a healthy nor safe way to act, especially in the midst of battle. Her anger is so strong and so intense that it definitely blinds her. ((It blinded her to the fact that the Stunticons were hesitant to really let her take her revenge, and blinded her to the fact that Menasor barely had a heart in any of this at all.)) But I can totally see her coming back to her senses when she's called out by one of the Stunticons. After all, no matter how intense her emotions are, they have become her priority.

Totally can see her rushing in to save a Stunticon and only realising how much damage she took in the process after her brothers get her to stop and retreat. Like "oh wow, that's a lot of energon spilling, when did that happen... weird -passes out-"

[noona-clock]

Heart of the Ranch - Part 2

Genre: Cowboy!AU, Slice of Life, Fluff

Pairing: Namjoon x You (Female!Reader)

Warnings: None

Part 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8 | Words: 2,818

Once Namjoon left you to your own devices, you decided to walk around the ranch a bit more -- deliberately and avidly avoiding the cow pasture -- simply to dry your shoe off.

...Okay, and to get your wits about you. To settle down. To pull yourself together after that... that... well, after what had happened. You honestly weren't sure what to call it since Namjoon had really only hosed cow poop off your shoe. I guess an appropriate word would be 'encounter,' right?

You needed to pull yourself together after that encounter.

When you had pulled yourself together well enough and made your way up to your room, you were relieved to see your suitcase had been left by your bed. If you'd had to go to Emily's room and ask her for it, you were fairly sure you would've spilled everything that had just happened... and while you had pulled yourself together well enough, you didn't think you were ready to actually talk about it. At least, not without making it sound like the start of one of those corny, guilty pleasure television movies. Or the start of one of your beloved cowboy romance novels. Or a corny, guilty pleasure television movie based on one of your beloved cowboy romance novels.

As you unzipped your suitcase, you suddenly remembered the copper tub in the bathroom. A nice, hot bath sounded like just what you needed. Trish had texted you earlier about a group dinner here at the ranch in a few hours, and a nice, hot bath would be the perfect opportunity to get your thoughts in order.

Hopefully.

"Y/N, there you are!" Rachel grinned just a few seconds after you left your room to head down for dinner. Rachel was stepping through the doorway right across from you, so you returned her smile and reached your hand out so the two of you could walk downstairs together.

"Here I am!" you replied as you looped your arm through hers.

"I feel like I haven't even seen you since we got here," she pointed out, her tone indicating this was clearly a good thing. "I guess you're really taking this vacation seriously, huh?"

Obviously, you weren't going to tell her that you'd gone hunting for cell service immediately after getting out of the car.

Instead, you let out a soft sigh and said, "I mean, yeah, look at this place. It's hard not to be in vacation mode here, y'know? It's so remote and beautiful and different than back home."

Rachel inhaled, about to reply, but then you noticed she glanced over her shoulder before ducking her head close to yours. "Speaking of 'beautiful,'" she whispered. "Have you seen the guy who owns this place?"

You almost choked on a laugh because you certainly hadn't been expecting that!

"Yes, I have," you whispered back. "I ran into him while I was --"

Oh, no. What had you told them you'd be doing after you got here instead of looking for a signal to check your work notifications?

That's right!

"Taking pictures. I actually kind of stepped in some cow poop, and he hosed my shoe off for me."

Rachel gasped softly. "Oh, my gosh. Did he really?"

You nodded, finding you were unable to say anything else without veering into Romance Novel territory.

"...What did he smell like?"

"Like outside and pine-scented soap," you answered immediately.

Okay, whoa.

First of all, why hadn't you questioned Rachel's curiosity? Asking what a stranger smelled like was kind of... odd.

Second of all, why had you answered without a moment's hesitation?

Third of all, why had you even been able to answer?! You hadn't even noticed what he'd smelled like! Or at least you thought you hadn't noticed!

And yet! You knew you'd answered truthfully. You could imagine the smell so perfectly in your mind, and you knew that if you found him, walked up to him, and took a big old whiff, outside and pine-scented soap would be exactly what he smelled like.

"Oooh," Rachel giggled. "I know it's kind of a weird thing to ask, but he's basically a cowboy, and who isn't curious about what a cowboy smells like, right?"

You pressed your lips together briefly as the two of you began a slow descent down the stairs then said, "I'm going to be honest, I didn't even realize I knew what he smelled like. I don't remember even noticing!"

"So what you're saying is that he's already found his way into your soul," she replied with a slow, knowing nod, her tone implying that what she'd just said was pure fact.

"I--"

"Hey, wait for me!" you heard Emily's voice call out behind you.

Both you and Rachel paused, waiting until Emily joined you before resuming your journey down.

"You're right on time," Rachel told Emily. "Y/N was just talking about the soul connection she made with the owner. Remember that hot cowboy who checked us in?"

Emily gasped, but you quickly interrupted. "Okay, that's not what we were talking about!" you corrected with a bemused laugh. "We didn't make a soul connection!"

"You know what he smells like," Rachel pointed out. "Without even realizing you did!"

"That's definitely a good sign of a soul connection," Emily agreed. "Wait, what happened? Where and when and how did this soul connection take place?"

"We don't have a soul connection!" you whisper-shouted, unable to keep the irritation out of your voice. And you'd almost reached the bottom of the stairs by this point, so you didn't want to risk being overheard. But you also didn't want to risk your friends being mad at you, so you added, "I'll tell you all about it after dinner."

As you expected, this satiated them, and the three of you headed toward the dining room where you assumed Trish and the other guests were already waiting.

When you'd read the words 'group dinner' in Trish's text earlier today, you'd been prepared to eat with other guests who were currently staying at the ranch.

So, imagine your surprise when you'd walked into the dining room to see Trish and only Trish sitting at the table. And once you, Emily, and Rachel sat down, a door connecting the dining room to the kitchen swung open, and Namjoon appeared carrying a tray with four plates.

"Where's everyone else?" you asked, making sure to keep your tone curious rather than judgmental.

"This is it!" Namjoon replied with a grin plastered on his lips.

You briefly made eye contact with him but couldn't stop yourself from looking away shyly. He was donning the same clothes as earlier but the cowboy hat was nowhere to be seen, revealing a rather luscious head of dark hair.

As he began to serve the plates to you and your friends, you realized exactly what he was doing -- serving the plates to you and your friends.

He was the owner of this place. Why was he serving dinner?

And why were there no other guests here? It wasn't exactly an off-season for vacation, and this place was gorgeous. The ranch should've been at max occupancy!

Something was off, and as dinner went on, you became more and more sure of it. Namjoon was seemingly the only employee working, at least during dinner! And a closer look around revealed slightly chipped paint and peeling wallpaper, worn floorboards, and door and window hardware that sorely needed to be replaced.

Don't get me wrong: you didn't feel unsafe staying here. It was perfectly clean and cozy.

But, still. It was pretty clear this ranch house was past its prime.

You were too nosy to let it go.

As soon as you finished your dessert, you pushed your chair away from the table and picked up your empty dish, along with anything else on the table your friends no longer needed. And with a 'Don't worry, trust me, I know what I'm doing' look, you made your way into the kitchen.

Namjoon was visibly startled when he heard you come through the door, turning his head swiftly to glance over his shoulder.

