#anyways back to the 'Real. Great' requests

[nia1sworld]

Heya Nia =^_^=

Since your requests are open, can ya draw Sunny from class of 3000? I really wanna see him in your artstyle =^.^= 🧡☀️🎷

Well..since this is a good request from child hood..but..

I drew it! But guess what? I didn't do sunny bridges, I DID THE STUDENTS AS WELL!!! IT TOOK ME FOREVER TO DO THIS!

Lil' D: OOWEE! They got this thang bumpin' like fried bologna. I'm Lil' D, and on these drums,  I  throw DOWN!

Eddie: That's better than throwin' UP! I'm Eddie, and with my horn, I'll BLOW you away!

Kim: I'm Kim.

Kam: And I'm Kam.

Kim: I'm on the turntables.

Kam: And I make the keyboard jam!

Philly Phil: I'm Philly Phil, and I play bass. So I got that bottom fo' yo' bottom.

Tamika: You know who I am. I'm TAMIKA! And with this here guitar, I'm the superstar.

Madison: Hey, Hey! I'm Madison and I'm a Pisces!

Sunny: No, Madison. You're supposed to let'em know what instrument you play.

Madison: ...Oh, heeheeheehee. Um, I play violin, and I think we're comin' to the end! BYE!

Thank god this request was long and fun to do, I think this is a perfect gift request!

Thank you for making me do this great request!!

[saintaviator]

Some Benrey and Tommy, or Joshua with anyone interactions perhaps? :0

yoooooo we’ve got the high ground hahaaaa

[lost-inanotherlife]

No but THANK YOU! You've managed to articulate so WELL what I've been trying to say, I'm just so happy because I couldn't find the words and I was blaming myself because my message wasn't coming across but YOU have put it into words so well I need to comment on them a little!

"struggle to maintain the emotional balance with the timelines"

YES. This is KEY! What I've been trying to say is exactly this. There's no emotional balance with the timelines. You can feel the episodic nature of the show (i.e. written week by week more or less) therefore you can also feel that the events that happened in S4 were written like one year or more before the writing of the events of S5. I'm not talking about the plot, I'm talking about emotions. it's so weird that the writers didn't factor them in because I think of them as very competent writers, I don't care what the haters have to say. So, to me, the lack of emotional balance shows a precise decision to amp up a (dead) love triangle for.... views? After all, LOST is writing for profit and love triangles, sadly, always sell. And that's frustrating to me.

"It's incredibly disrespectful to the characters as individuals (and frankly bad writing) that they continue to push this relationship struggle when these are grown adults and three years have passed".

As I said, I don't necessarily think it's bad writing but, in a way, it is because it's commercial writing. However, LOST showrunners' struggle against ABC is kinda famous so I don't feel like it's right to exclusively blame them for it. Network requests are a big factor and in this case I'm more inclined to hold ABC accountable. Having said that, LOST is a white male show writtern by (mostly) white male writers so I gotta take this into account as well bc, honestly? Even in LOST the old love for the male hero's journey is... showing a little bit. At the expense of female and poc characters, of course

"It was clear to me that Kate was always going to choose Jack and a lot of her later interactions with Sawyer were directly because of Jack anyway.)"

I'm literally alwasy saying this. Jack is the love triangle apex and the center of the whole story. One kinda has to get Jack in order to really get LOST.

"There was so much potential to develop Kate's character that they bypassed for the tired love triangle as well."

This is why LOST drives me insane. Female characters in a lot of TV series are, frankly, badly written. Fandom adopting that character and making it complex (aka less written through misogynistic lens) is a great resistance technique that should definitely happen more often BUT that doesn't change the fact that, to me, that character wasn't well written to begin with. But in LOST? Like, let's take Kate as an example: she was absolutely well written from day 1! Like, they had all the material because they had created it!!!! Why, WHYYYYYYYY, would a writer waste ALL THAT for a stupid love triangle? It has to be because cis-het love supposedly sell or it wouldn't make sense. You have a character like KATE AUSTEN and you pigeonhole her as love interest. CRAZY CHOICE but okay, misogyny exists. Not only that, because Jack and Kate are so deranged together I could almost let it pass (although I have my reservations about that as well) but you further pigeonhole her to fit into a stupid love triangle with another man? I DON'T BELIEVE YOU, GET OUT. These are the things LOST fans should be mad about, not the fucking ending.

"Sawyer didn't factor into Kate's decision to return to the island at all. She was there to look for Claire."

Music to my ears. Let's leave this here for the people in the back.

I also want to add @eponine119 interesting addition:

the real reason Jack got so unboxed in s4 over Sawyer was because the writers were trying to trick the audience into thinking he was part of the Oceanic Six but then it turns out to be Aaron. It's a gag that only works one time, like the Jin/Sun episode that is similar. I get that Lost was never intended to be more than a one-trick pony so they sacrificed story/character to serve the ever-present trademark Lost "twist ending" but it's disappointing. Beyond that, yeah. Makes no sense for any of them to be thinking about or jealous of a kinda relationship that lasted two and a half minutes three years ago when they have grown and moved on and changed. It was a significant relationship in Sawyer's development as a person, and he was always way more into Kate than she was into him, so maybe that gets a tiny bit more weight for him.

I didn't know about that. I have to say that THAT is a trick that surely didn't work out because I wasn't even thinking about that possibility when I first watched the show. Like, it was clear as day that Sawyer was not back to "normal", "non-island" life. And as I've said above, these are the kind of "tricks" that fan should be mad about, not the mystery-related ones. Like, to me, these things are pretty unforgivable because plot can be complex and not anchored to reality but human behaviour? You gotta factor it in, at least a minimum of it.

Finally, @uncertaininnit said it best:

"I strongly agree about it being unbalanced. The first time I watched the show, I remember genuinely not investing much emotional energy into the ‘love triangle’ because I simply didn’t believe it [...]how was I supposed to take either other ship seriously after that?"

How were we supposed to?? Jack and Kate are OTP and, in order to have something "juicy", if you want a love triangle you must add a "juicy" third element. I think Sawyer was, more or less, that, until S2- maybe even 3, I'm feeling generous. But after that, like I said in my initial post, if you want to raise the stakes you need to give me something. Kate is back on the island, she literally talks maybe two times with Sawyer and now he's back head over heels for her? Naaah, sorry, I don't believe you.

Ummm... I need to ask you losties a question.

As you know I'm a big Jack Shepard apologist (he's the only fictional white man that I'll protect at all cost just because we're trauma-bonded) and, although I honest-to-god think that he has a lot of chemistry with Sawyer, I've always loved his relationship with Kate because it's lightning quick but messy, cute but full of unsaid things.

Aside from fanon readings (unfortunately the show has never taken queer relationship to heart), the Jack-Kate-Sawyer love triangle was, more or less, interesting until s2 max s3. After that? It was just a tired trope that they continued to use because the show kept running but they had already reached its resolution and didn't really bother to find more interesting ways to develop the relationship between these three.

Today, however, while I was re-watching "The Little Prince" (S5) I realized one thing: perhaps the reason why it feels like it's a tired trope is because, narratively speaking, it's pretty unbalanced?

I mean, in S4 we see Jack and Kate relationship both on the island and back home. Like, we literally see them as they develop their relationship along two different timelines. In other words, we're given more material and, as I've already said many times, it's clear as day that by S4 the love triangle thing has been resolved.

However, because in S5 time works differently, we keep continuing seeing Jack and Kate's relationship but we also see the last remainder of Sawyer's attachment to Kate. But, by now, 20+ episodes have passed, different timelines have been explored so... the "bond" between these two characters feels... diluted?

As in, it makes sense for Sawyer to still think about Kate because only a few weeks have passed to him. But to us? For us three years have passed + what happened on the island with Jack and Kate in s4 so it kinda makes also sense to us that the love triangle is done.

It's like what I said about Kate and Jack's fight in s4: it makes close to zero sense for them to fight over Sawyer, not because they've just forgotten about him but because we see actual events happening to them in-between those years. And these events are all pretty though so the Sawyer-of-it-all almost pales in comparison!

So what I'm trying to say, I guess, is that while the time-travels storylines are cool as fuck, when it comes to feelings and love... they leave a bittersweet taste after viewing the episodes because the relationships suddenly don't feel earned anymore.

Like, we literally see Sawyer develop a bond with Juliet, open up to her, show his vulnerabilities etc. On the other hand, we also see Jack and Kate being domestic etc. So all the sudden "pathos" between Sawyer and Kate is just... not there?

Up until s3 they were GREAT together but after that? Just too many things happened and their relationships wasn't as "fated" as Kate's with Jack. It would've made more sense if they'd either showed a rekindling that actually made sense or they'd just developeded their dynamics differently.

Anyhoo, I've written too much, I really wanna knw what YOU folks think!

[eucalyptugon]

ive had a shit week ok and also like i need to pay eastlink but the site is down. i need an installment system on my fine but they wont just give u one they have to get you to upload all your income info first and i cant deal with that. i go ok ill buy that wifi extender ive been meaning to buy and the jaycar website is down. i go to play ffxiv and theres an update, of course i forgot i havent played in 3 months of course there is an update. and itll take over an hour to download.

i still havent got a full nights sleep in my new house. i slept til 12:30 today to try and catch up on sleep (i usually wake up at like 730 on the weekend)

anyway these are just the small things i wanted to vent about lol bigger things happened and im just o|-<

[gaykarstaagforever]

YouTube has this thing now called YouTube Playables (great name as usual, guys; it's not a children's snack pack), that are basically in-app "Flash games"-style things that are just enough game to keep you watching ads.

The ones of these that aren't direct ripoffs of owned IP (very specifically Zuma) are barebones exercises in that bog-standard FTP addictive mobile gaming loop we all know and hate but also LOVE, minus the in-app purchases (for the time being). Like, shallow systems that are fun for exactly 30 minutes, then get stupidly hard so you'll pay to win, though you can't do that yet, so...kind of pointless.

...I still spent FOUR HOURS playing these, because they tapped into my primitive lizard brain's desire to try and master an utterly meaningless task and then feel undooly smug about it.

I didn't get any ads, because I'm a stooge that pays real money to Google every month for this, because once you go adless, you CANNOT go back. Which kind of negates the whole point of these, as addictive time-wasters that keep you glued to the platform and its commercials? But I already pay for YouTube and STILL got caught in these, so I suppose everything is going according to YouTube's plan either way, and I need meaningful human relationships.

But THAT isn't going to happen any time soon! So let me waste another evening on these by reviewing some crap garbage games for idiots that no one cares about, on Tumblr dot com!

1. Totemia: Cursed Marbles

It's Zuma. That's it. With a couple minor tweaks that make it harder and more annoying.

Just license Zuma, YouTube. I think you can afford the, what, $25 that would cost atm?

2. Sword Play

An on-rails sword slashing game (you don't control the movement, just the slashing), and you kill plastic doll guys before they kill you.

At some point they get projectiles that move really fast, that you can only destroy via specific directional QTEs that don't register properly half the time, because this is all relative finger smearing across the screen.

It was fun before that. The guys fall apart specific to how you slash them. That's something.

3. Dessert DIY

This one sucks. You're just picking from very limited options, then doing specific motions to trigger animations that create desserts that don't even look much like the promo art. People request different things, but early game all they ask for is "whatever you want to make" and "do one out of poop with bugs on it to make someone I hate throw up."

And then there's an animation of someone accepting what is obviously poop with bugs on it from their sworn enemy, they eat it anyway, then vomit.

The only fun part about this is the shameless inclusion of NPCs that look like celebrities, specifically Billie Eilish, Kanye West, and Donald Trump.

If you want to make a poop ice cream cone with bugs on it and feed it to Trump until he vomits all over his desk, this is the game for you. Otherwise, this is meh even for one of these meh games.

4. Bowmasters

Dueling Angry Birds, but you have no control of the camera and it focuses on you so you have to trial-and-error the degree of angle and throwing force to figure out how to hit and kill your opponent before they hit and kill you.

There are many colorful pop culture-inspired combatants to unlock, with a huge variety of projectiles of different weights, sizes, and behaviors. This is the most "very nearly a real, good game" one of these.

...Except that the level progression forces you to do Bonus Rounds, and one of those is "knock fruit off the head of an opponent without hitting them, and you have to do this like 5 times in a row, and we move you further away from them another 30 yards every round, and you have to use a wildly different unique projectile every round, and you get 3 chances, and that includes if you miss entirely."

It is basically impossible to do this, because your ever-changing location makes calculating arcs and force, with the ever-changing projectiles, impossible, in this limited amount of attempts. It turns into grinding it out until RNG randomly makes you win.

Which is a shame, because otherwise, this is fun. But you WILL get stuck on a stupid fruit round and stop playing this.

5. Mob Control

You have a cannon that launches blue guys. The NPC opponent does red. You both are trying to bumrush the other's base, taking advantage of buttons and switches and bonus gates that speed you up or slow you down and multiply your number of guys. Guys annihilate each-other when they run into each-other, so you need to overwhelm Red before they overwhelm you.

It's fun until it gets so fast that it becomes a chore to manage where precisely to launch guys specifically to annihilate other guys.

6. Merge Master

This goddamn game. This was 3.5 hours of my 4 hour playtime.

You have a grid board, with you at the bottom and an opponent at the top. You both have an army of warriors and dinosaurs, and a team HP bar. You click go, the warriors fire projectiles and the dinosaurs melee the nearest enemy, and last man standing wins.