"Oh, no, there's no need for you --"

"It looks like you could use the help," you interrupted as you carried the dishes to the sink where he was currently up to his elbows in soapy water.

You could tell he wasn't pleased by your actions, but you couldn't help it. You'd noticed a problem, and you wanted to fix it.

"What's going on here?" you asked gently, though you were unable to keep a slightly suspicious tone out of your voice. You leaned against the counter, standing close enough to Namjoon to smell that pine-scented soap you'd unconsciously imprinted into your brain.

Namjoon's forehead wrinkled in confusion. "What do you mean? You're really not supposed to be in here."

"Is it really just you? Do you do everything around here?"

He didn't answer you right away, and that told you everything you needed to know.

"No," he said after a few beats. And then he slid his gaze over to meet yours, his expression one of half-amusement, half-guilt. "I don't do the cooking."

"So, you do everything else?" you asked in disbelief. "All the cleaning, all the administrative tasks, all of the outside work?"

Namjoon let out a soft sigh before nodding.

And then you asked the obvious question: "Why?"

That made Namjoon stop and put down the plate he was washing. He turned toward you fully, tilting his head and narrowing his eyes at you. "May I ask why you're asking?"

A chuckle fell out of your lips at his use of your own words against you.

"Because I'm an accountant, and I can spot a financial problem from a mile away," you explained.

Believe it or not, a blush tinged Namjoon's cheeks. A literal cowboy who hadn't flinched at washing off cow poop was now blushing because you'd obviously hit the nail on the head.

"Where do you keep the books?" you asked.

"I can't -- I mean, I really shouldn't --" he stammered.

"You would be doing me a huge favor," you assured him, stepping just a few inches closer and lowering your voice in case Trish was listening at the door. "My friends forced me to come here because they think I work too much, so unsurprisingly, my fingers are twitching to get ahold of something with numbers."

Namjoon took a deep, hesitating breath.

"I'm really good at my job. It probably won't even take long! I don't know what it is about my brain, but I can look at numbers and just --" You snapped your fingers to convey how quickly you could work.

Before you could say anything else, Namjoon laughed softly and said, "Okay, fine. But if I get in trouble with your friends, I'm charging you extra for the pillow chocolates."

"You leave chocolates on the pillows?!" you gasped.

"No, but I will especially for you, and I'll charge you for it."

The smile tugging at his lips was also making his eyes crinkle in the most adorable and attractive way. And it was then you noticed something about him that was always a dealbreaker for you -- but a 'dealbreaker' in the sense that, once you saw someone possessed this feature, you were a goner. Hook, line, and sinker.

Namjoon had dimples.

Thankfully, Namjoon said, "Let me just finish up here, and I'll show you. Meet me at the front desk in about twenty minutes?" because you were now so breathless, you weren't sure you could actually speak.

You nodded at him, letting out a positive 'mhm' before getting out of there as quickly as possible.

...And then you were almost immediately accosted by Trish, Emily, and Rachel.

Of course.

"What happened?"

"Why did you go in there?"

"And what about the cow poop?!"

Considering, the four of you were still right outside the kitchen, you shushed your friends and shooed them into another room -- a sitting room with plush armchairs and a roaring fire.

Once you were all settled, you took a deep breath.

"Okay, so," you began.

Trish, Rachel, and Emily all leaned forward in their chairs.

You tried not to leave out any detail, starting from when you got out of the car (yes, you admitted to looking for a cell signal to check your work notifications) and ending with agreeing to meet Namjoon at the front desk to look over the ranch's finances (yes, you even included the fact you'd noticed his dimples).

"Oh my god, you're going to fall in love," Emily breathed, her eyes wide and sparkling. "You're going to move here and help him get this place back to its former glory and live happily ever after."

"Emily!" you laughed, rolling your eyes. "Please. None of that is going to happen. I mean, hopefully, I can help a little, but... Definitely not the rest of it."

Trish pushed the cuff of her shirt back and checked her watch, eyebrows raised. "So, you've got about twelve minutes before you're supposed to meet him, which means we've got twelve minutes to come up with a plan."

"A plan?" you asked before either Emily or Rachel (or both) could say something. "A plan for what?"

"A plan for you to actually have fun on this vacation," she answered with a nod.

...How were you supposed to refute that? If you said 'no,' it would just be Grinch-y of you! And, sure, maybe you were a workaholic (you were definitely a workaholic), but you weren't a Grinch.

At least you hoped not.

So, you simply said, "All right, I'm all ears."

Luckily, Namjoon was already sitting at the front desk when you arrived -- if you'd had to wait for him, you surely would've snooped. Snooping was not part of The Plan, and while you still weren't fully convinced you needed The Plan, you didn't want to dismantle it in hour zero.

"Hey," you greeted as you approached, trying to ignore the flutterings in your heart and stomach when he looked up and half-grinned at you.

"Hey..." he replied with slight dread clutching his words. He stood from his chair and pulled it out just enough for you to take his place. "Be my guest."

And now your heart was fluttering for a totally different reason. Once you sat down and turned toward his computer, you were faced with spreadsheets and numbers and finances.

This is what made your life worth living!

...All right, objectively speaking, you could understand why your friends had made you take a vacation.

Anyway.

For the next hour, you pored over Namjoon's financial spreadsheets for the year, asking for more details and pointing out discrepancies along the way ("Why are you spending this much on plates and glasses?" "What can I say, I'm clumsy!"). You tried not to be too in-depth, but your accounting brain couldn't help it.

When you finally finished, you let out a short sigh, turned around to face him, and said in the most agreeable tone you could muster, "Whoever does your finances has no idea what they're doing."

Namjoon pressed his lips together. "...It's me," he admitted.

"...You don't have an actual accountant?"

He shook his head.

"Not even someone to do your taxes?"

He shook his head again.

"Namjoon," you scolded. "Why?! You're a business!"

"Because I can't afford it!" he rebutted.

"Yeah, you can't afford it because you don't know what you're doing!"

Truly, you were not trying to be mean. Unfortunately, you were just stating a fact!

Before he could argue or apologize, you said, "I would be absolutely happy to help you, but I can't do much with what little you have. The first problem we have to solve is revenue."

Namjoon opened his mouth to say something... but then he quickly closed it. His forehead wrinkled, and his lips tugged downward in confusion.

"...We have to solve a problem?"

"Yes, we," you answered, avoiding his gaze just a little bit. "I've already gotten involved, and I'll be here all week. I might as well see things through."

And also because the first part of The Plan was doing just this: coming up with a way to help Namjoon and BTS Ranch and personally following through with it. In the words of Emily, it would mean spending more time with Namjoon, and spending more time with Namjoon meant you'd fall in love faster.

You certainly didn't know about that, but... you'd be lying if you said you didn't want to spend more time with him. If only to see his dimples again.

(See them up close and personal, that is. You'd certainly see them in your dreams -- probably for the rest of your life!)

Namjoon's deep sigh broke into your thoughts, and your gaze wandered over to meet his again.

"Well, then" he murmured, lifting his shoulders in a shrug. "What should we do?"

Part 3

[goldsbitch]

Twelve grapes

chapter 3 - Obsessed with me "Let me get this straight. You want me to throw a party for your Ferrari seat that nobody’s supposed to know about, but definitely everyone knows about, and now it’s going to be on a yacht you don’t even have yet?"

This is not how Charles imagined this conversation.

„Pierre, you're not being a supportive friend with these useless comments," he says, opting for emotional blackmail.

warning: unhinged reasoning, endless pining, 7k words

For a moment, Charles is everywhere - and then, faster than a blink of an eye - he is nowhere.

He doesn't give Max enough time to adjust, react or even comprehend what just happened. Has him standing there, frozen and...confused?

There is panic in his chest and when that happens, he wants to talk. So used to addressing complicated situations verbally. The art of feedback and analyses burned into him since the early age. It helps him process things.

He can't speak to Charles right now. A - he is on a plane. B - he is the one person he wants to talk about.

Images flash in front of his eyes like a film on fast-forward. Glimpses of the intruder that Charles inevitably was. At his motorhome, his childhood cottage and with his hand on the back of Max's head. Lips melting into lips.

Autopilot in his head worked and he's now parked in front of his hotel, without having any memory of driving there.

Deep breath in, and out. He pops his knuckles and turns the damn radio off.

And then he whips his phone out and calls the one person he feels like he might speak to.

The phone rings one, two, three, seven thousand times. Just as he considers hanging up, Daniel’s voice pulls through, bright and ready. 

"Maxie! What’s this? A late-night call? I gotta tell you - I’m already back from the bar, if you finally decided to show up. And I’m not alone, if you know what I mean.“

Max groans, leaning back against the headrest of his seat. "You’re an idiot."

"True," Daniel replies easily. "But you still called me. What’s up? Couldn’t resist the charm, huh?"

Max hesitates, his free hand gripping the steering wheel even though the car isn’t moving. He tries avoiding looking into the mirror. 

"Just…,“ The words are there, tangled in his throat, but none of them feel right. "Wanted to check in," Max says finally, cringing at how pathetic he feels right now. 

There’s a moment of silence, unusual for Daniel, before he speaks again, his tone softer but still laced with curiosity. "Check in? Mate, you’re not exactly the type to call for a chat. Is everything all right?"

Max is debates turning the car on and crashing into a wall.  "No. Nothing happened. Just... a long day." He decides that a hospital visit ins’t something he needs to add to this day. He is already barely breathing. 

Daniel hums, and Max hopes he manages to pick up a more convincing tone for the rest of the call. "A long day? Or a long day?"

"What does that even mean?" Max snaps, his voice edgier than intended.

"It means," Daniel prolongs his vowels, "that you sound weird. Like, you’re sick of something.“

Max presses his lips together, his jaw clenching. Daniel has this talent of getting under people’s skin, which many people find annoying. Max is usually on the sideline, laughing. Not today. 

"Maybe I just wanted to talk to someone who’s not a complete idiot," Max retorts, his tone too defensive.

"Ah, so you called the next-best thing, nice" Daniel shoots back, his laugh making it clear, that he is unaffected by the awkwardness max must radiate.  "Come on, Max. Spill it. You sound... I don’t know, off."

Max opens his mouth to respond, but freezes. His mind flashes back to the kiss—Charles’s hand on the back of his neck, the press of his lips, the way he ran like he was being chased.

"I kissed someone," Max blurts out.

The line goes dead silent for a second, and Max can practically see Daniel’s eyes widening.

„Niiice,“ Daniel says finally, his voice tinged with approval. "You? Kissed someone? Like, willingly? Without a contract forcing you to?"

"Shut up," Max mutters, running a hand through his hair.

"Okay, okay," Daniel says quickly, "Details. Who was it? When? And do I need to send flowers or an apology note?"

Max hesitates, the words hovering on the tip of his tongue. He could tell Daniel. He should tell Daniel. He needs to share with someone. But something inside him stops him cold.

"No one important," Max whispers, his voice raspy. "Just... a stupid mistake."

"Max... you don’t sound like you think it was a mistake." Daniel speaks like he knows something that Max doesn’t and it’s pissing him off royally. 

"Forget it," he says and decides that this time, talking to other people won't solve his problems.

"Noo, come on. Tell me who it is. Someone I know?!" Max panics even more, realizing that even though he wasn't the brightest, the last person Daniel saw him, with was Charles. And out of nowhere, the thought of Daniel figuring it all out freaks him out.

"I’m hanging up now," Max says definitively, his thumb already moving toward the red button.

"Max, wait-"

The call ends, the screen going dark, and Max sits in the silence of his car, his heart pounding. He tosses the phone onto the passenger seat and leans back, staring at the ceiling.

Charles’s face flashes in his mind again—his lips, his hand, the way he looked before he ran.

Max exhales sharply, running a hand over his face.

"Idiot," he mutters, though he’s not sure who he’s talking about anymore - Charles, Daniel, or himself.

And then - he puts a crown onto his own inexplicable recklessness of this day. He's been acting like a lunatic the whole day, why stop now. He reaches back for his phone and types quickly, before left side of his brain realizes what the right side is doing. Send.

Have a safe flight.

//

Charles never replies (no matter how much and how often Max stares at his phone) and ultimate, Max blames the Swiss mountains, where the Sauber HQ lies for the obvious lack of cell phone service.

Daniel teases him endlessly when they're alone, so he makes sure that there is someone from his side of the garage following him at all times. Be it an engineer, his trainer, the PR coordinator, an intern, a reporter or even the fucking cleaner - just so that he does not have to be reminded of his slip up. He also makes sure that he picks the people who like to talk. Preferably about anything not involving the Sauber team, their drivers and kissing. No order of preference.

It is Monza next, or as Max likes to refer to it - the headache race. Tifosi everywhere, even at places one would think is not suitable for humans. He is surprised no one has jumped at him yet from the toilets.

And this year, it really delivers in it's name. People racing around him making stupid mistakes and inevitably costing him a podium. He is mad, furious in fact. But if he were to pick one podium to have snatched from his hands, it would the god-forsaken Monza.

Now, however impatient and hot-headed Max is on track, it is something completely different outside the car. He is used to playing the long game - think of a goal, set it and follow methodical steps until he reaches it. This is what he did with Daniel - these past few months, he got real fed up of seeing everyone having all these friendships. He figured it was finally time to crack that can of worms. It wasn't his first choice, he had several people "in development", but the loud Australian is the one that actually worked. And now - there was a different kind of problem that required some long term plan.

The Charles element of this all is on his mind almost nonstop. The list of questions, one tripping over another, yet if he were to somehow say all of them, it would always come out as the same, one sentence.

Charles, do you regret it?

Max Verstappen was not a man prone to introspection. His world was one of facts, numbers, and actions—things he could control. But Charles Leclerc had thrown a wrench into that system, and now Max was stuck trying to decipher emotions he’d spent years ignoring. Not only he has to focus on racing, get into the car every weekend for these next three weeks, he now has to take into account that anytime he merely thinks of Charles, he freezes, mumbles and his brain switches off. Off all the things he should be worried about - like for example, does the fact he has to control himself, in order to not think about the kiss mean he is gay? His head spins when he thinks about that. So, he decides not to even open that question. He will figure that out once he finds out how Charles feels. No need to be going on a self-discovery journey, that might shift his world upside down and create more harm than good, if Charles considers this a mistake.