Before each round, you can arrange the placement of your army, and use money you won from the last rounds to buy more warriors and dinosaurs. But the kicker is, you can combine like warriors and dinosaurs to make more powerful units, which you keep at the end of every round. They don't gain XP or anything, but as you make more money, you can buy more 1st-level units (that's all you can buy), and gradually combine them and then combine the combinations, and on and on and on, making incredibly powerful new units. And you need a mix of low-level and high-level units to have enough melee dinosaurs and projectile-throwers to overwhelm high-level enemy units, or draw fire away from your own, against the ever-changing enemy army each round.

It's a process of slowly adding more units and combining them to make stronger and stronger units, and as many of them as you can get, accounting for the limited board space. Also the price of units rises exponentially each round, so you may have 1 trillion gold, but at this point a new 1st-level dinosaur costs 245 billion.

I couldn't stop with this. It just got me. I wanted to see new exciting high-level warriors and dinosaurs, and see how fast I could take the other army down. There's more than zero strategy at work here, and battles can vary substantially from round to round, depending on what mix of units the enemy brings to the board.

It's still a rudimentary Flash-esque game, and very much akin to those shitty mobile boss rush games that raid our shadow legends. But it's not PTW yet, and the graphics are a charming and distorted replica of early 2000s 3D games, like Age of Mythology or GTA 3. It felt like something, for awhile.

It isn't, and I wasted valuable battery charge on this stupid shit. But I was having fun. And sometimes, that's enough.

...And posting about it here. It's something to talk about that isn't the world eating itself.

And we all need that sometimes.

[witherby]

imagine how cute would be if Bruce brings the little wayne to his work on wayne tower 🥺 the moment would be ruined if some paparazzi taking photos with flash and scaring the baby

Sooo the baby didn't end up getting scared, but this idea did make me spit out 2000 words worth of content. I hope that's a fair compromise :3

THE LITTLEST WAYNE: TAKE YOUR KID TO WORK DAY

Featuring: Bruce talking to you like a colleague, a newspaper article, and an overprotective Damian.

"Morning, Clarice. Donuts and coffee are getting delivered in five minutes if you wanna pop downstairs and help yourself. Afterwards, do me a favor and rebook the consultation with Lexcorp for sometime next month? The further out the better."

Bruce's secretary nodded, fingers flying across the keys to accommodate his request. She tucked a lock of strawberry blonde hair behind her ear and shot him a polite smile.

"Of course, mister Wayne — oh, goodness gracious."

Bruce's placid expression quickly became embarrassed. He tried to walk past her but she was already on her feet and rounding the desk, heels clicking over the linoleum floor to stand in front of him and the bundle on his arm.

"Who is this!" She cried, immediately fawning over you. You stared blankly at her as you suckled on your binky, wrapped up in a tiny Nightwing onesie (Dick got to the clothes first this morning) and hugging your father's arm. "Oh, my, you're the most adorable baby I've ever seen! I'm Clarice! I'm your father's personal secretary, and apparently the last person to find out anything, including when he adopted yet another child!"

"This wasn't a...planned acquisition," Bruce muttered, the tips of his ears pink. He let the blonde gently squish your fat cheeks and you preened under the attention, lifting one fuzzy-wrapped hand to brush against her wrist.

"A planned acquisition. Like you're another company he bought on a whim and not a precious angel," Clarice giggled. "What a doll... If you ever need a babysitter, Mister Wayne, please don't hesitate to call me!"

"I'll keep that in mind," he said, exasperated but smiling good-naturedly. "Have a great day, Clarice."

"You, too! Bye-bye, angel!" She waved, and squealed when you waved back.

Bruce disappeared into his office with you, bouncing you gently on one arm while the other shrugged off the duffel bag he carried with him. Zipping it open, he quickly tugged out a pop-up bassinet to place you in, then the pieces to an enclosed play pen he built and filled with some blankets, a couple toys, and an extra Red Robin binky (Tim got to the toys first this morning).

"Okay," he sighed, scooping you up and relocating you to the pen. "I've actually got to run my own company for a bit, and the others are busy, so you get to hang out with me today."

Bruce rested his arm on his desk, then his chin in his hand, and stared down at you. You were staring intently back at him, the binky bopping up and down as you suckled on it.

"You're a little young to learn the ropes, but I'll explain what I'm doing anyway. Every baby book I've looked at tells me you get something out of it even if you don't understand what I'm saying, so today it's time to do payroll. I'd make you sign an NDA, because you're about to see a lot of personal files, but you don't know how to hold a pencil, read, write, or speak yet, so I think we're fine."

Bruce had two monitors on his desk. He duplicated his screen and spun the other one around so you could watch what he was doing in real time.

"I don't like to delegate this task to other people because the last six times I did, they were eventually found embezzling money. Unfortunately, that tends to happen when you live in Gotham. Right now I've opened the pay software — it's this icon here, where the mouse is circling — and I'm going to ask it to open the time sheets for the last two weeks..."

---

A NEW FAMILY MEMBER? BRUCE WAYNE SPOTTED IN WAYNE TOWER WITH INFANT, SPECULATION GROWING

CEO of Wayne Enterprises Bruce Wayne seen with a baby after exiting his office this afternoon!

[An image of you in your Nightwing onesie, tucked securely in a smiling Bruce's arms as he walks out of an elevator, is printed on the front page of the Gotham Gazette.]

Sources say Wayne filed another adoption form with the courts a week ago and is being met with mixed reviews. Large portions of the public are joking that Wayne has an "adoption problem" while others speculate he is too inexperienced to foster an infant.

"Wasn't his youngest kid, like, 9 when he adopted him?" Asks one Carmine Falconi, recently released from Blackgate on good behavior. "None o' my business, of course, but I don't think he knows how to raise a tiny tot like that. My guys ain't touchin' a hair on that one's head, though. Kidnapping the odd teen or two, sure, go nuts, but even us crooks got codes, and that one's off-limits in my book."

Wayne declined to comment when the Gotham Gazette reached out and remaining family have further refused interviews about the subject.

(Alfred got to the phone first.)

---

The newspaper clipping was already framed and proudly sitting on the dining room table when Bruce woke up the next morning and shuffled downstairs for breakfast with you in his arms. He spared it a tired glance, put you in your high chair, and relented to Damian's insistent shoving so the boy could sit next to and feed you (he got to the pantry first).

"The next time you plan on actually doing your day job," the boy hissed, "bring one of us with you. There was an abysmal amount of security protocols you ignored when leaving work to allow paparazzi the chance to grab photos. I won't let your frivolous behavior cause them harm."

"Are you volunteering?" Bruce asked, gratefully accepting the mug of coffee Alfred handed over. He quietly greeted Dick and Jason as they filed into the room and had a quick rock-paper-scissors match to see who got to sit on your other side. Jason won. "Any networking events I have to attend, you almost always find a way to weasel out of."

"If it will keep our new charge safe," Damian huffed, "I can handle a few stupid luncheons."

"That's not a pass to skip school. If it's between a social or a class, you're going to class."

Damian looked simultaneously pissed and relieved. His fist clenched tightly around the small, silicone spoon, before he forced himself to relax and continue feeding you. You opened your mouth obediently for another offering of mushed-up bananas, apples, and cinnamon baby food from a high quality brand, giving a happy hum.

"Then the duty falls to one of you fools," he snapped at Jason and Dick, "which is akin to trusting a mosquito not to drink from you at the first possible opportunity. You'll pick up the slack when I'm otherwise indisposed."

"No can do, baby bat," Dick said, pouring himself a bowl of cereal and scrolling through his phone. He quickly snapped a picture of you with your mouth open to accept another spoonful of food. "I have a day job, too. I don't even live here. I'm just on an extended vacation until the end of next week, then it's back to Blüdhaven."

Damian focused his glare on Jason next, who smirked back and shook his head.

"Legally dead. So, 'less you want Brucie Wayne and an innocent baby seen all around town with Red Hood, the crime lord, it's a no from me."

Damian weighed the pros and cons. Bruce shot him a look and shook his head, dismissing the idea entirely.

The boy grit his teeth. He scraped the last of the baby food from its jar and fed it to you, then delicately wiped the remnants from your mouth. You gummed at his finger and made grabby hands, indicating your desire to get out of the high chair. Jason scooped you up first with a swift call of "dibs!", carrying you away to get bathed and dressed for the day.

"Then...then you have to go into work with Timothy!" Damian demanded, facing Bruce again, who had finished his coffee by now and was eating a slice of buttered toast. The man raised a brow, looking only marginally more awake than he was at the start of the day.

"Tim hates being at the office with me," Bruce explained as Alfred came around to set a plate of pancakes, eggs, and freshly-squeezed orange juice in front of Damian. "Says the Brucie act is annoying to be around and it drives productivity down at least 8% every time. It's a lie, I've checked the numbers, but if he doesn't want to be at the Tower at the same time as me then I'm not going to push a non-issue."

"You?" said Damian, incredulous. "You aren't going to push a non-issue? You push everything. It may as well be your middle name."

He cut into his food with more force than necessary, cutlery scraping unpleasantly against the plate until he lifted his hands again. He shrugged off the hand Bruce tried to place on his shoulder, chewing angrily on a mouthful of pancake.

"I'm open to ideas, son," the man said, "but here are the facts: You have to go to school Monday through Friday. I won't let you homeschool because you need to socialize with people in your age group. Jason isn't interested in declaring himself alive right now. Dick doesn't live at the Manor full time and has separate responsibilities. Tim is juggling college, Wayne Enterprises, and patrols. Alfred is too ol— is aging gracefully, and might prefer to have more time to himself instead of watching the baby all alone for hours on end."

Alfred took Bruce's empty plate away with a very sharp look, then excused himself back to the kitchen.

Bruce turned in his chair to fully face Damian, who glared at his breakfast like it personally caused this mess, and not one hyper-empathetic man and his bleeding heart for orphans.

"Now, can you tell me how best to solve this problem without the occasional "take your kid to work day," or enrolling the baby in a daycare program?"

Yes, he could. But unfortunately for Damian, he had inherited a bleeding heart of his own, which constricted at the thought of giving his little sibling back up for adoption. Instead, he swallowed his next mouthful of food and sighed.

"More research is needed," he mumbled, which was the closest he could ever get to admitting he didn't know something. "However, my complaints still stand. Let the paparazzi get a bad photo if it means keeping the babe safe. Their well-being is your top priority, so act like it."

"Heard," Bruce said, sounding far too fond for Damian's liking. "Finish your breakfast and then get ready for school."

The boy grumbled but complied, and soon stood next to the door waiting for Alfred to pull a car up to the driveway. He watched Bruce carry you in his arms after he slung the duffel bag with your essentials over his shoulder, tugging the small hood of your red oneside up (Jason dressed you first today) over your head to ensure you didn't get cold.

"Have a good day, Damian," Bruce told him.

"Sure, whatever." Damian took you from his father and adjusted your hood himself. You grabbed his finger in your small fist with all the strength you could muster and tried to put it in your mouth. He gently pried it free, and Bruce popped a Batman binky in there instead. "You will be safe today. When I'm finished conforming to what American society deems a proper education, I will retrieve you myself."

Your binky bopped up and down as you suckled on it, staring silently at Damian. It was practically a yes to him, so he took it.

Glancing briefly at his father, he hesitated a moment, then kissed your forehead and quickly passed you back to Bruce before heading outside to let Alfred drive him to school.

Bruce watched him go with an unreadable expression. He quickly turned and faced Dick once Damian was out of earshot.

"Did you —"

"I'm texting you the picture right now," Dick said, thumbs flying across the keyboard. "What should the caption be for my Twitter post? #BestBrotherEver or #SecretSofty?"

"Either way, he's going to kick your ass."

[channiesbakery]

fan account —

prompt / request — minghao finds your old fan account, and finds out that it wasn’t for him

pairing — fan!reader + boyfriend!minghao

word count — 923

genre — fluff

when you and minghao first started dating, you’d mentioned that you had a fan account before meeting him. you’d asked him if he wanted to see it but he declined and it never really came up again.

until today.

you’re just on your couch, peacefully reading your book when your usually calm boyfriend barges into the apartment.

“babe, we need to talk,” minghao states and you sit up, thinking it was a serious conversation.

“is everything okay?” you ask, seeing the serious look on his face. “no! nothing is okay! how could you!” minghao exclaims and now you’re really worried, trying to figure out what you’d done.

“what exactly did i do…” you trail off, not able to think of anything you’d done wrong recently. unless he was mad that you didn’t put the laundry away immediately or make the bed as neatly this morning. you knew your boyfriend liked everything to be neat and tidy but surely he couldn’t be this mad about that.

“i was just peacefully scrolling on my instagram explore page today when a certain fan account popped up,” minghao starts to explain, pacing the room a little.

“they posted a nice photo spread of my photo cards with a pretty tea set so i decided to stalk their page–”

“you stalk your fan’s accounts?” you raise an eyebrow, cutting him off. “i like to see my fan’s creativity. that’s not the point! anyways, i realize that this entire account is pretty much 90% dedicated to hoshi,” minghao says.

“and what’s worse is that i continued scrolling through it to find a photo of you! my girlfriend!” he exclaims.

“wait, this is why you’re upset? because you found my old fan account? babe, i told you about this when we started dating and i even asked if you wanted to see it,” you remind him.

“I’m not upset about the account. I’m upset that it’s dedicated to kwon soonyoung!” your boyfriend clarifies and you can’t help but be amused.

“seriously? it’s not that big a deal, babe. i has that account before we started dating– hell, before we even met,” you shrug, picking your book back up.

“okay but why hoshi?” he practically whines. “he was my bias back then–”

“he was your what?!” minghao gasps. “you biased hoshi? kwon soonyoung? hoshi?” he just stares at you.