Now, it was starting to become painfully obvious that his brain is set on clearing that out. He could do that. Of course. If this also wasn't combined with the absolute fear and embarrasment he felt at the thought of talking about this with anyone, especially Charles. No, Max is not going to initiate this conversation. This is just how he's going to be for the rest of his life.

Max doesn’t have to look for Charles at Monza. His move to Ferrari, not yet announced, but heavily rumored, makes him the topic number one, almost outshining the actual current drivers in the scarlet team. The reporters are on a hunt, people talk and heads turn whenever he walks by. And he, the man who was kissing him just few days ago, has to catch glimpses over the crowds. There is a part of Max that is waiting for Charles to make the first move. After all - he is the one who did not respond to his text. It is only when Max catches sight of him during the driver parade, that Charles, all sharp smiles and practiced nods, actually looks at him. They stand so far apart that talking is not on the table. But, there is a moment - Max thinks it's about five seconds - when Charles's eyes practically bore into his own. And it's like anything that happened since the kiss was a mere, pointless dream. Max is coming to terms with the fact he is feeling things (not ready to analyse which things).

He spends his evenings locked in his room. The risk of running into Charles unaccompanied is low, but not minimal. Max is hiding from the one person that hold the key to the madness happening on the inside. He is not ready, but also wonders if one ever is.

//

It's like people forgot there are other topics than Charles moving to Ferrari. Not only does Max have to listen to his own PR manager feeding him lines to deflect reporters from the questions, the frenzy has infected the other drivers as well.

Max wonders how and why he finds himself, standing next to Pierre Gasly, who is blocking his exit and borderline interrogating him.

“Why would Charles tell me anything?”

Pierre leans in, little devils dancing in his eyes. “Because you’re Max Verstappen. He’d probably think you already know. You’ve got, like, Red Bull spies or something.”

“Spies,” Max repeats flatly and debates internally whether crawling away from this is socially acceptable. “I don’t know anything about Ferrari.”

“You don’t?” Pierre narrows his eyes like he doesn’t believe him. “Come on. You guys were talking after Belgium, weren’t you?”

Max's stomach flips three times. Talking, joking, kissing, smashing cars. Then he ran away from me, because I am disgusting.

"Aren't you suppose to be best friends or something? Why would you think that I know if you don't know?" he opts for the reverse-attack strategy. It is, however, a question he keeps wondering himself. One would expect someone like Pierre to have that information, especially if Max already knows. His face goes blank—the Verstappen Default Setting for don’t ask me anything else.

"You know how he is," Pierre waltzes around it and Max is running out of ideas.

No, I apparently don't know how he is.

Pierre is good at reading the room and doubles down a bit. "Look, just tell me what you talked about and I'm off."

Max's first instinct is to say something along the lines "Go, ask him yourself," but he doesn't, because Pierre and Charles talking together about him might just about be the worst outcome of this all.

“We were talking,” Max says, picking his words carefully, “about... tires.”

“Tires,” Pierre deadpans.

“Yes. Tire degradation. Very important topic.” Max crosses his arms, hoping he looks convincing. “You know, something that involves actual racing and not rumor hunting.”

Pierre studies him for a moment, then raises an eyebrow. “So, let me get this straight. You and Charles Leclerc, standing alone after Belgium, decided to have a heart-to-heart about... tire degradation?”

“Yes.” Max nods. “It’s a very pressing issue.”

Pierre snorts. “You’re a terrible liar.”

Max rolls his eyes. “I’m not lying. I don’t care where Charles ends up next season. Why would I?”

Pierre's eyes light up as he looks somewhere behind Max's head. There is a glimmer of hope in Max, the potential end of this interaction. One that dies very quickly.

“Charles!” Pierre calls cheerfully, waving him over.

Charles walks up to them, not really having any other choice if he wants to get to the other side of the paddock. Max does not look at him. He is busy trying to keep his expression politely neutral and it's proving to be a tortuous task.

"Pierre. Max," Charles acknowledges and it feels weird to hear his own name rolling of Charles's tongue. Nobody says it in this specific accent.

Max gives a small nod, feeling like he’s caught in a trap. He wonders how long people usually look at each other, as if he lost the ability to function in a society. He makes all the effort not to glance at Charles. Like he's not even here. Then he panics, because that might just be the most suspicious way to go about this. So he turns his eyes towards Charles, without moving his head too much. He figures that is a good compromise. His mouth turns into a smile, but he can't escape the notion his eyes are giving it all away.

“Just talking about you,” Pierre says casually. Max wants to die.

Charles’s eyebrows shoot up, his gaze flicking to Max. “Oh?”

Panic, pure undiluted panic floats over every part of him. Max glares at Pierre, silently willing him to stop. Damage control, now. No, no, no, not talking like that! Oh, my God, now he's going to assume I'm so desperate that I go and talk to his best friend about it. “We weren’t—”

Pierre cuts him off. “Max was just saying how much he loves racing against you. Right, Max?”

Max’s jaw clenches and the smile he gives is one of his fakest, reserved for the truly, most awfully annoying PR activities. “Right. Love it.”

Pierre continues glaring at Charles, suddenly not interested in the Dutch driver at all, puts his arm around him and drills him over the Ferrari rumors as they slowly walk away.

Max has to try really hard to remember where he was going. Hell, probably.

//

The post race media pen is its usual chaotic mess, with microphones shoved in faces and reporters almost fighting for space. Max finishes his last interview, giving the practiced nods and all the right answers.  He’s just about to leave when he sees him.

Perfection incarnated, as always. His jaw is set, his walk determined and measured. He's ready to hand out smiles, like he owns it to God for making him this handsome. The paddock bends over to get a moment of his attention.

It’s not deliberate - Charles isn’t walking toward him; he’s just there, and Max freezes at the sight of him.

Their eyes meet briefly, and Charles hesitates before changing course, heading straight for Max. It’s momentary, just a flicker, but something in Charles’s face shifts. Hesitates, but keeps walking.

Max is seriously considering bolting out. He hates how his pulse quickens, how the world feels suddenly too loud and too quiet at the same time.

But, he misses all the chances he has on a swift exit and the man of the hour is standing right in front of him. Second row away from the reporters. “Max,” Charles says quietly, his tone low enough to be buried under the surrounding noise. But Max hears it. Of course he hears it. Again, with the accent. Max is starting to hate it.

Max raises an eyebrow, and replied a little too sharply. He feels cornered. “Charles.”

A quick glance over to the reporters nearby let's Max know Charles is also hyper aware of how exposed they are. Somehow, he can't shake away the feeling this is intentional. “I need to...” His voice trails off, and he shifts his weight, the faintest hint of unease breaking through the polished exterior.

Max waits. But nothing comes. “You need to...?”

First response he gets is a loud sigh. Rude.

“About Belgium.” Charles shifts and pulls his cap further into his face, as if to hide. “I crossed a line. I shouldn’t have-”

Max stiffens, his stomach twisting. He doesn’t want to do this here - not with a dozen cameras pointed at them. Of course, Leclerc, the menace he is, chooses the one place where Max can't have the luxury of a proper reaction. It is infuriating. Hundreds of moments and Charles picks this one? It’s infuriating.