“jealous?” you tease. “you biased him? your bias is a furry!” minghao gapes at you. “why did you even have so many photo cards of his,” he asks.

“okay it wasn’t my fault i always ended up pulling his photo cards in albums,” you shrug. “you should’ve sold them. and bought mine instead,” minghao states, his expression dead serious.

“aren’t you the one who tells your fans not to buy photo cards?” you give him a look. “this is different! you’re my girlfriend and you’re collecting a furry’s photo cards,” he argues.

“in my defense, i wasn’t your girlfriend when i was collecting him. besides, it’s not like hoshi’s the only one i posted on that account! I posted spreads for pretty much everyone, including you! it was just mostly hoshi and jeonghan because they were my biases,” you point out.

“oh great, so you biased the guy who thinks he’s a tiger and the one who has a pet rock,” he says dryly.

“i might’ve biased them but you’re the one I’m in love with now,” you assure him, pulling him in for a soft kiss.

“so… where is your photo card binder?” he questions after pulling away and you raise an eyebrow at him. “you are not burning my collection,” you warn.

“i wasn’t going to burn it. i was going to sell it. and then use that money to buy you photo cards of me,” he corrects.

“it’s okay babe, i don’t need a photo card of you when i have the real thing,” you tell him, kissing him again before you focus back on your book.

you think minghao lets it go after that but you’re proven wrong a few weeks later when they have their comeback.

he comes home with a gift bag for you, making you raise an eyebrow. “shouldn’t i be the one giving you a gift to celebrate your comeback, not the other way around?” you ask but happily accept the gift.

he watches as you pulled out every album version. you don’t realize that the plastic seal had been broken on all of them as you open it.

you open the first album, checking your photo card pulls as your boyfriend watched with a smirk on his face.

“oh my god, all three hao’s? i don’t think I’ve ever pulled only one member before,” you say, setting down the three different photo cards of your boyfriend.

it wasn’t until you opened the carat version that you realized your boyfriend had done something.

“seriously?” you give him a look when you flip the photo cards to reveal, once again, all of his. plus the carat binder was also his.

“i guess you’ve lost your hoshi luck, honey. you got lucky pulling all of mine,” hao says innocently.

he watches as you pick up your phone, expecting you to take a photo of your pulls but instead he sees you tapping on it, most likely texting someone.

“who are you texting?” he asks and you look up at him. “hoshi. to ask for his photo cards,” you say, dead serious.

“hey! i posed cutely for all of my photo cards just for you and you still want his?”

[rex-rambles]

➤ THIS COULD BE LOVE | MAX VERSTAPPEN

pairing: max verstappen x not!soulmate(?)reader

request: more soulmate aus?

summary: when you and max meet in the middle of a monaco night, max doesn't want to believe in soulmates. he wants to believe in something real. 

wc: 7.7 k

warnings: angst with a happy ending! some suggestive content (not explicit), villainization of jos verstappen and reference to poor childhoods and past injury

➤ MASTERLIST - OSCAR'S SOULMATE STORY

When you and Max meet in the middle of the night, it's the sort of serendipity that makes Max believe less in the universe. He'd lost his faith in it in his childhood, of fate, of something set, of something magical, of soulmates. His parents were soulmates, anyway, and he knew how well that story went. He knew all the tales of those who gave up dreams and aspirations for magical nudges from something greater, none of which he found convincing compared to the reality of the world, the hard concrete ground of the racing track, and the voice of his father. 

Soulmates were just another distraction in a world full of them. To pursue your dreams, to want something bigger, you couldn't believe in fairytales fed to you by the delusional. It didn't stop Max's 18th birthday from rolling around anyway, waiting with baited breath for some sign, some magic name on the inside of his wrist, anything. It took a few days for his soul mark to be spotted on the back of his right shoulder, over his shoulder blade. It took a few days after that for Jos to notice and to continue his rants on the distractions of love in the path of greatness. 

After that, after everything his father put him through, everything Max did to earn his love, he stopped caring about soulmates. He'd meet the love of his life someday, surely, even with his soul mark bandaged, hidden from flashing cameras. It was through his fame Max realized how right his father was, of those attempting anything to copy his soulmate to pretend to be his love, a warning straight out of whatever textbook his father used to learn how to raise his children. If it was still in publication, Max was pretty sure he'd pay good money to have every copy burned. Soulmates, magical connections, they were just another distraction. He didn't want someone loving him because of a mark, because of how fast he went around a track and how much money he made, he wanted something real. Someone to look at him and think that he was meant to be theirs for no other reason than Max himself. 

It didn't stop the whole thing from getting to Max every so often, when someone close to him found their supposed one true love, when it made the headlines. Tonight, it was some bartender seeing colour for the first time, their soulmate a patron. The whole bar exploded with drunken excitement for them, forcing Max out into the night air because there were some things even a man as strong as him couldn't stand. 

"-and don't fucking follow me!" A man calls, slamming the door to a cab as it rips off into the hot Monaco night, and Max finds that the words are not directed at him, but rather you, sitting on the curb, looking entirely unenthused. 

Without thinking much of it, Max finds his place beside you. "Trouble in paradise?" He finds himself saying, scrubbing his hands over his face. Just because people were soulmates didn't mean it mattered, didn't mean it would last, didn't make both parties nice. 

"I wish," You breath out softly, "They're not my soulmate. Just a date." 

"A date?" Max echoes, sparing a glance your way. In the mixture of moonlight and streetlights, there's a sort of warmth from you that has Max wonder why you'd go on a date with someone who isn't your soulmate, even if he understands it perfectly well. 

"Surprising, isn't it?" You muse, sparing a glance up at the night sky. "Dating someone who isn't your soulmate, how terrible." 

"No, no." Max is quick to correct. "I understand." 

And then, in the middle of the heated Monaco night, you lock eyes with him for the first time, and if it were meant to be something, Max would feel something. Instead, he takes in someone pretty, warm from the night, flushed softly, probably from the drinks at the bar. He takes in someone who went on a date without their soulmate, and he feels a little bit less alone in this strange, awful world. Your eyes are slow to part from his, only breaking his stare when a car drives by too fast. "My soulmate passed away, I think." You admit quietly, almost hidden under the dragging noise of the car as it passes. "It's not worth being alone the rest of your life because you missed out on the perfect match. I'll settle for second best." Then, with a soft laugh, "Third, even." 

"I have a soulmate." Max says, and you turn to look at him again, that softness slowly slipping away. "And I don't want them. Don't know who they are." 

"So you're leaving some poor soul all alone for nothing?" Max shakes his head, trying not to think of whatever 'poor soul' matches with him. It was always a selfish thing to try and explain, but that was how Max was raised to think, and some habits die hard. 

"I want someone to want me for me." He says then, the words so often unspoken. He'd rarely talked about this to any of his teammates, and to admit it to a stranger somehow felt better. Your soulmate had passed; there was no threat of a matching symbol. You would just understand what it was like to be alone, to be othered and date anyway. "Not because I'm supposed to be a soulmate, or for some random choice that we don't even understand. For no real reason." 

You don't answer immediately, just staring at him intently, before you nod slowly. "You want someone to fall in love with you for the sake of loving you." 

"I don't want to hurt my 'soulmate' in the process," He says with air quotes, "But them loving me for a mark is just not what I want, in the end." He doesn't tell you about how he also doesn't want someone to fall in love with him for the fame, and he realizes only in this moment, it's because you could fall in love with him. 

For him. 

Your soulmate had passed, you were already going on dates. You could get to know him for no other reason than to know him, and he could make it work. The warmth he gets when he looks at you isn't magical: it's something realistic. "And how has that gone so far?" 

"Haven't got a single date." Max jokes, but it's the truth. No one wants to date a random stranger when their soulmate might be out there. "For obvious reasons. And you?" 

"They don't last." You say quietly, "Like I'm a stepping stone before they find who they want." Then, because that's not the kind of thing to admit to a stranger, you duck your head with a soft blush, and Max scoots closer, leaning to nudge his shoulder with yours. 

"You're the finish line for someone out there." He says, an unfortunate race reference he doesn't think about until later. 

"Thought you didn't believe in soulmates," You answer back softly, rocking your shoulder into his, and Max finds himself grinning down at you. 

He didn't believe in soulmates, he believed in this. Real connection, with real people, no magical, mystical interference necessary. "Didn't say that person had to be your soulmate. Could be anyone." His eyes flicker down your dress, stuck on the open back of it, the perfect curve of your spine, and he has to take a slow breath. "Some stranger on the street." 

You turn to look at Max with something so close to hope that he can't think too much about it, or he'll start to fall sooner than he can prepare for the landing. He just wants proof that he can love, and be loved, without needing a soulmate or matching mark. He doesn't need you to be the answer to all of his problems; he just wants a chance. "You're really sweet." You say, that look of hope flickering, "But I'm only here a week." 

"And?" He rises off the curb and extends a hand to help you up. "Doesn't mean we can't enjoy ourselves while you're here." 

"You're not a tourist?" Your hand slips into his, and if you were his soulmate, if they were real, it would be something magical. Every story has the first touch being something so important, the final connection of a soul bond, but when your soft skin glides against his, nothing remotely fantastical happens, and Max loves it all the more for it. 

"I'm a veterinarian here," He answers, the first fake profession he could think of as he helps you up. Might make the fact that he owns three cats more normal. He lets your hand drop, a terrible thing, and he gestures for you to follow him on the sidewalk. "I can take you for a midnight tour of Monaco if you like?" 

"You know, this is typically how people end up kidnapped or dead, or something." Without much thinking, Max pulls his wallet from his pocket and hands it to you, and you blink up at him. "What?" 

"If I was going to do something to you, why would I give you my wallet? It's got all my identification in there." You open the wallet, staring down at his driver's licence and flipping through the few cards he keeps in there, more out of curiosity, he thinks, than scrutiny. 

You spare a glance up at him, folding the wallet up and tucking it into your purse. "Now it feels like I'm robbing you, Max." 

"Well, I'd rather you take advantage of me than the other way around." You saying his name trips him up in a way he didn't expect, sounding so nice in your voice. It's just Max, he knows, but still. 

It does something to his heart that he didn't realize it could do. "You're one of the strangest people I've ever met." 

"Welcome to Monaco?" You laugh, another beautiful sound that has Max realizing he's more screwed than humanly possible. A week, he tries to remind himself, but with you by his side in that dress, it's hard to think of anything but the present. 

-

You're not sure how you end up on the beach with Max, heels in hand, but it's a pleasant change of pace. If it hadn't already screwed you over, you'd say it's fate, to be here with him, but that wasn't possible. Not when whoever bore your matching soul mark had faded out, or at least the soulmark had, splotchy and scratched out in a way you could only imagine meant death. 

It had happened so young, too, that it had never felt like you were able to pursue love or a soulmate seriously. Sure, there were online groups for widows, though you didn't consider yourself really a widow at this age. So, instead, you focused on all the other great things in your life, hoping for that miracle to come someday, and currently, it was in the form of a Dutch veterinarian in Monaco. 

Not how you expected your night to go. "They're named after clubs?" 

"Jimmy and Sassy are, but Donatello is not." Max answers very seriously, sparing a small grin your way, and you try to think what kind of experience he must have gone through to not want his soulmate, to want love from anyone, just for being him. You understand the thought of not wanting someone to just automatically stick with you for the sake of being a soulmate, but Max had so much to offer. You kept trying to find faults, but all you found were cats and a sweet tooth. "What would you have named them?" 

"Three cats? You should give them all names with the same first letter, like Jessica, James, and John." A laugh bubbles out of Max at the suggestion, a bright thing that has you blushing, luckily hidden in the dim light of Monaco's nights. 

"I am not naming a cat Jessica. Or James." 

"But John works?" You tease, stopping to stare up at a crystal clear night that, even with the light pollution, reveals a sky littered with stars. Max comes to stop at your side, saying nothing for a moment as the two of you just stare out into the night, and your hand brushes his. 

It shouldn't be this electrifying. Shouldn't be something so intense from a stranger, some truly random man you met in the night, but it was the sort of adventure you wouldn't mind pursuing. You only had a week here, but maybe you wouldn't mind spending that week with Max. "For the right cat," Max finally continues, still happily enthralled with the cat conversation, "John would work." 

"Do you think the water would be nice?" You ask, stepping closer to the shore. The water barely reaches your toes, and without much consideration for his pants, Max pulls his shoes and socks off, and wades in shin-deep. You laugh, watching him practically stomp around, and there's an evil glint in his eye that has him charging at you. You don't even try to run, letting him grab you by the waist and haul you into the water, spinning you around and sending water flying around with it. Your hands brace against his shoulders, and for working with so many different animals, he'd have to be strong for that, surely. 

Or maybe he just likes to work out in his free time, your hands smoothing against his biceps as he sets you down into the water, a pleasant thought you tuck away for later. "Does that answer your question?" 

"You are ridiculous." Then, you realize Max hadn't let go of your waist, and you hadn't let go of his arms, wrapped up together and standing in the water like it was normal. 

Because it could be. 

This could be your future, if you really think of it. Love was something worth pursuing, even if it wasn't the perfect match set out for you from the universe. You had spent so long mourning your soulmate you hadn't stopped to realize that maybe, just maybe, there were other people out there for you. 

That there could be a Max, after it all. And you could kiss him, if you wanted, looking up at him in the moonlit night, on a random beach, but fear stirs in your stomach too quickly to let you. There was little evidence this could ever be more than a pleasant night, that it would last, and Max notices your hesitation, very gently letting your waist go. "We, uh, don't have towels." You say, trying to direct the conversation away from your spiralling thoughts. "We're going to have wet feet." 