"It's nothing," he dismissed it and only when he overplays this conversation back in the safe space of his hotel room over and over again realizes just how badly it came out. What he meant to say was: It's nothing to worry about. Not it's nothing. Because it is anything but that.

The Sauber driver visibly gulps, his composure cracking. "I never wanted-" he starts, but it comes out too rushed, sour undertone lacing both words. Before he can continue he is pushed by his PR manager to the hoard of reporters. Max watches as Charles is swept away, his apology unfinished, his expression unreadable. But then - then - Charles turns back. Just for a moment. His eyes meet Max’s, and there’s something there, unspoken and lingering.

What. The. Fuck. If Charles was trying to make Max question his sanity, he was doing an excellent job. Between cryptic apologies and half-finished sentences, Max was starting to think he’d imagined the whole thing. Maybe Charles Leclerc is just another fever dream, a perfect proof that Max is riding a train to an asylum.

He knows better. He should let go of...whatever this it. It's exactly what all the stupid mental coaches blabbed about.

But the look in Charles’s eyes? That was real. And it’s going to drive Max insane. He should let go.

//

He does, in fact, not let go.

The evening is spent collecting extra steps into his daily count, despite how tired his legs feel after the race. Some clarity is gained at the end of the day - and it has nothing to do with anything Charles said or did. It is gained despite his lunatic actions and words. Max is proud of himself. He, unlike someone, is able to get his thoughts in a coherent line, before he bothers others by speaking. It's a new thing he's trying. Desperate times.

After a full analysis of his own mistakes - credit where credit is due - he shifts onto exploring what exactly bothers him most.

The fact that Charles ran. He was gone so quickly and didn't even bother to face what had happened.

It's different this time when he rewatches Charles's race. They could have as well raced on different days all together, both far apart on the track, no way of interacting in the way they know best. Outsmarting each other with late breaking and bordeline dive bombs. He's sitting on edge of the random hotel bed, in the same uncomfortable position he took in an hour ago.

Max presses play again, the race replay sparking to life on his laptop screen. His heart still beats too fast from his own disastrous race. An overtake attempt that turned into a near-miss, everyone blaming him for "forcing Bottas off the track" (total bullshit, of course) and mediocre points finish. His accidental radio show and poor performance, something Helmut will absolutely make him relive tomorrow.

But it’s not his mistakes he’s watching. It’s Charles.

Charles in his Sauber truck, threading the car through Monza like he owns the place, despite the car being no more than an underdog trying to keep up. Charles late-braking, like he’s piloting a Red Bull, not a machine held together by duct tape and prayer. Making moves that, objectively, have no business working but somehow do. To watch him finish just off the points makes him regret he didn't push Bottas further into an actual spin. He got the penalty anyway, so what.

Max rewinds the clip, watching the Sauber dart into a gap that doesn’t really exist, Charles perfectly timing the pass to avoid disaster. The commentators praise him, calling it brave, daring, genius. Max cracks his knuckles.

“Stupid,” he mutters under his breath. “That’s what it is. Stupid.”

Because it is stupid. It’s the kind of move Max would have made last year, the kind that gets you called reckless and wild and dangerous. The kind that gets you a lecture from your race engineer or worse, your dad.

Except Charles gets away with it. The golden boy he is. He doesn’t just get away with it—he gets praised for it. The commentators cheer, the fans love him for it, and Max can’t stop watching because... because he’s probably a bit stupid too.

Max fast-forwards. There was this one move that he can't stomach. He dives to the inside, the car twitching slightly but holding. Max watches, his heart pounding in time with the replay.

“Why there?” Max mutters, rewinding again. “Why not wait for the straight? DRS was right there.”

But he knows why. Because waiting is boring. Waiting is for people who don’t believe in their own instincts. And Charles? Charles believes. Even it end with him in the wall. Better there, than in a 17th place.

Max exhales sharply, rubbing a hand over his face. It’s not like he’s one to talk. His own race today was hardly a masterclass in patience. He’d thrown his car into gaps that barely existed, cursed out his engineer when things didn’t go his way, and barely kept his Red Bull from spinning into the gravel.

Maybe that’s what bothers him most. Seeing his own recklessness mirrored in Charles but wrapped in a smile that makes it look effortless. Max’s recklessness is raw, angry, a middle finger to anyone who doubts him. Charles’s recklessness is different. It’s calculated chaos. Beautiful in a way that Max hates himself for noticing.

Another rewind to avoid the boring laps. Charles overtakes two cars into Parabolica, threading the needle with infuriating precision. Max freezes the frame, staring at the screen.

“What are you trying to prove?” he whispers, though the question feels aimed at both of them. He certainly does not seem to be the type to run out of a fight.

His chest tightens as he remembers Belgium, Charles’s hand on the back of his neck, the kiss that came out of nowhere. The smell of damp air cut with Charles's cologne. It’s the same thing, isn’t it? The same recklessness, the same audacity to leap without looking. And then Charles ran, just like that. No explanation, no closure. Just gone. Max is sure he would never do that in racing. He is angry at him. Why does he use all of his bravery on track only. Charles kissed him. He kissed him back. And then, the ever so brave Charles ran away.

Max turns the thing off, the sudden silence in the room deafening. His heart races, the adrenaline from the replay mixing with something deeper, something he doesn’t want to name.

He tosses the laptop onto the bed, pacing the room like a caged animal. His thoughts are all over the place, colliding and crashing like cars at the first corner.

Max races like he has nothing to lose. Charles races like he has everything to prove. Maybe that’s why they’re drawn to each other, why the kiss feels less like a mistake and more like a fuse waiting to be lit.

Max stops pacing, staring at the blank laptop screen, his own reflection staring at him back in on the dark screen. He doesn’t know what he’s feeling. Frustration, longing, anger. Maybe all of it. All he knows is that Charles Leclerc is in his head, and he can’t get him out.

And maybe, Max thinks, he doesn’t want to.

//

It's the following morning, as all the teams depart for their next destination of this triple header, when he sees him again. Standing in the hotel lobby, waiting for a transfer and there is something about his smile making it seem like this man just won the lottery.

Max tries to go about his way. His excuse is that there is too many people auditioning to be nosy witnesses and he does not want to repeat the whole "Pierre Gasly Interrogation" again. But, as soon as Charles sees him, he rushes over to him, with a smile Max imagines is on his face when he completes one of his brilliant overtakes. It's hard not to smile back. His body is doing it on his own. Because there is so much lightness in Charles's face, childlike carelessness and brutal honesty. You can't fake a vibe like that, no matter how good of an actor you are.

Max nods to greet him, unsure what to say, all the words dying in his throat. He does not have to, Charles looks like he is going to explode if he does not talk soon.

As soon as he is next to him, closer than a stranger would be, his smile grows even wider, something Max found impossible. Is Charles so happy to see him? What happened to him overnight that changed his attitude so drastically? Max considers it to be a blessing to be on the receiving end of Charles's wide grin. He watches him take a deep breath in, like he is about to say something really big.

He leans in, faces almost touching and the hairs on the back of Max's neck stand up. He is pretty sure Charles must be able to hear his heartbeat. The cologne Charles uses must have been made with clear intent on getting Max drunk in broad daylight.

"I signed the Ferrari contract," he states quietly, so subtly Max has to pierce it together for few seconds.

Of course. That's the cause of the smile.