"Well, I might have wet feet." Max makes his way back to his shoes, using his socks to wipe off his feet before putting his sneakers on, and then he finds you at the edge of the shore, and holds out his arms. "But I could carry you?" 

"Carry me?" You echo, blush rising to your cheeks, and you realize Max is waiting for permission. "I mean, I might be heavy, I-" 

"Oh, heavy!" Max then proceeds to scoop you up, bridal style, like it's nothing. He marches up to where the beach meets a cobblestone road, and gently sets you on the low stone fence seperating the two. 

And then, like it's normal, like it's something people do, he squats down without a word and helps put your heels on, a Cinderella moment that has you considering if maybe he really was your long-lost soulmate. 

You'd never asked what his trait was, never got to see what it could be. Maybe you had matching, scratched-out marks. Maybe he got into an accident that damaged it. Maybe, by the way he's looking up at you, it didn't matter. "What brings you to Monaco?"  Max continues, as if he didn't just do the sweetest thing anyone has for you in a long, long time. 

"A break from it all." Max leads you down the street toward your hotel, and you don't want the night to end, both for your enjoyment, and the concern that it all might be over tomorrow.

Max doesn't realize you'd stopped infront of your hotel, sparing a glance to your side and then doing a small spin to face you again, lopsided smile revealed in the streetlight above him. "You should come back," He says, coming to lean on the wall of the hotel beside you. "I'm not sure I can show you all you need to see in just a week." 

"I might need more convincing than that." You joke, and Max smiles down at you, a sight that has your stomach flipping, and this time, before you let your emotions truly get in the way, you lean up on the tips of your toes and press a quick, chaste kiss to his cheek. "Thank you for all this, Max. It really means a lot." 

Max's hand hovers over his cheek, shock plain on his face from the kiss, and you're worried you've overstepped before he's blushing deeply, a perfect pink colour picked up in the lights of the hotel. It's a view you could get used to. "Oh," He breathes out softly, a small, giddy smile breaking out across his face. "You're most certainly welcome."

You take a step up the hotel stairs and Max calls after you, making you pause above him, and he stuffs his hands in his pockets, as if some kind of non-chalant defense for whatever he's about to say next.

"Think I could convince you to give me your number?" You half-heartedly roll your eyes, coming back down the stairs to put your number in his phone. You send off a test text, and you hope it's enough to make him want you tomorrow, because the more time you spend with him, the more you try not to get your hopes up. 

He's not your soulmate, and this isn't fate, but god, do you want it to be. 

You move back up the stairs and step into the hotel, leaving the door open to look back at Max, and you know you can't invite him up, can't jump through that many stages yet, and Max respectfully waits on the sidewalk, that stupid smile still on his face. "Goodnight, Max." 

"Goodnight," He says, along with some word in what you assume to be Dutch. You try to figure out what he possibly could have said when Max waves a hand, ushering you toward the elevator. "Forget it, it's Dutch. Go get some sleep." 

It's only when you get to your room do you realize you still have his wallet.

-

Max awakes to the sound of his phone buzzing. Glancing at the screen, since he came home and crashed, he's missed a handful of texts.

unknown 

hey! i still have your wallet

Then, about half an hour later, 

unknown

I really needed that tonight, thank you 

Maybe you can give me a tour sometime?

 

Then, this morning, 

unknown

me again, if this is the wrong number, can you let me know?

Glancing at the time, Max realizes he's slept in until noon. With a curse, he drags himself out of bed and quickly tries to type out a response that doesn't make him seem like a degenerate. 

max 

sorry, I passed out after I got home 

not used to staying out that late 

i could give you that tour in return for the wallet today? 

Your answer is almost instantaneous. 

unknown

that sounds wonderful 

sorry for keeping you up late

max

it was worth it

unknown 

I'm on a run currently, do you want me to pick you up some breakfast to start our tour?

max

you are perfect

and waffles?

And it was the start of something perfect. 

Without really putting too much thought into it, partially because it's early, partially because if he does, he'll start to crack into a million little pieces, he sends his address, and spends the next twenty minutes furiously cleaning everything he can. It's only once there's a knock on his door and he answers that he realizes he hasn't changed out of his pyjamas, left standing before you in an oversized t-shirt and boxers.

Somehow, though, it's not quite embarrassing. You just smile up at him, shaking your head with your arms full of take out boxes, his wallet balanced on top. "Give me a minute, and I'll get changed." He says, taking the boxes from you and setting them down on the counter, and you take in his space, almost presentable now with his frantic tidying. 

He disappears into his bedroom, trying not to think too hard about whatever outfit he throws together, something nice and casual, nothing to get him noticed in the streets. Considering you had his wallet, and knew his name, there's a chance you might have searched him, which ruins the whole fame aspect of this, but for some reason, he has faith. 

He steps back out to the kitchen to find you sitting on the ground, Donatello in your lap, and Max has to pause to take in the moment. It's so deeply domestic, of you curled up with his cats, boxes of waffles left open on the counter above you. He couldn't remember the last time he shared breakfast with someone outside of work, let someone into his space, like it was normal.

If he had his phone on him, he'd take a photo to remember the moment, but then you're looking up at him and smiling, and the memory will be better than any photo could be. "Who's this one?" 

"Donatello, or Donut." Max moves to the counter and gathers up the boxes of waffles and watches you struggle to pick Donatello up to join him, but the cat just lets you awkwardly cradle it like a baby. "He likes you," Max admits as he falls onto his couch and promptly tears into one of the boxes of chocolate waffles. "He doesn't let me hold him like that." 

"You're a vet!" You exclaim, coming to sit beside him, like this was normal, like you had always shared mornings, like it was meant to be, even if it never was. "Shouldn't you be an expert at this stuff?" 

"It's not about me, it's about the animal." He extends his arms to try and take Donatello, who leaps off his lap and disappears somewhere into the house. "See?" 

"Maybe that's what you get for naming him Donatello." You take one of the boxes, cutting up some crepe thing with a plastic knife and fork as Max takes his first bites of food. "Are you a car guy?" 

Max's heart stutters in his chest before you gesture to his shelf, where some replica cars and car books stand out, glaringly obvious. "Oh, yeah. My dad's a big racing fan. Do you know anything about cars?" 

"Not really, no." You answer truthfully, taking a bite. He waits for you to finish eating to continue asking questions, but then you're gesturing to his waffles. "Are they any good?" 

"Want a piece?" Without another word, you cut some crepe and give it to him as he offers up a piece of the waffle, trading like it's nothing, and Max finds that he doesn't really care if you figure out who he is, because so far, you've treated him perfectly normal. You're curled up on the couch, by his side, trading pieces of fruit and breakfast, an unspoken thing that you do the entire morning. 

When he slowly extends an arm over the back of the couch, letting you lean into him, you do, and you talk about the night before like it's nothing. 

Because it was nothing. It wasn't some big, meaningful thing, some soulmate bond, it was just you and him. You don't ask to see his soul mark, and he doesn't ask to see yours. You just sit in each other's company, laughing over the cats being idiots, and Max unfortunately realizes that he could really, really get used to this. 

A week wouldn't be long enough, so mentally, he decides to pull out every stop. Yachts, restaurants, hikes, anything that might convince you to stay, or at least stay with him. 

Anything to convince Max that something like this could last, and that it could be love. 

-

"What's your favourite colour?" You ask Max, taking your time as you wander through the Japanese-style garden he'd brought you to. For a veterinarian, he somehow had access to some of the best places in Monaco, apparently due to all the wealthy people whose pets are his patients. 

"Blue, I think." Max answers absent-mindedly, stopping to study a bush of flowers intently. "Here, come look." 

"What did you say in Dutch, the other day? Sounded like cat something." You join Max's side to see a butterfly perfectly perched on a flower, and distracted, you don't see how red Max gets at your question. 

"Nothing," He repeats softly, his hand gently brushing against yours. Without much thought, you link your fingers together, and walk the rest of the garden like that. "Just means good night." 

-

You are currently lounging on Max's yacht in a blue one-piece bathing suit, and Max has never struggled to look at a person more. It's sort of the opposite, really, that he wants to stare at you, to keep looking at the way your curves lay out perfectly on the blanket he provided, that you might have bought that suit for him, because it's his favourite colour. 

"You know," Max says before he can stop himself, "Wearing a blue bathing suit can be dangerous. You might not be spotted in the water." 

"What?" You say, rolling over to look at him, and Max has to stare intently down at the book he's trying to read to not look in your direction. "But I've worn this for years, no one ever said anything." 

I've worn this for years. 

His shade of blue, like it was meant to be, but it wasn't, because this was just something real, something two people could share without anything else influencing it. "I can take you shopping for something brighter? Just in case." 

"You just want to see me try on bathing suits, that's what this is." You tease, and Max flushes red. Then, to his surprise, you rise, coming to sit on the end of his lounger in the shade, and he ever so carefully looks up, so that he only looks at your face. "Do you need any sunscreen? You're getting pretty red." 

"It's not the sun." Max blurts, before quickly trying to return to his book. Then, your hand comes to pull the book down from his face, and the joy in your expression is something evil. 

"You really do like blue, hm?" Max tosses his book to the side, uncaring where it lands before he's picking you up. "Wait, Max, Max! Not the water, not the water!" 

"Perfect day for a swim, no?" He teases, and you smack his chest. 

"I thought you said people couldn't see me if I was in blue." You do have a point there. Without letting you go, Max settles back into his lounger, you in his lap, and without needing any instructions, you happily bury your face into the crook of his neck, letting Max hold you there. 

At some point, your breathing evens out, and in the only chance Max has, he gently presses a kiss to your forehead and lets himself fall asleep too. 

-

The last day doesn't quite feel real. Max had gotten you dinner reservations at a Michelin star restaurant, and you had tried to teach him yoga in the morning, and somewhere in between, you'd gone for a hike and gotten gelato, and Max had fallen into what he realized now might be love. 

"You know," He finds himself saying, watching as you curl up in his side, Donatello in your lap and his suit jacket around your shoulders, "I think Donut might miss you more than me." 

It was a perfect mirror to your first morning here. You had come back from dinner, not even thinking about returning to Max's apartment instead of your hotel. At this point, he should've told you to bring your suitcase, to spend the week here, but there were some boundaries you had yet to cross. "I can't say the same for Jimmy or Sassy," You say up to him, both cats nowhere to be found. They'd always been more territorial over Max anyway. You shift further into his side on the couch, hand reaching up to adjust his jacket before remembering that you had to give it back, and before remembering that you had to go. 

Max watches both thoughts occur to you in real time, the smile slowly fading from your features. "I suppose this is it." He says softly above you. Neither of you had talked about what this was, what it meant, and frankly, Max was terrified to bring it up on his own. 

He loved you. It was a strange conclusion to come to in only a week, but you were living, breathing proof that someone could care for him without a mark, without the fame, his identity perfectly tucked away the whole time. You could've searched him up, could've done a lot of things, but he's not sure you ever did. 

"Can I ask a question?" Max asks, hand coming up to gently brush some loose hair away from your face, a domestic moment that might haunt him forever. "Did you ever search me? My name, in the wallet?" 

"What, Max Verstappen?" His full name haunts him, waiting for the other shoe to drop, but it doesn't seem to come. "No, I didn't. Should I have?" 

"I'm not a veterinarian." He answers softly, and the confusion on your face morphs into something closer to fear, and very gently, Max finally admits what he's been keeping from you. "Another reason I don't want to pursue a soulmate is because I am a Formula One driver, and enough people have pretended to love me for that. That's why there's so much car stuff." 

"Max," You breath out softly, shifting up to look at him more directly, "I know why you didn't, but you could have told me." 

"You are proof enough that I was right, though." You were here, curled up in his home like it was yours, with no strings attached. He trusted you when you said you didn't know his identity, because he trusted you entirely. "I don't need a mark or money to make someone love me." Your eyes widen, and Max realizes rather quickly what he just said aloud, scrapping all the progress he made to drop that word on you after only a week. "I didn't mean, as in I thought, after the week, I-" 

"Wait, Max-" 

"I'm sorry, I didn't think of-" 

"Max." You sit up properly now, facing him, and if this were another fantasy, Max would drag you into his lap, hold you there for a while, but now, he lets his hands ball up into useless fists at his side, waiting for you to tear a strip off of him for saying that you loved him after a week. Instead of the coming anger he expects, however, there's a softness as you gently place a hand on his chest, smoothing down his tie. "I don't think either of us can call this love yet." You say, and Max tries to get something out before you can continue. "But you're right. You don't need a soulmark or money to make someone love you, because I have spent the most incredible week with you, and the only thing I've cared about is needing to get to know you more. Not more about your soulmark, or about your secret identity, I just wanted you." 

You just wanted him. 

God, this could be love. It's all Max can think as he leans in, kissing you before he can stop himself. It starts out as a soft, simple thing, but Max could never truly describe himself as soft, if not maybe only for you. His hands find your waist, pulling you into him, and you deepen the kiss as your arms wrap around his neck, slotting together like you were always meant to be here, even if you weren't. You pull apart for a breath, staring up at Max with so much knowing in your eyes that Max can't help but immediately loosen his tie, flinging it off to some far corner of his apartment before continuing. 

He doesn't want to rush you, doesn't need to rush this, but god, all he can think is that this could be love, and all the ways he might be able to make you stay, to make you his. He doesn't care how many jets he has to charter, how many rules he had to bend, because you cared for him, the closest thing he's ever known to love. 

Your hands begin to undo his dress shirt, beating him to his own game, and he practically rips it off himself to get to you, and your hand smooths over the bandage on his shoulder, and you still.