Charles leans back and searches eagerly for Max's reaction in his face. And when Charles Leclerc looks at you like that, there is no other option in life than to retaliate. They stare at each other for good few seconds. Max wants to reach over and hug him. Tell him he's proud of him and that he never doubted that. He wants him to hear that he is looking forward for Charles making his job harder. He wants to tell him that he is not at all surprised. That this might be the one good decision Ferrari has made in a while.

He tries to fit all of that in one muffled "Nice. Good job." It takes everything he has to keep himself in check. Charles seems to be satisfied with this. He nods and before he departs, squeezes Max's shoulder two times. And just like that, he floats away on his Cloud 9.

Max stays glued at the same spot. He does not bother watching Charles rushing back over to his team. The only wish he has is that one day, maybe, Charles looks at him like just did, only because he is happy to see him. Max had let himself hope for a minute there, before he found out what the source of Charles's joy is, and it's like any other kind of drug. Slowly invites you in and before you know it, you can't think of anything else.

Max recalls when Charles showed his first photos with Sauber into his face that one time. There is a bitter sweet feeling in his mouth. Today, he's probably pay more attention if he'd showed him his first photos with Ferrari.

//

The Ferrari deal is done. His future is set. Years and years of dedication and sacrifice paying off. It is so much to wrap his head around. The whole weekend has been focus on meetings with Ferrari officials, so much he almost forgot they were suppose to race there. He drove on complete autopilot. But finally - last night, it happened. He wants to dance it the streets (and he eventually does, to amusement of the rest of his team). And yet, for some reason, the memory of Max’s faint smile and his quiet “Nice. Good job,” lingers in the back of his mind, warm and confusing all at once.

He's been full on ignoring this part of his life ever since his grand exit at the airport. Put all of this in a tiny box in his brain and locked it, with the intention not to open any of it until Monza is over.

Alas - Monza was over. But he is so wrapped up in the Ferrari of it all, that he postpones it - whatever it is. When he saw Max in the lobby that morning, he just acted on his impulse. He was already containing so much. The curse of unprovoked split-second decisions is looming on him whenever Max is nearby. Charles figures Max is simply a victim of some voodoo hoodoo. Maybe he forgot to resend a mass email chain and now he is cursed. He should be glad Charles didn't kiss him again. On a day like today, he took no remorse. But, there were too many people anyway. Max is cursed, but not that much. In Charles's post-contract-hyper-dopamine brain, this all makes sense. Everything is brighter, the colors are all alligning and even the airport is an amazing place to be. Charles is loving life and everything will be great from now on.

//

The first thing Charles does when he gets home is drop his bag by the door and collapse face-first onto the couch. One of the perks that getting a dream contract apparently is that his mom leaves him to do that and does not bug him about taking his shoes off. He is so, so tired. All the turmoil, stressful meetings followed by unmasked and unfiltered joy are bound to take a tool, even on someone so young and fresh as Charles.

For the first time in weeks, he dreams.

//

It takes him a moment to realize he is standing barefoot on the track. Blood-orange sky locks the scenery in. He knows he's in Monaco, but it looks nothing like it. There are fields and deep woods lining the track. The stands are empty and there are only few people dressed in multicolored fireproofs working the track. The ground shifts and he notices his father, standing, leaning casually against the Red Bull pit wall.

"Nice suit," he says and it's only then when Charles realizes he is wearing a Ferrari racing suit. It's now impossible to ignore that it is two sizes too small.

"It does not fit," Charles whispers, but know his father can hear him.

“You’ll grow into it.”

Charles wants to reply, to argue, but the track shifts beneath him, the world tilting like a kaleidoscope. He’s suddenly in the cockpit, the roar of the engine filling his ears. The lights above the grid turn red, one by one. He knows he needs to start. But he doesn't. Instead, he stays put as about million race cars pass him by.

He knows he should have started, but before can do so, there is and impossibly bright light and without hearing or actually feeling it, he knows someone rear ended him, full F1 speed. Max is out of his Red Bull, Charles is out of his Ferrari and they both examine the damage. There is a green liquid leaking out of the car. Charles’s blood boils.

"Why would you crash into me?!" he shouts at Max.

“You’re running,” Max says, his tone soft and calm. “Why are you running?”

“I’m not running,” Charles snaps. Even in his dream, he feels tired.

Max tilts his head, studying him. “You kissed me.”

Charles’s breath catches. “I-”

He is woken up by the smell of home cooked dinner.

//

The little five hour nap only made him more tired and disoriented. He is immediately pulled into family dinner, his mama obviously unable to contain herself where there is good news. She is unapologetic about things she love and moments of excitement. Charles likes to think he inherited that from her.

He is slowly eating the food - his favorite, made just for him - even though he is not hungry, not even a bit. He does not usually remember his dreams. This one is clear as day.

There is barely a moment for him to breathe, given how many questions his giddy mom asks him, expecting him to answer while simultaneously clearing his plate. Laughter fills the room and it's all so domestic and comforting.

Until, of course, faith decides that Charles has had quite enough of that for one day.

“Oh, by the way, Max is coming over to my salon on Thursday,” she says casually, sipping on her red wine.

Charles chokes, forcing himself to dislodge a piece of carrot before it kills him. “Max?” His mouth is full. It's the first time he speaks like that and mama is shooting arrows at him for bad table manners.

“For his haircut,” she replies, as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “You know, he’s been coming here for months.”

He stares at her, his brain short-circuiting. “Since when?”

“Oh, since...maybe February? Possibly March? He said he needed someone reliable, and you know how picky I am about hair.”

Charles stares into nothing, his thoughts racing. Max had been coming to his mother for haircuts. For months. Without saying a word. That explains the sudden glow up and the mysterious disappearance of his spiky hair era, when the only thing Charles wanted to do was buy many, many hats for him to wear.

“And he’s such a polite young man,” she continues, oblivious to the storm brewing inside him. “He always asks about you, you know.”

Oh, this is just perfect. His mom and his overly complicated pseudo crush are chit chatting regularly, apparently, and none of them thought Charles should be made aware of it. Polite young man my ass.

Charles freezes. “He asks about me?” he repeats, after catching up with his new reality.

She nods, sipping her tea. “Last time, he wanted to know if you were always so competitive. I told him yes, of course.”

Plan A - ignore everything and pretend life is normal - is no longer an option. This is becoming a Plan C situation (whatever Plan B was anyway). He needs to address this properly with Max before the incidentally two most chattiest people in his life meet again.

The affects of this going unsupervised could be catastrophic.

//

You don't have these conversation over the phone, Charles thinks as he spends his entire morning figuring out whereabouts in Monte Carlo Max could be, so that he can "run into him accidentally." Or - stalking, as it is usually referred to by the police. It's fine. They know each other. It's completely okay to do so.

He's gonna run into him, properly apologize, they will laugh it off and then, Max is free to go to have his hair cut by Pascale Leclerc. Only, of course, after he swears on his secrecy. Charles has two days before the early morning appointment on Thursday. His mom made few comments about how Max is always the first customer she has, as he insists on coming in as early as possible. This was the final piece of information Charles needed in order to finally declare that Max is a crazy person. He knew it already, but lacked evidence.