Desperately, Max wants to ignore it. He wants this moment to be his, he wants you to be his, and for this all to disappear. 

But that's not how life works, unfortunately. That's not what Jos allowed. Someday, he'll have to talk about it, and as you slowly pull away, Max swallows thickly, trying to think of how he could tell you all that he did, all that he's done, to get rid of this damned mark. To make his father proud. To be the driver he needed to be. 

"You don't have to show me," You say, somehow unexpected. Throughout this whole week, you had never rushed him, never tried to make him talk about soulmates again. Still, with this much tension between you, with that damned bandage under your hand, he didn't expect you to happily ignore it. "We don't have to talk about it." 

"It's ugly," Max says quietly, leaning back to press a hand to his eyes, the other still holding onto your waist, gentle but firm. "Shouldn't be seen anyway." 

"No soulmark is ugly," You answer, a knowing to your voice. "I would never judge you for it." 

"I scrubbed it off." The words hang in the air, a quiet admission that Max had never dared to tell another soul. 

That after the hundredth race belittled by his father, tormented by this stupid mark, by a love that served no one, Max had found some solvent invented to get rid of soulmarks, and to the best of his ability, he scrubbed it off. It hurt like hell, the scar worse than the soulmark was itself, but Max got rid of it. "What?" Your confusion answers everything Max needed to know, slowly leaning back to put distance between the two of you. 

"I was raised in a household where soulmarks didn't work. The universe didn't pick lovers, it just didn't...they didn't...work. And because I was determined to race, I was convinced love would get in the way. Didn't help that everyone kept throwing themselves at me, faking marks to try and convince me they were my partner. I scrubbed it off permanently, and I don't regret it." 

He does. 

It probably hurt his soulmate. It probably tortured him more than he needed at his age. You pull back even farther, a mix of emotions that Max can't read as you stare at him. Disgust, he's pretty sure. That he would do that to someone else. "That's why real partnerships matter to me. Not soulmarks that can be burned off." 

"God, I'm sorry Max." The apology comes easily, despite Max's experience that it should be difficult. No one ever apologized to him sincerely, but it came to you like breathing. "I'm so sorry anyone ever made you feel like you had to get rid of that to succeed. I'm so sorry they convinced you it wasn't worth it." 

"That doesn't matter now." 

"Doesn't matter now? Of course it does, Max." Your hand smooths over the bandage on his shoulder. "If I'm the proof you need that love doesn't need to be scrubbed away, then so be it. Soulmarks be damned, you are so worthy, Max. You never should have felt the need to do...to do all that." 

The tears come in waves that Max isn't used to, normally fighting them with all his might, but right now, he couldn't care as he lets them fall, your hands gently coming up to wipe them away. He was worthy. 

That was all he was ever waiting to hear, he thinks. "I'm sorry," He says as he presses his face into your neck, your hand gently sliding into his hair, soothingly parting his hair this way and that. "That you never got to meet your soulmate. They were one lucky, lucky person." 

"I got to meet you, didn't I?" You weren't his soulmate, he knows. But it was still a nice admission that has Max laughing sadly into your collarbone. "I never have to see your mark if you don't want, but never feel the need to hide it from me." 

Without much thought, Max leans back and awkwardly reaches over his shoulder, tearing off the bandage in one clean rip, but he doesn't let you see right away. Instead, he finds himself stuck, staring at you through slowing tears as you begin to pull your dress over your head, a shock that has Max's eyes squeezing shut tight. "Wait, wait, you don't have to-" 

"If you want to show me yours, I can show you mine." Max's eyes flutter open, and he never thought he'd be more distracted by a mark than by you, in your underwear, in his lap. 

But he is, because it's his. 

There, tucked on your ribs is his mark, the little lion-looking head, a symbol Max carried for years in homage to the one he scrubbed off. It's a matching scar, more faded now, but it's his, and instantly, his hand clamps over it to hide it from his sight. 

You're his soulmate. 

All that fighting, trying so hard to not need a soulmark to fall in love, and you were still his. "What, Max?" 

"Don't move." Max manages to say under his breath, the next round of tears coming. "Please, god-" 

Your hand smooths over his shoulder, fingers gently tracing over his scar, and once you make the full way around, you freeze, because of course you'd recognize a matching scar. All this time, you thought your soulmate had died because Max had scrubbed off his soulmark, making it look like he'd passed. "But I...I never felt the bond." 

"I told you," He answers through gritted teeth, "I scrubbed it off. It must have broke the bond." 

"Max." God, you should be so angry at him. He expects a tantrum, a fight, you storming out and ending this perfect week with all of Max's terribleness. 

Because if the universe was right, you were his soulmate, and he'd ruined it all for you. You and him had fit so perfectly, and he had just fucked everything up to a degree that even he didn't know how to fix. "Changes how you think of me, huh?" He jokes softly, unable to meet your eyes, and to his surprise, you gently take his head in your hands and press a kiss to his forehead. 

"Just confirms my suspicions, actually." You answer as Max's eyes flicker open, looking up to see you smiling at him. 

Smiling. "What?" 

"You might have destroyed our soul bond, but we still fell in love." You gently pat his chest as you lean back, taking a deep breath. "We were perfectly capable of falling in love with strangers, but something in me knew we were more than just...strangers." 

"You're not mad?" 

"This wasn't your fault." Oh. "You made some very, very poor decisions, but this...I couldn't blame you for this. I found my way back, didn't I?" 

Oh. 

Max pulls you into the tightest hug he can manage, holding you perfectly still as he finally comes to terms with the fact that once upon a time, you were his soulmate. He'd hurt you, scrubbed the mark and bond and made you believe he was dead, and you kept going. You kept trying to find love, and you found him, and maybe it all wasn't real. 

Maybe it wasn't the universe. Maybe it wasn't fate. Maybe it wasn't soulmates. The bond had broken, after all, and you had both proven you were able to love each other without needing an inch of proof of forever. You just needed him now, and Max has to fight the tears he'd had built up inside him since he was eighteen. 

He's not sure how long he holds you there, but it's long enough for him to be sure that you're going to miss your flight tomorrow, and long enough for him to be sure that no matter what this is, no matter what connects you, it's real. 

And that's all he ever needed it to be.

-

-

-

"So you're not soulmates?" One of Max's mechanics ask, stood beside you infront of the monitor. You almost don't hear them with your headphones on, but the words have been said enough times to get the essence of it. 

How could you possibly date someone who isn't supposed to be yours in the eyes of the universe? It was a hard thing to explain, that Max was your soulmate, but he had severed the bond, and you had repaired it anyway. You decided to keep all that from the world however, soulmarks tucked away to only be shared between the two of you. What the world didn't know wouldn't hurt them. "We don't have a soul bond, no." 

"But don't you think about your soulmates?" The final laps approach, Max having a fair advantage as you watch his car whip around the track. "Finding someone better?" 

"Better?" The best possible option was right here, shining in the night like he was meant to. You wouldn't lie and say that it didn't hurt, knowing that Max had purposefully tried to break the bond, but that didn't dampen your feelings for him. You were children back then, and he was hurting, and he thought this was the best way forward. 

Maybe, if he had kept the soulmark, you'd have found each other somehow, in some way, but that's not the love story you needed. Your love story started on the streets of Monaco in the middle of the night, falling for a man for no other reason than he was Max, and he was yours, and it was perfect. 

"Soulmates are not the be-all end-all. There is other love out there for us, and it's no better or worse." The only thing this could be was love, you think, soulmarks be damned. You believed, deep down, that something more than just coincidence connected you and Max, but what you had was built on a foundation of your own making, not the universe's. "Max is the best partner I could ask for, whether he was my soulmate or not."

The mechanic doesn't have time to question it further, because Max crosses the finish line, and your heart begins beating so fast that it has to be love. It was meant to be, even if at one point, it wasn't. You were meant to be here, and on that street with Max, and in his arms, and with his cats, and in each other's lives, and there was no explanation needed for why. 

It was love, when you rushed down toward the parc ferme, past all the garages and the flashing lights, that you were here for him. The headlines hadn't known what to do with you, and Max hadn't bothered to indulge their rumours. You were his, and he was yours, and nothing would come between that. 

Because you were soulmates. 

It wasn't a fact you let yourself indulge in too often, considering what you had wasn't built on the assumption of loving someone, but the growth of learning how to do it.

But, once upon a time, you were soulmates, destined to be here, and it felt like something finally clicked into place as Max meets you at the barrier, helmet and sleeve ripped off to kiss you senseless, because this is what you built, together. 

It was something real, no magical, mystical interference needed. 

You were healing each other in the ways only you could, and as you pull away, you find yourself picturing the young Max, who went through so much torment to be here, to be with you. To think this wasn't an option was impossible. "I'm so proud of you." You say, the few words that you knew Max needed to hear. 

That he was worth it, that he was loved, that there were other things in this world besides racing to devote yourself to. If you were somewhere more private, Max might let you know how he really feels about it, but instead, he gently cradles the back of your head as he presses a kiss to your forehead. "I told you," He says softly, "You'll be the finish line for someone." 

"Didn't realize you meant that literally." Sometime later, when the crowds disperse and the interviews stop and the night slows, you and Max drive away into the night for the hundredth time and end up back at the hotel, where a glimpse of his soulmark confirms your suspicions.

And, sometime later, after the room service gets delivered and the adrenaline of the day slows, you fall asleep on Max for the hundredth time, and as you shift in your sleep, he gets a glimpse of your soulmark as the shirt you'd stolen from him rides up on your chest.

Repaired, unscarred, and perfectly whole.

And, for the first time, in a long time,

Max starts to believe in soulmates again.

a/n: saw this request and tried to write something small and cute and ended up writing 7 thousand words of what it means to be loved - enjoy?

[moonlit-imagines]

Headcanons for being the Justice League’s computer intelligence

Justice League x reader

warnings:

a/n: THANKS BABE. this is such an old request i am so freaking sorry

prompt: anonymous: “Hello! I would like to request a Justice League (DC Extended Universe) + Reader who is sort of their 'Person in the Chair' - helping behind the scenes to keep their weapons/powers/skillset in tact, but is not afraid to fight back if necessary? I would like these to be a set of headcanons, please? Thank you and Happy Writing! P.S. You're writing is incredible!”

you and alfred got along well

“glad i’m not the only one doing the grunt work anymore” -alfred

“and i was under the impression you loved this job” -you, sarcastically

you could frequently be found switching between important sites that actually helped during missions and reddit

“alfred hang on i want your opinion on this: ‘am i the asshole for trying on my bosses suit? i (25m) work with some pretty famous people and my boss (45m) has a really cool suit. it’s a little stiff but i think i like it. anyways, there’s a matching hat (if you will) and it smells AWFUL, so i sprayed it with febreeze but it only made it worse—’” -you

“hang on. this cant be…” -alfred

“HOW DID YOU FIND MY REDDIT ACCOUNT?!” -barry, over comms

“your name is scarletspeedster, and we’ve been trying to wash that febreeze smell from the cowl for weeks.” -you

“my god, barry. next time, just use an old suit” -alfred

“really?!” -barry

“no” -you and alfred

you do a lot of gadget/weapon design with JL members

“it’s acceptable” -bruce

“wow, thanks” -you

“it’s…it’s good work. i mean it” -bruce

diana sits with you and tells you stories, sometimes theyre very informational

“so if you ever do end up fighting, you’re going to want to craft a very nice sword for yourself. i know you’re good at that, you’ll do just fine” -diana

barry nerds out with you sometimes

he gets real excited when he sees you designing stuff on the computer

and tries to be helpful

“wind resistance might be a problem with this design, you should go sleeker” -barry

“hey, barry? if you don’t let me do my job im gonna design a tool specifically to shut you up” -you

“harsh!” -barry

“sorry, maybe a little too far. but let me work” -you

arthur wanted cooler clothes

“can i get you some material from atlantis so you can make me a nicer suit?” -arthur

“only if you bring me extra so i can have fun with it” -you

“not a problem for the king, its a deal” -arthur

clark didn’t really need/want much

but he was a great help when testing new weapons and suits

“can you just…laser vision that target right ahead. new suit material” -you

“yeah, stand back” -clark

it held for a good 20 seconds

“better than i thought” -you

you were their eyes in the sky on missions

directions, lookout, enemies, obstacles, detours, you name it

and yeah, maybe victor could also do a great deal of this stuff, but you got to do it behind the scenes and you actually got paid pretty well for it

but occasionally you did ask him for tech support

“victor, the batcomputer froze” -you

“i know, i did that on purpose” -vic

“can you unfreeze it so i can see what’s going on?” -you

“what’s the password?” -vic

*sigh* “ilovevicstone123” -you

diana let you spar with her sometimes

which honestly scared you every time bc you know she could kill you if she wanted to (but you knew she would never)

(but she could)

you’d never be apart of the justice league, which was very okay with you because you loved being behind the scenes and not being shot at

and so long and you had tea with alfred while the rest of them were kicking ass, you’d manage

taglist: @locke-writes // @captainshazamerica // @summersimmerus // @deanzboyfriend // @zoeyserpentluck // @mr-mxyzptlk-1940 //

[norrisainz33]

set up || ls18

☆ summary: esteban sets his good friend lance up on a blind date after a tough season

☆ pairing: lance stroll x nonfamous!reader

☆ fc & warnings: none

☆ requested: yes! thank you sm for your request 🫶🏻

masterlist

ﾟ. ✿ ୨❤︎୧⠀✿ . ﾟ

lance_stroll has made a post

liked by estebanocon, flavy.barla, astonmartinf1, ynuser, hugoboss, pierregasly and 654,234 others

lance_stroll: season finale on film 🎞️ hopefully next season holds more success for the team