In the next two days, Charles ends up going on five runs, visits the one ice-bath in Monaco seven times, buys three coffees and four croissants at the bakery Max mentioned once (all on separate occasions) and tries to bribe the gym receptionist, where apparently Max is a member, for information. All without any result what-so-ever.

Technically, he could text him and just ask to meet him. Yes, that is an option normal people see as a possibility and it's probably effective.

But, Charles has a plan. And when that happens, he's not going to resort to something as pathetic as texting him. He needs to play it nonchalantly, can't have him thinking that he cares about the kiss in any way.

It is Wednesday afternoon when he start to panic properly. Like, he's about to set his mom's salon on fire kind of panic. There is one thing he can do before resulting to destroying his family's life long business.

What are friends for if not for desperate times.

"Let me get this straight," Pierre says on the phone and it's like Charles can visibly see his face just by tone of the voice he is using. "You want me to organize a party... tonight? Like, two hours from now?"

They'd done wilder things in the past. Honestly, Charles finds Pierre's disbelief mildly insulting.

"Everybody knows Wednesday is the new Friday," he argues, knowing he could do better. If his tired legs weren't occupying his mind. He did sort of ran a half-marathon in the past 48 hours.

Pierre laughs so loudly that Charles has to pull the phone away from his ear. "Tonight? Do you know what Monaco is like on a Wednesday night?"

"Perfect for a party," Charles says, forcing a casualness that isn’t remotely convincing. "People here don’t need a notice."

"You’re insane," Pierre replies, still laughing. "What are we even celebrating? Or is this just you being bored?"

Charles has bitten off all of his nails, but tries one more time, while he brainstorms. "Friendship," Charles says firmly. "Good vibes. You know, c'est la vie."

"Good vibes," Pierre echoes, flat and skeptical. "That’s the best you’ve got? Not that little Ferrari deal everyone and their grandma already knows about?"

Charles's stomach flips. He is joking. "Nobody knows about that."

Pierre snorts. "Charles, come on. Monaco is basically one big group chat with yachts. 

Charles freezes, the words clicking into place. "A yacht," he mutters under his breath, his brain spinning wildly.

"No," Pierre says, suddenly cautious, already knowing where this is going.

"A yacht!" Charles exclaims, suddenly full of life. "It’s perfect! Not a club - a boat party! It’s more intimate, exclusive. Very Monaco. And..."

And Max loves boats, but he manages to stop himself from saying it out loud.

Pierre snorts. " Ok, allow just one tiny question. Do you have a yacht, Charles?"

"I’ll find one," Charles says with a confidence only sleep deprivation can provide. "This is Monaco. It’s basically the yachting capital of the world. I’ll call... someone."

"Right. Someone," Pierre deadpans. "Let me get this straight. You want me to throw a party for your Ferrari seat that nobody’s supposed to know about, but definitely everyone knows about, and now it’s going to be on a yacht you don’t even have yet?" This is not how Charles imagined this conversation.

"You're not being a supportive friend with these useless comments," he says, opting for emotional blackmail.

He can almost hear Pierre eye roll. "Fiiiine. I'll take care of inviting the people and pretending this was my idea. Who do we want there?"

This is the spirit! Now, he just needs to be as coy and subtle as possible. "Um...yeah, it should be like exclusive, I think. But, like not too exclusive, my team, your team if you want, some girls," he adds, knowing this will keep Pierre engaged, "Oh, definitely some drivers. But like, our age. You know? I'm not sure Vettel is the right vibe."

Perfect. Charles is so proud of himself for coming up with that.

"Ok, understand," Pierre responds. Finally, an answer Charles wanted to hear.

"Is it ok if I invite Max?"

Why must God hate Charles so much.

"Um...," he thinks how not to come off too eager or too indifferent. "Sure, if he's free. He's been acting like less of a dick than usually, so why not."

Charles is a genius. Or at least thinks that he is right now.

"Got it, just wanted to check before. He's been staring at you so much, when he thinks nobody is watching. I wasn't sure if you were still on speaking terms."

He has to applaud Pierre for his observation skills. But only silently.

"Nah, we're good. Invite him, whatever. Gotta go - I have a boat to find!" he says and hangs up quickly.

So. A party. On a yacht. With Max. What could possibly go wrong? He is trying not to over-think Pierre's comment about Max staring at him.

chapter 4

------- @chezmardybum

[mrboogerlip]

Nah you couldn't scare me away.

Your ocs are so silly (In a good way). I have the same piercings as rolando! That's pretty silly. When did he get his piercings? How many does he have? (I have three in each ear).

How would your ocs react if they met the people from TDDUP?

Wat do you think would happen is Jason found out about Jack's hobbies? How do you think Jack would react?

Also, at 11 pm last night I had a joyous idea for a story or drawing: Jason and Marcus getting a call because some dead bodies were found mutilated in a basement.

The close they get:

Jason: Hey my dad lives around here! I hope he's okay.

5 min later.

Jason: Damn they even live on the same street how wild.

That would be so weird. To go in and be like: Aight pops. I know you had nothing to do with this but we gotta check anyw- WHAT THE FUCK.

Or alternatively if Jason was told to always stay out of the basement and then on some holiday or other Jack left the basement unlocked and he walked down there.

Anyways that made me giggle at ungodly hours of the night.

I hope you have a great December and it doesn't get to cold for you (I personally love cold weather but I'm cold anyways. Stupid iron deficit).

See ya!

- 🐠

Aww thank you!!! XD They are very silly, aren’t they?

Rolando got his first piercings when he was a teenager!

Around when he was 18, he had met his best friend, or right hand man as they would say, Autumn! Autumn kiiind of influenced a lot of how Rolando acts today. And that included the piercings. XD He has 2 in his left ear, and 4 in his right ear!

Ooooh, now that’s an interesting question!! …Honestly, I can’t even imagine under what circumstances they would meet! I wish I could make up a whole entire scene, because that’d be more fun… but I’ll just give their impressions!

Estevan would really admire Marcus and Jack, both being older men who take their work quite seriously and have a good reputation in the community! Estevan really admires that kind of thing! Not to mention Marcus is in law enforcement, just like Estevan!! I think Estevan would see how meek and hesitant Chris seems and immediately take a guess that his personal life isn’t so great. Estevan is a major people pleaser and he just cannot help himself but feel the need to get in someone’s business and try to help them get better XDD (He won’t do so for himself though XD)

Rolando somehow thinks he can outmatch Marcus when the guy has like 85 more pounds than him LOL Really, Rolando just likes a good challenge. Which is why... Rolando gets pissed at people who are clearly holding back on him, so that’s why he’s angry at Chris for seemingly no reason! He sees it as that person thinking he’s weak XD Rolando would kind of be able to “sense” the stench of death all over Jack. It’s not something he always consciously acknowledges or cares to acknowledge. It’s something that he can pick up on in the back of his mind, so he probably wouldn’t mention his discovery to anyone.

I know I didn’t draw any of the other characters, because, honestly, I just had no idea what to say XD

If Jason found out about Jack’s hobbies… That’s a good question! Oh man, I have no idea. XD Jack says he would never kill Alice and Jason… But if it came down to that… would it still be true? I’d say maybe… I think Jack would be horrified. Maybe it wouldn’t set in immediately… But I think Jack would just knock Jason out and immediately escape, cutting off all contact with everyone. Of course Jack doesn’t want anyone to find out about it… But I imagine it’d kill him if his family ever got involved in what he does…

Oh my god!! XDD That would be hilarious!!