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user1: we love you lancey

estebanocon: you’ll come back stronger next season💪🏻 [liked by lance_stroll]

user2: aesthetic fr

chloestroll: love you brother 🤍 [liked by lance_stroll]

user3: nowhere to go but up!!

flavy.barla: 💚 [liked by lance_stroll]

user5: hope you get some well deserved rest

astonmartinf1: we keep pushing! enjoy your break lance 🫶🏻 [liked by lance_stroll]

estebanocon has posted to his story

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yourbff: they’re so cute

estebanocon: and a mess but love them nonetheless 🤍

user1: obsessed with eo31 bf content

ynuser: heheh you can’t but you still do anyway. merci mon ami 🫶🏻

estebanocon: you are always welcome y/n/n

user2: is that the [insert uni] volleyball player y/n y/l/n? no way yall know her she went to my uni im?????

lance_stroll: who is flavy’s friend?

estebanocon: y/n! she’s flavy’s childhood best friend. why do you ask 👀🤭

lance_stroll: ah just curious.. she’s real pretty

estebanocon: oh curious are we?? im telling flavy

lance_stroll: no no that’s ok esteban i didn’t mean like that

estebanocon: too late!

user3: obsessed with their style tf

flavy.barla: my girl ❤️

estebanocon: guess who’s interested in your girl

flavy.barla: omg who

estebanocon: lance

flavy.barla: we’re setting them up whether they like it or not. i’ve seen the scripts - they’re perfect for each other

ynuser has posted to their story

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yourbff: OMG how did it go

ynuser: amazing actually… hate to admit it but they were right

yourbff: ahhhhhhh yayyy!!!!

yourteammate: begging to know WHO they set you up with

ynuser: would you believe me if i said it was an f1 driver?

yourteammate: no way?! which one!!!!!!!

ynuser: lance stroll 🤭

yourteammate: omg you’re winning he’s so handsome

flavy.barla: you love us 😘

ynuser: i do and you were right. he’s so sweet im actually obsessed

flavy.barla: music to my ears. we’re going on a double date tomorrow 🤍

ynuser: wait what?

flavy.barla: shhh don’t question it. lance has had a tough couple of months and esteban and i think you two are good for each other!! just roll with it 😘

ynuser: fine fine fine

lance_stroll: i had a great time with you tonight

ynuser: likewise! thank you for dinner

lance_stroll: no thanks needed! i’m really looking forward to seeing you tomorrow

ynuser: i’m looking forward to seeing you too 🥹

lance_stroll has posted to his story

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user4: oh so you’re on a date and it’s not with me….

chloestroll: ARE YOU OUT WITH THE GIRL YOU TOLD ME ABOUT

lance_stroll: yes!

chloestroll: jumping for joy!! can’t wait to meet her 🤍

lance_stroll: you’re going to love her chlo

astonmartinf1: enjoy lance💚

user5: this is unexpected…. a soft launch?

estebanocon: remember when you told me a blind date was a stupid idea and now you’ve seen her more in these past 2 weeks than i have and she’s literally staying at my house ????

lance_stroll: haha yes i do remember saying that and yes i do remember when you told me that you told me so

estebanocon: ok! i just had to make sure you didn’t forget

user8: crashing out that should be me

ynuser: oh these are cute 🤭

lance_stroll: i thought so too 😉

user6: MONTOYA POR FAVOR

ynuser has made a post 🔒

liked by yourbff, yourteammate, chloestroll, estebanocon, flavy.barla, lance_stroll and 214 others

ynuser: spent some time gallivanting around europe with 2 of my favorite people and a new friend. now onto my first season of professional volleyball with the las vegas thrill. see you all again on match day - it’s time to lock in 🫶🏻

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yourbff: cant wait to see your beautiful self back out there 🏐

ynuser: 🫶🏻😘🏐

flavy.barla: i miss you already

ynuser: i don’t think i’ve ever missed someone more

lance_stroll: good luck! can’t wait to see you again

ynuser: thank you lancey 🤭🤍

yourbff: this is certainly something 👀

yourteammate: clocking this 📝

yourteammate: yesssss my baby girl is coming home to me let’s gooo

ynuser: yes my love

estebanocon: you are always welcome at maison de ocon

ynuser: merci for being the best chauffeur and airbnb owner ever

vegasthrill: our girl 🤍

ynuser: 🤍🏐

lance_stroll has made a post

liked by astonmartinf1, yourbff, chloestroll, fernandoalo_official, ynuser, georgerussell63, and 352,935 others

lance_stroll: i think i might like vegas

[tagged: chloestroll, ynuser]

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user3: smiley lance im crying

chloestroll: you were right i do love her

lance_stroll: knew you would

ynuser: STOP I LOVE YOU CHLOE

chloestroll: run away with me ynuser

scottyjames31: hey hey hey let’s not do that

user8: he deserves this happiness fr

f1gossip: this was not on my bingo card i’ll be honest

ynuser: i like you in vegas that’s for sure

lance_stroll: well thank goodness because you’re going to be seeing a lot of me

estebanocon: disgustingly cute

lance_stroll: thanks man

vegasthrill: thanks for joining us! you are always welcome 🏐 [liked by lance_stroll]

user12: lance smiling and a hard launch before gta6

ynuser has made a post 🔒

liked by lance_stroll, yourteammate, vegasthrill, yourbff, flavy.barla, and 321 others

ynuser: with love from me and mine 🤍

p.s everyone say thank you eo and fb for this match made in heaven

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chloestroll: thank you esteban and flavy for bringing this ray of sunshine into my brothers life

scottyjames31: thank you esteban and flavy and y/n for making our lance so happy

flavy.barla: it’s the least we could do for our dear friends 🤍

ynuser: crying real tears rn

lance_stroll: 💚💚💚

estebanocon: two of my favorite people

ynuser: i screenshotted this for the next time you complain about me

estebanocon: of course you did

lance_stroll: look at my beautiful girl 😍

ynuser: i’m too busy looking at my handsome man 😍

lance_stroll: god i love you

ynuser: and i love you 🤍

yourbff: im throwing up. this is so cute its made me sick

ynuser: valid tbh

flavy.barla: remember lance_stroll she was mine first

lance_stroll: noted 🫡

yourteammate: dare i say you two are THE it couple

ynuser: babbyyyy 😭😭😭

ﾟ. ✿ ୨❤︎୧⠀✿ . ﾟ

a/n: thanks for reading!! likes, feedback and reblogs appreciated. getting a lance request made me so happy

ﾟ. ✿ ୨❤︎୧⠀✿ . ﾟ

disclaimer: pictures are not mine and everything i write is fiction

© norrisainz33 || please do not rewrite, translate, or copy any of my works posted here on to any other platform

[kxsagi]

Hiii, first of all i want to say that your writing is sooo good.like you're literally my fave author in this app and I love how you characterize the bl boys. Anyways can I request blue lock guys with a single mom reader and how the guys react to the fact that she's a single mom(maybe the father left reader when she got pregnant or you can write whatever scenario you want regarding the bio father) and their interaction with reader's child. If you could, pls include isagi, bachira, nagi, reo, rin and sae.

Also take care and have a great day<333

“𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐟𝐚𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐩𝐩𝐞𝐝 𝐮𝐩”

a/n: OMG TYSM??? AAA THAT IS SO SWEET! take care and have a great day as well you pretty soul ❤️

i love the domestic fluff behind this request + reader def has another kid with them after

ft. isagi yoichi, bachira meguru, nagi seishiro, itoshi rin, itoshi sae

isagi yoichi

he’s surprised at first, but not in a bad way, just wide-eyed, taking it all in. 

“you’re a mom?” he blinks. “like… a real one? like… diapers and everything?” 

once he processes it, he’s all in. 

isagi grew up with supportive parents, so he has a lot of respect for the strength it takes to raise a kid alone. 

if you tell him the father walked out on you, he gets super serious, quiet and tense in a way you haven’t seen before. 

“you don’t have to tell me everything now, but if he ever tries to come back, you let me deal with him.” and the way he says it? dead serious. 

when he meets your kid for the first time, he brings a little soccer ball and awkwardly crouches down like he’s meeting royalty. 

“hi! i’m… yoichi. i kick balls for a living.” 

you: “okay let’s… rephrase that.” 

but it works. he’s silly, energetic, and so patient – your kid absolutely adores him. 

he’ll start doing commentary while the kid’s eating cereal, like it’s a world cup final. 

“AND HE SCORES THE LAST FROOT LOOP! WHAT A LEGEND!” 

you catch him googling “how to be a good stepdad” at 3 AM. you don’t bring it up. but you definitely screenshot it. 

bachira meguru

bachira lights up when you tell him. 

“you have a little gremlin too?!” 

he’s thrilled. he doesn’t ask anything about the father unless you bring it up. he’s more focused on how he can be a fun and loving person in your child’s life. 

he sees your kid and immediately goes “wanna see my monster voice?” and makes the weirdest, funniest noise ever. 

the two of them are chaotic together. 

you walk into the living room and there’s glitter everywhere, paper hats on both of them, and he’s letting your kid draw a mustache on his face. 

“we’re pirates now,” bachira says, completely serious. “you have to pay the glitter tax.” 

when your kid calls him “meguru,” he beams. when they accidentally call him “dad” one day? he tears up a little. 

you: “you okay?” 

him, teary-eyed: “i would die for that child.” 

also probably teaches your kid to climb furniture and you have to ban them from the couch for a week. 

nagi seishiro

“oh,” he says when you tell him, blinking slowly. “that’s kinda cool.” 

nagi doesn’t react big. he just accepts it immediately, like it’s just another part of you. 

but inside? he’s kind of in awe. like you raised a tiny human? by yourself? sounds exhausting. 

“you must be really strong,” he mumbles, head on your shoulder. 

he’s surprisingly good with kids. laid-back, unbothered, and doesn’t treat them like they’re fragile. 

your child is obsessed with sitting on his shoulders while he walks around the apartment like a lazy giraffe. 

he lets them play games on his phone, and one time they accidentally deleted a rare gacha pull. he just shrugged. 

“they’re more fun to hang out with than reo.” 

he naps with them on the couch and sleeps through them using his hair as a blanket. 

he gets attached without even noticing. one day he buys a switch for them and says it’s “because they’re annoying when they’re bored” but you find it in his shopping history under “gift for my mini me.” 

itoshi rin

freezes when you tell him. 

absolutely panics inside but tries to stay stoic. 

“oh. okay. i see.” (he doesn’t see anything. his brain is buffering.) 

but once he calms down, he starts asking thoughtful, gentle questions. 

“what do they like to eat?” 

“do they know their father?” 

“are you… okay?” 

when you explain your ex bailed after the pregnancy, he clenches his jaw and gets really quiet. 

he just nods and says, “that’s not your fault. he’s pathetic.” 

rin’s not the best with kids at first. he’s awkward, stiff, stands like a statue, but he’s trying so hard. 

your kid hands him a toy and rin just… holds it. like it’s a grenade. 

“do i… do i play with it?” 

but one afternoon, your kid falls asleep on his lap and something in him just softens. 

from then on, he’s all in. buys extra snacks for them, watches their shows even if he doesn’t get them. 

“this blue dog… why is he emotional?” 

“it’s bluey, rin. let it happen.” 

itoshi sae

you expect him to be judgmental. he’s not. at all. 

he hears “i’m a single mom” and just says “okay.” 

“you’re still hot. and you’re a good mom. sounds like a win to me.” 

he doesn’t ask about the father unless you bring it up. when you do, he’s indifferent on the outside, but furious on the inside. 

“he left? while you were pregnant?” 

you nod. 

he just hums and says, “if he shows up, tell him to meet me. i’ll ruin his life.” 

when he meets your kid, he keeps his usual cool attitude, but your child’s the only one who gets to see him smile freely. 

your kid: “can you make silly faces?” 

sae: “no.” 

also sae, five seconds later: pulling the most cursed expression you’ve ever seen. 

he buys expensive stuff for your kid without blinking – custom sneakers, private tutors, limited edition toys. 

“i like spoiling them. deal with it.” 

you catch him once, watching your kid sleep while he absentmindedly brushes their hair out of their face. 

he looks at you and says, “this is the only family i’ve ever actually wanted.” 

yeah. you cry. 

© 𝐤𝐱𝐬𝐚𝐠𝐢

[onepieceisreeeeaaalll]

Hiiiii so I was mayhaps wondering if I could get a Sanji x reader, (fem mayhaps) and when Sanji flirts reader flirts back just as much and they fluster poor Sanji :3

FLIRTING COMPETITION - Sanji x Fem!Reader

Hiiiii!! Omg I loved this request, I tried my best to write a cute little blurb. I hope it’s satisfactory! This is actually the first request I’ve ever gotten and I’m not gonna lie I giggled like an idiot hehe.

CW: SFW, Blood mention (nose bleed), anime Sanji antics, flirty remarks but nothing past pg

~1.3k

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆

A new woman on board the Sunny is cause for celebration for no less than five of the Straw Hats. Nami and Robin were elated that there's finally someone else to connect with, to break up the monotony of the otherwise male-dominated crew. Not that they minded, but eventually you can only take so much locker room smell and fart jokes. Chopper was also excited, having another person to dote on him (not that some of the men aboard didn’t also do it in their own ways.) Luffy was excited, but of course it had nothing to do with you being a woman and everything to do with having another member of the crew who he invariably adored. Another crewmate, another nakama.

Nobody is more excited than Sanji, though.

At first, it's a little weird. You notice how Sanji dotes on and tends to the women in the crew. Extra treats, googly eyes, nose bleeds. He'd roll out the red carpet if he had one, release confetti if there were any aboard. The little comments didn't really get to you, and it seemed that Nami and Robin are already used to them. So, the flirtatious remarks from Sanji weren't really given any weight, and certainly not any attention. At least, not at first.

It started small. Well, from you at least - for Sanji’s part, the flirting was as obnoxious as ever. You’d offer him a warm smile here, a chaste laugh there. Anything to show your gratitude for the extra attention, though the flirting was certainly becoming an issue. You couldn’t quite decide what was bothering you about it so much. Maybe it was the fact that it was relentless and constant. There wasn't a single meal that went by without it, and it'd be an off day if Sanji didn't openly ogle and flirt. Or that it didn’t actually bother you at all - rather, it bothered you that it was indiscriminate, not just meant for you. It was shared among all three of you women aboard. Yes, maybe that was the issue. The comments have been wearing you down, and something deep inside was feeling something that maybe wasn’t very smart to be feeling, especially when dealing with an insatiable casanova like Sanji. Though, could he really be called that? You’re certain the boy reeked of virginity.

So, Sanji is a flirt. That much is obvious. And there were plenty of times where it left you flustered or flushed or even unsure of what to say. Well, two can play at that game.

As the sun shines over the table where you’re sat on the deck, with the smell of lunch wafting heavily in the air, you’re suddenly consumed with the idea of getting him back today.

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆

“Here you go, gorgeous! A special pâté served on seaweed with garlic, all plated with care for a beautiful lady such as yourself.”

You pick up your fork, finding the attention to detail he gives just a little funny. It's cute, anyway. You scoop a piece of the pâté from the seaweed, just to taste - the savory flavor is obvious, with some kind of roasted quality that forces a hum from your throat. You grin up at Sanji, your eyes flickering over his face with great interest.

“My compliments to the chef.” You respond, your tone a touch playful.

Sanji beams, and you swear you hear him giggle? For a man so confident in his craft, he can be a real dork when receiving compliments from women. This is going to be fun.

“Aw, I'm so glad you like it! There's plenty more where that came from for someone as beautiful and sweet as you! Oh - did you do something with your hair? The sunlight is catching it just right today, and-”

He's babbling, and definitely going overboard on the doting.

“Oh, brother…” Nami mumbles from her seat next to you, and you can hear Zoro scoffing from the railing nearby where he’s supposed to be taking a nap.

Everyone is just a little too aware of Sanji's actions, and even Robin suppresses a small chuckle. You shrug it off, though, giving Sanji a warm smile.

“We're very lucky to have you aboard as chef, huh? It's always dinner and a show.” You laugh, leaning your chin on your palm as you observe him. “With a great view, too. You ever think about getting into performing?”

Sanji stiffens, a hand moving to the back of his neck as the tips of his ears turn red. You can tell by his expression that he’s clearly caught off-guard, and probably just thinking you’re being extra friendly. It’s still clear the effects your comments are having on him.

“Well, of course not. I'm just a cook.” He laughs awkwardly, his tone still overly excited as he avoids your eyes. “Why d'ya ask, princess?”

You stifle a giggle at the way he seems to get a little less confident.

“Oh, nothing. I'd just pay to see someone as handsome as you every night.” You reply simply, your smile widening into a grin.

“Seriously?” Nami mumbles from across the table, but you ignore it. Her annoyance at the scene isn't your problem.

Sanji doesn't grin, though. He freezes worse than before. You can see his curly brow twitching, and his mouth opens to speak. Nothing comes out, though, so it promptly shuts. The blush on his ears has slowly spread across his cheeks, and it brings out the color of his eyes in a way you haven’t noticed before.

You can't stifle the giggle this time. It rolls out, and Sanji clears his throat in an attempt to recover his demeanor. Even the giggle seems to have made his heart leap.

“W-Well, thank you, I'll-”

“And your hair looks better than mine today. Honestly, I'd love to run my fingers through it. You don't mind, do you?”

You reach a hand out to Sanji's sleeve, tugging on it gently to pull him closer. He doesn't move. Instead, he pulls his arm away, bringing it towards his face, which he turns the other direction. He’s covering the lower part of his face with his sleeve. What the hell? There were a lot of reactions you were expecting from Sanji, but that was not one of them.

”What’s wrong, Prince Chef? Can’t take what you dish out?” You tease.

”E-Excuse me!”

You watch Sanji stalk off, and you notice when he brings down his sleeve from his face that the once pristine-white fold over his coat is now red with what appears to be blood stains. Ah, so that’s what it was. You giggle to yourself, picking up your fork again and scooping some of the pâté. Damn, it really is good.

”Wow. I’ve never seen Sanji freeze up like that.” Nami says, and you can’t help but laugh a little louder.

“Just giving him a taste of his own medicine. Or, a taste of his own pâté.” You reply with a proud grin, leaning back in your seat. You take a bite, and the sound of Robin’s soft chuckle from across the table grabs your attention.

”You’d better be careful,” Robin chimes in, a soft smile on her lips. “You’re going to break his heart if you keep flirting with him like that.”

”Yeah, let her. Serves the idiot cook right for chasing everything in a skirt.” Zoro adds, not bothering to open his eye.

“Oh, come on. He can handle a little flirting. He’ll be alright.” You giggle, taking a bite from your fork.

Though the taste reminds you of Sanji, and how cute his blush was when you complimented his cooking. It was even cuter when you complimented his appearance. Just the thought of getting to see that look again stirs something in your chest that’s hard to pinpoint, but it grows as you fork another bite. Maybe, just maybe, the condition of Sanji’s heart in relation to you is something you’ll need to keep in mind.

[amara-scott]

helloo!

i hope you're having a great day!

i want to make a request with mattheo? reaaaaally fluffy everything?

like, yk he gets into fights. lots of fights. and so, he and reader are like acquaintances, until she sees him fighting with someone in a corridor, and she tries to break the fight then takes him away to take care of his wounds and everything. after his fights, like he goes searching for reader to clean up his wounds. one day he gets into a fight and reader asks what this one was about and he said that he simply got angry at someone, later on, reader overhears the person speaking that mattheo beat them up because they wanted to take reader out. so, they discover their feelings (idk, maybe you can do that part real cheesy with some angst?)

anyway, that's all, ik it's really long, but if you can do it, i'd be so grateful

have a good day and sending the best regards and love!

Wounded heart.

Pairing: Mattheo Riddle x Ravenclaw!female Reader

The first time you saw Mattheo Riddle after one of his fights wasn’t a deliberate encounter—it wasn’t supposed to be anything at all. You hadn’t been looking for him; you’d just wanted a quiet spot to read, a moment of peace in the midst of the chaos that was Hogwarts. But then you found him, slouched against a bookshelf in a quiet corner of the library, his knuckles bloodied and bruised, his jaw cut open with a fresh wound, as if the world itself had thrown him into a battle.

You froze. He hadn’t even noticed you yet, too caught up in trying to wrap a torn piece of cloth around his hand with shaking fingers, biting his lip in frustration. The sight of him, usually so confident and untouchable, looking vulnerable like this—something about it made your chest tighten.

Without thinking, you stepped forward.

"Let me help."

Mattheo didn’t flinch or react at first, but when your hand brushed against his, he looked up. His eyes, stormy and unreadable, flicked to yours for a brief second. There was no sneer, no smirk—just that unsettling calm.

"You’re going to help me, sunshine?" His voice was rough, but it had a dangerous edge. "Why?"

You ignored the bite in his tone. “Because you’re clearly not doing a very good job of it yourself.”

He didn’t argue further, though his lips pulled into a tight line. You took his hand gently, carefully undoing the makeshift bandage. His skin was raw, scraped in places, and blood still oozed from some of the cuts. You felt a surge of something—anger, frustration, maybe something deeper—but you didn’t let it show. You simply took out your wand and murmured a healing charm.

It took a moment before Mattheo finally spoke again, his voice quieter now, almost contemplative. “You don’t have to do this.”

You didn’t look up, focusing on his hands as the cuts healed, knitting themselves back together. “And yet, here I am.”

The silence stretched between you, but there was an undeniable tension, a crackling energy in the air that neither of you acknowledged. When you finished, you let go of his hand and stood back, eyes finally meeting his. He didn’t move, still sitting against the bookshelf like some kind of wounded king, his posture relaxed despite everything.

"Let's not make a habit of this," he muttered, his voice softer now but still sharp in its own way.

You raised an eyebrow. “What, you getting into fights?”

His lips twitched, almost like he was fighting back a smirk. “You're right, doesn't sound very likely.”

And then, without another word, he stood up and left, his figure disappearing into the shadows of the library.

—

It became a pattern. Not a routine, not a friendship—not even a connection. Just moments where, after every fight, Mattheo found his way to you. Always in a quiet, hidden place where no one would see him in such a state—bruised, bleeding, looking like he had something to prove. And every time, you found yourself healing him. You’d never had a real conversation with him before, not one that went beyond the usual sarcastic remarks or terse exchanges. You weren’t even sure why he came to you. Maybe it was the way you never asked questions, never pried. You just healed.

But you couldn’t deny the way his presence lingered afterward—the way he would lean against the wall, his dark eyes watching you like you were the only thing worth seeing in that moment. His usual smugness wasn’t there. It was just him. And you. And the tension that hummed between you.

The first time you truly understood why Mattheo Riddle kept getting into fights, it wasn’t something you figured out on your own. No, it took someone else to unravel the truth, a truth you had been too blind to see all along.

It was another late evening, just after dinner, when one of his friends was asking for you. Again. Lorenzo, quite disheveled, came running down the table in the great hall and told you to follow him. It's because of Mattheo, he said. With a sigh you followed him into the dungeons, entering the Slytherin common room for the first time. And there he was, sitting on the edge of a couch, bloodied knuckles clutched tightly at his side, his face bruised in places you hadn’t seen before. He looked like he hadn’t even tried to hide it this time, not bothering to wear the usual mask of indifference. Lorenzo was pulled away and left you to it.

"Mattheo," you muttered, your voice a mix of frustration and concern, "you really should go see Madam Pomfrey."

He shook his head sharply, his dark eyes locking onto yours. "I don’t need her," he said, his voice tight with the same defiance you had grown accustomed to. "I only need you."

Your heart skipped a beat, but you tried not to let it show. Instead, you knelt beside him, setting your bag down and pulling out your wand to heal the worst of the damage. His gaze never wavered from you as you worked, the silence between you thick with unspoken words. You weren’t sure what kept pulling him back to you, but you weren’t going to question it now. Not when he needed you.

After a few moments, his wounds were mostly healed, but he didn’t seem to want to get up. He slumped back against the couch, staring at the ceiling with a faraway look in his eyes. You stepped back, about to ask if he wanted anything else, when you heard the soft click of the door opening.

Pansy Parkinson walked in, looking somewhat flustered, her eyes immediately locking onto Mattheo. She walked over to him quickly, concern flashing across her face when she saw the state he was in.

"Mattheo!" she hissed. "What the hell is wrong with you? You need Madam Pomfrey now—stop being stubborn."

Mattheo didn’t respond, his eyes still focused on you. Pansy’s gaze flickered between the two of you before she sighed, clearly exasperated. She crossed her arms, looking at him with a mix of disbelief and annoyance.

"I don’t know why you keep doing this," she muttered, more to herself than to him, but you caught the words. There was a strange undertone to them, something you didn’t quite understand.

As Mattheo finally stood, his movements slow, he winced, but he didn’t flinch. His hand brushed past yours in the faintest of touches, and you watched as he made his way to the stairs leading to the boys' dorms. Pansy followed after him, pausing to give you one last, lingering look. You had just finished packing away your things when she suddenly spoke again, this time more pointedly.

“You really don’t know, do you?”

You blinked, confusion settling over you. "Know what?"

She sighed, a mixture of pity and exasperation in her eyes. "Why he keeps getting into these stupid fights. Why he’s always so reckless."

You felt your stomach twist. “What do you mean? I thought he was just... angry. But I’ve never heard him really talk about it.”

Pansy’s gaze softened, and she leaned in closer, lowering her voice. "It’s because of you, dumbass."

You blinked at her, your mind spinning. “What?”

"Mattheo doesn’t do this for fun," she continued, the words slipping out as if she had been holding them back for too long. "Every time someone even looks at you the wrong way, or tries to get too close, he fights. Not because he’s angry, but because he’s possessive. He's trying to keep everyone away from you—because he wants you."

Her words hit you like a slap to the face. You tried to process them, but it was too much, too sudden. "No," you managed to say, shaking your head. "That can’t be it."

Pansy raised an eyebrow, an amused smirk tugging at her lips. “You really don’t get it, do you? Mattheo has been into you for ages. I don’t know how you didn’t see it. He doesn't care about getting hurt. He just doesn't want anyone else touching what he sees as his. It’s not about the fights—it's about you."

The world around you seemed to slow as you processed her words, each one ringing in your ears, louder than the last. It’s about you. The weight of it crushed down on your chest. You hadn’t understood the pattern, the constant tension that had been building between the two of you. It wasn’t just the way he came to you, the way he let you take care of him—no, it was much deeper than that. Mattheo wasn’t angry because of some random skirmishes. He was angry because you were the one thing he felt he had to protect, even if it meant tearing apart anyone who dared to get too close.

For the first time, the puzzle pieces clicked into place.

You exhaled shakily, your mind a swirl of confusion and disbelief. "Why didn’t he just say something?"

Pansy shrugged, her expression softening. "Mattheo’s never been one for words, especially not about feelings. But trust me, he’s made it pretty clear. If you wanted him to stop fighting, you’d have to stop letting him fight for you."