If the mood ever strikes, I might just… do it… XD (If you aren’t planning to make it yourself anyway!)

Thanks, you too! :D Luckily, I don’t live somewhere that’s too cold. Otherwise, I’d die XD I swear I remember liking cold weather when I was young though… I don’t know what happened

Make sure ya stay warm fishy anon~ (and everyone else reading this! :D)

[myfanfic-urfantrash]

I have the sudden epiphany for moar Friendship thoughts and like, the Boys™ (yes, March 7th is now part of the Boys™) having that spontaneous friend who just likes to burst in at least once a day while yelling (because they're very very excited) to show their bestie something or because they got their bestie something that reminded Friendo of them and they just had to get it for 'em.

A normal day for the Boys™ must always have at least one moment of Friendo just making one (1) loud entry (they got used to Friendo's weirdness and loudness) or else they just sense something is off about their day.

(Bonus food that the thing Friendo brought was friendship bracelets that they made for them. Because truly, I cannot imagine a world where friendship exists without friendship bracelets.)

You shall be named The Boys™ Anon :D

Since this wasn't hinted at as A/B/O I'm writing this without that in mind. I also left out Sampo cause I couldn't figure out what to write for him.

-------

Blade

Has pointed his sword at his friends loud entrances before because he was on edge so anything set him off. His friend never gets harmed though once he realizes who it is and they've gotten good at dodging any strike that comes their way so it's all good. He gets used to their nonsense so at this point he just does it to mess with them.

Kafka and Silver Wolf tease him regularly about how his friend is loud and friendly while he's quiet and brooding. He ignores them but he does worry sometimes because he knows he's not good company. But with their next loud entrance and having them hang off of him with some new trinket they thought reminded them of him his worries are put to rest, they aren't the type to lie to him anyways. If at any point his friend doesn't pop into his life like they usually do he's already on his way to find them no hesitation.

When they present him with a friendship bracelet he's actually touched and wants to make one himself for them but his hand gives him trouble halfway through the process. Once his friend figures out his desires they convert whatever he was able to make into a neat charm to carry with them where ever they go.

Jing Yuan

His friend is always bursting through the doors of his workplace just to tell him the latest news of their day. Before they used to be dragged or kicked out when he was just a cloud knight but now they can come and go as they please much to the annoyance of Fu Xuan. Yanqing thinks they're rather loud but kind so he doesn't fuss too much as they know when and where it's appropriate to be their bubbly self.

Jing Yuan honestly welcomes their loudness in his life it's comforting to hear them alive and well...loud. They at least know not to disturb him while he naps so he gets plenty of good sleep if they're around especially if they guard the door to let him nap. If his friend doesn't show up he won't immediately freak out but he will feel like something is missing so he texts them to check if they're alright before going to search for them himself.

If his friend gave him a friendship bracelet he'll do his best to make one in return. What better way to celebrate ones bond than with match accessories right?

Welt

He doesn't mind that his friend is weird or loud, though he does ask them to tone down the loudness before he develops a headache. He's also grateful he can ramble about animation and robots with them, he feels so young whenever he's with them. Is always intrigued by what new item they'll bring that reminded them of him and loses it when it's some rare mecha figurine for him to put together.

Does get worried if his friend doesn't come bug him like usual and will text or call them to ask if they're alright. If they don't respond he'll ask the other Astral Express crew members if they know where they are since it's likely they're a Nameless too.

When he's given a friendship bracelet he doesn't know what to do but he's grateful for it he's just never gotten one before. If his friend is willing he'll ask them to teach him how to make one for them too.

Luocha

Teases his friend by asking if they've missed him so much or if they're stalking him if he meets them on a foreign planet. He doesn't mind his friends loudness or weirdness, he's seen plenty of odd things on his travels across the universe so he's not exactly surprised. Does get a bit startled if his friend just bursts in whatever space he's in to share something they've seen with him, he's partially convinced they are stalking him how else would they have found him?

Appreciates whatever items they bring for him that remind them of him. It's sweet to be thought of so much and he finds himself doing the same thing while he's out and about. If for any reason he doesn't see his friend at least once per day he might brush it off as them being busy or because he simply didn't tell them where he was going but eventually he settles to text them to ask if they're alright. If he doesn't receive an answer he's calling and if he doesn't receive one he's heading their way if possible.

If he's given a friendship bracelet he gifts them something in return. It could be a friendship bracelet or a brooche he found on his travels, just something to remind them that he's there for them.

Dr. Ratio

Definitely throws chalk at his friend if they're being too loud while he's doing something important. They've burst into his class room a couple of times and though they've learned not to just burst in it doesn't stop them from visiting him to show him some cool new object they've found. He does like the stimulation of observing new objects but he does wish his friend would stop interrupting his lessons, the students appreciate however as it gives them time to write notes.

If his friend doesn't visit him he's curious but ultimately grateful for the peaceful moment. He does check up on them however if they don't show up to interrupt him as usual, he's got their exact moments they'll interrupt him down to the second. Will text and call his friend but if he gets no response he's tracking them down to get an explanation and it better be good for wasting his time.

Accepts the friendship bracelet with little issue and passes them something small he's crochet in exchange. The bracelet is a little clumsy but at least it matches his aesthetic and favorite colors.

Dan Heng

He's so tired he already has to deal with March and the Traiblazers nonsense on the daily how did he attract someone who's both weird and loud? He loves his friend of course he just misses having peace a quiet. But if his friend were to never show up one day he'd freak out texting, calling until they show themselves.

He's either touched or just plain confused by whatever items they bring him that remind them of him. Did this piece of sea glass really remind them of him? How nice. At least it's not some weird looking dragon plush, which he kept by the way.

He's touched to receive a friendship bracelets. He's read all about them and sort of unconsciously wanted one so he's really happy to receive one from his friend. Does some studies on how to make them on his own in order to make one for them.

Caelus

Doesn't mind his loud and weird friend bursting through the doors to come see him at all, in fact he might burst through doors to come see them as well. He loves seeing what little items they find to show him it's tons of fun for him and helps build his massive collection of items he has.

If his friend doesn't visit him like they normally do he'll be a little worried but wouldn't jump to conclusions too quickly but if they don't respond to his texts he's going to head there way ASAP. He just wants to make sure they're ok.

For him? Truly? He wants to cry and he might do so. He's never really had a friend of his own before until he met the other Nameless but to have one that think he's they're worthy of a friendship bracelet? He asks them to teach him how to make one for them right away.

March 7th

The loud friend so she has a rival in them. Takes at least one photo a day with her friend and the weird items they find to show her. Doesn't get how half the stuff reminds them of her but she keeps whatever they give her on a special shelf in her room. Her favorites are of course the stuff animals.

If she doesn't see her friend for a bit she's already texting them. Doesn't get too worried but with how crazy her life can get her mind might wander a bit before she's calling them to make sure they're alright. Asks everyone she knows if they've seen her friend before searching for them herself.

Made her friend a friendship phone strap but adores the friendship bracelet. The two spend an afternoon making matching phone straps and bracelets for each other.

Edited: 03/30/2024