You stood there, staring after Mattheo, still processing the revelation. There was a certain heaviness in your chest now—one you hadn’t expected. And as you walked out of the room, still reeling, you couldn’t help but wonder what would happen next. Because if Pansy was right... then this was just the beginning.

—

Your heart pounded as you stalked down the halls toward the library the following day, having had plenty of time to contemplate confronting Mattheo. On thursdays he usually spent some time in a corner where you also encountered him for the first time. Rounding the corner you see him. He didn’t even flinch when you entered, but you could feel the tension rise between you.

“You beat people up—because of me,” you said, voice cold with something sharp, something you hadn’t allowed yourself to feel before.

Mattheo didn’t blink. “They deserved it.”

Your hands curled into fists. “You can’t just—”

“Because that git thought he had a chance with you?” Mattheo interrupted, his voice lowering, standing up and stepping closer to you. “Because he didn’t know you were already—mine?”

The words hit you like a curse. Mine. The possessiveness in his voice made your stomach drop, but you didn’t back down.

“I—I’m not—”

“You are,” he said, cutting you off, his eyes narrowing, lips curling into that smug grin you knew so well. “You just don’t know it yet.”

The space between you two was suffocating now, the tension so thick you could almost taste it. And before you could think better of it, before you could let logic override the impulsive urge, you grabbed him. Your fingers fisted in the collar of his shirt, and with a sharp tug, you pressed your lips to his, shutting down any protest he might have had.

It was rough. Desperate. His lips moved against yours like he had something to prove, his hands coming up to grip your waist, pulling you flush against him. You didn’t know if it was anger, frustration, or something else entirely that made it feel so real—but in that moment, it was everything. And when you pulled away, breathless, Mattheo’s forehead rested against yours, his grin back in full force.

“Took you long enough,” he murmured, his voice a mixture of teasing and satisfaction.

You rolled your eyes, but there was no hiding the smile that tugged at your lips. “Shut up, Riddle.”

He only laughed. “Not a chance.”

And from then on, the fights didn’t stop—but the aftermath did. Now, his bruises didn’t just end with your hands tending to him. Now, they ended with him holding you close, your lips pressing against the cuts and scrapes, the tension between you both still simmering, but now with an unspoken understanding. He was reckless, but you were his—whether he admitted it or not.

And maybe, just maybe, that made you feel like you were the one who was holding him together.

[aakeysmash]

college!sukuna + the first time he asks you to watch yuuji for him :)

“Yes mom, everything is okay- no I don’t need you to send me food- ma, please-“ you try reasoning with your mother, phone between your cheek and your shoulder, while trying to cook something up.

It’s been a month since your arrival and she’s worried you might not find the comfort she so desperately wants you to have. You love her, but she can be a little too much. You manage to hang up and then you’re deep in thought, not knowing if you should add pepper or not to your pot, when a deep voice near your ear makes you jump.

“Yo.”

“For fuck- hi?! Couldn’t you, I don’t know, make any kind of noise before scaring me shitless?” You say to college!sukuna, who is looking at your pan from behind your shoulder.

“That looks like a mess,” he responds, ignoring your outburst. He's so nonchalant, almost as if judging negatively something is his natural behaviour towards strangers.

“Get out,” you whine, trying to push him away by putting your hands on his chest. He doesn’t move an inch, merely resorting to stare at you from below his nose. Your breath almost hitches: his eyes are piercing red, and the fact that he has a pair of them tattoed beneath his real ones makes him look-

"You look like a serial killer, should I call the cops on you or are you going to step back?" you say, raising one eyebrow. He blows in your face and gives you space only when he hears you whine. Asshole. Your hands fall from his chest and you slightly touch his torso. Oh, the boy has muscles, that's for sure.

"I need you to watch the brat for me," he tells you straightforwardly.

You're confused. "You need me to watch who?"

He rolls his eyes. "My brother, I need you to watch my brother."

You gape up at him, then raise your shoulders and move around him to get to the fridge. "No thanky youuu."

"Come on. They need me at the studio, a client requested me for a tattoo," he says following you, hands in his pockets.

“Not surprised you’re a tattoo artist. I’m sorry for your clients,” you mumble.

“The fuck did you say?” He snarls.

You huff. “I said, what’s in it for me?”

You turn around closing the fridge door with your hip, and you find him staring at you, again.

“Pal, you have a serious staring problem-“

“I’m ordering take out for ya.”

“Huh?” You respond, a little baffled.

“Are you dense?” He starts, a bored tilt to his tone. He thinks you’re kinda cute, but the fact you talk back makes him want to shut you up. With his own tongue down your throat, possibly. “I said I’m ordering you food. Take care of my brother and you can ask me for whatever you want for dinner. It’s not like you’re a great cook, anyway,” he adds, pointing towards the pan you still have on the stove.

You lightly slap his arm and he fights back the urge to slap you back on your forehead. Affectionately! Maybe.

“You’re so rude. Go, I’ll watch Yuuji. I want seafood boil, thanks,” you singsong. In your peripheral vision you see him stretching out his hand.

“Shake on it.”

You put your hand in his and try to grip him as strongly as possible, but he notices and it feels like he’s trying to crush your bones when he grips your hand back.

“Ow! Okay! Deal!” you say stepping back and massaging your hand, frowning.

“Thanks,” he says smirking.

[butchvampireheimerdinger]

The Great War

A/N: So this was made in response to a request but it ended up blossoming into a full 2K word fic adjacent and I had to split it into two posts! Anyways, if you enjoy sexy and occasionally soft Sevika, dramatic arguments that result in comfort, and mob-wife vibes… enjoy!

Warnings: Not smut but mentions of sex and both characters are D O W N B A D.. A lot of cussing and mentions of violence.

Pairing: Butch!Sevika X Femme!Reader who is super outgoing and forward

🂱 So the two of you’ve met briefly around town, kinda running in the same circles. You notice her right away but you don’t actually talk until she shows up at work — The Last Drop.

🂱 You’re a server and your charisma, magnetism, and punchy/blunt sort of energy makes you well suited to hospitality. You’re the bubbly outgoing type of waitress who gets their table laughing and in a good spirits with ur contagious good vibes.

🂱 You beat the other waitress to claim Sevika’s table, and it’s on.

🂱 She would get a kick out of it — your shamelessness. She really likes the forward thing, timidity makes her roll her eyes. Life’s too short for playing hard to get! Plus, she’s an adult. And a literal revolutionary who quite literally does not have the time for all that.

🂱 Before you learn each others names you endearingly and lightheartedly call her “butchy,” or something like that. She calls you sweetheart.

🂱 You’d pour her beers on the house. You’d lean over the bar counter on ur elbows, making sure ur titties look good and perky. And if it was just the two of you, she would not hide her ogling.

🂱 It’d be a bit of a game to you two. Making the other person crack, being the first to back down/get all blushy. You’d be all flirty-flirty over the bar counter, she’d pull you into her lap during her card game. It’s like how straight guys play gay chicken. Except ur actually gay so it would just be chicken.

🂱 And she’s smoking indoors, as per us. You ask if you can have a hit. She shotguns it into ur mouth and you blow it upward, once again drawing attention to your décolletage, to the girls hehe

🂱 Eventually she just asks you straight up if you wanna spend the night. Maybe you take her up on it, maybe you don’t. Either way, she’s not the fuckboy (fuckbutch?) hit it n quit it type. She’s an adult woman with emotional intelligence and communication skills goddammit and she’s gonna ask you to dinner.

🂱 Takes u to the fanciest place in the undercity, orders everything on the menu trying to flex her wallet and impress u. Whether or not u ask for it she gets you one of those weird rich people desserts where they make part of the preparation an “experience.” like they pour hot liquid over a hollow chocolate shell and it cracks open and reveals a little cake inside. Or something involving a blowtorch.

🂱 Anyways this whole time ur just rubbing ur lil high heeled foot up her pant leg under the table and twirling ur hair, touching her arm, etc. Naughty girl — she mock-scolds you telepathically with a dommy little eyebrow raise thing.

“Here? Now? I pull out all the stops to give you a magical evening and you already wanna leave and bang it out. That’s real classy, sweetheart.”

🂱 You’re both rather bold and upfront, obviously. Strong personalities, fire sign energy — which means you butt heads often. Your relationship is super intense and fiery so every day is like a soap opera, or like The Real Mob Wives of Staten Island in levels of drama.

“Why the hell didn’t you come home last night? And why did i have to find out from Vivi that she saw you cracking skulls in a fishing boat by the pier?”

“Babygirl I told you I was taking care of business. Sweetheart, uprisings don’t happen overnight, it’s all about biding time and strategically applying political pressure in Topside-”

“Jesus, Mary, and the goddamn camels you and your strategic goddamn pressure. I’ll tell you I’ve fucking had it with you and your fucking pressure. You wanna make me look like an idiot? When me and my girlfriends are sitting drinking mimosas for brunch at Jarrod's and they ask me ‘Y/N where’s that woman of yours?’ And i have to look them in the eyes and say “Clint Eastwood was unable to join us as she had a prior engagement strategically applying pressure. To the back of enforcers’ skulls. With a fucking baseball bat. Like a common thug. Mind you, I’m a classy lady all by my lonesome on a Sunday fucking morning-"

“Classy lady I’ll fucking say. You’d think I plan on growing old with Mrs. Fucking Vanderbilt, the way you want to buy ten thousand pairs of red high heels-“

“Omg babe you wanna grow old with me?”

“-that all look exactly the fucking same, by the way. ‘Burnt orange’ and ‘vermillion’ and ‘chartreuse’ or whatever the fuck — You know it’s just fucking red.

“Chartreuse is green, since you wanna be a smartass,”

“Don’t gaslight me, woman. Where do you even plan on wearing those? We live in an oversized sewer pipe. Not the magical land of Oz. I told you who i was when you met me. I told you this is what I do. And you better get used to it if you wanna keep charging my card at every boutique within a ten mile radius,”

“Or what? Gonna give me the spiel again, talk me to death about the uprising and the political elites and the our time is imminent, y/n. Gonna threaten me like you do your little fishing buddies? Gonna apply me some strategic fucking pressure?”

“That’s enough.” Sevika hissed, scary calm. She kicks the pantry door shut and whips around, pointing at you with her cigarette. “I’ve had enough of this shit. You’re done, Missy.”

“Beg pardon? I’ll decide when I’m done, thank you very much. You’ve got some nerve telling me when to speak when I can’t even reach you half the time. I had to track down your little boss the other day — brought him a lovely casserole — and ask if he could pass on a message for me! ‘Excuse me Mr. Scaryman Eye of Zaun, sir, could you possibly ask Zorro if she might head home as soon as she’s done busting kneecaps? And to arrive in a clean shirt, as my parents are in town and they prefer to greet their daughter-in-law when she’s not covered in someone’s intravenous blood. Thank you kindly.’”

“You showed up at work? Wait- you talked to Silco? Babe I told you to stay the fuck away from there!”

“Please. He may be the kingpin of the city or whatever, but I make a gorgeous quiche. Trust me, babe. Once he tastes my cooking, I am henceforth immune to whatever machiavellian basement torture chamber you brutes probably use as your break room.”

🂱 Sorry guys, got a little carried away there. Point is, one minute you’re screaming at each other and dramatically slamming doors and throwing shit, the next you’re fucking on the kitchen floor like the world’s about to end. You guys basically co-authored the book on how to be an absolute nightmare of an upstairs neighbor. The entire building feels the floor shaking and no one knows if the screaming is just you guys having a little too much fun for 2pm on a Tuesday, or if they’re gonna see this on the news tomorrow.

🂱 Kidding! At the end of the day, trust and loyalty are the foundations of your relationship. You love each other wildly, deeply, and passionately.

🂱 Sevika has a strict no going to bed angry policy. If you’d gotten into it that evening you might give her the cold shoulder, curl up facing away from her in the quiet moments before bed. She’s reading by the lantern on the bedside table — an upcycled barstool the two of you stole from your old job at The Last Drop one evening when you were in a particularly silly mood.

🂱 She catches your gaze a couple times as you stare over your shoulder to see if she’s paying attention to you, and then you immediately turn and go back to ignoring her. She takes off her reading glasses, tosses her book onto the bed, and rolls over to you, wrapping her arm around you from the back.

“Hey baby?” She kisses your shoulder and the back of your head since you still won’t look at her, and she continues. “Love of my life? Light of my world? Keeper of my soul and partner in crime through the sea of trials we call the fucked-up game of life?” You turn slightly to give her a glaring side eye.

“…What do you want.”

“Still mad at me, babygirl?”

“Not at all. Why on earth would I be mad?”

“I’m sorryyy,” she draws it out, cooing at you all soft and sing-songy. If the ne’erdowells who often got their asses handed to them by her and her little team could see this Sevika, they’d think they lost their mind. Hell, if any punk on the street could see this Sevika they’d think they lost their mind. It made your knees weak the way she undid herself and softened for you. For only you. You fought the smile forming and she continued murmuring against your skin.

“It’s all this bullshit at work Silco’s got me taking care of. I’m neglecting my little lady, I’m stretched so thin. It’s too much…”

“Too much…?” You echo. “Talk to me, love. Silco’s not letting you catch a breather?”

She grunts in affirmation against your shoulder: “Mm-hrmm”

“Does my baby have the whooole wide world on her poor, tired, buff, strong, sexy shoulders-EEK!” She gleefully flips you over to face her, making you cackle. You’ve been disarmed. At her mercy. You always were.

She leans forward to bonk her forehead against yours.

“Glad someone in this cruel world finally understands me and my line of work,” she says, half-joking.

“No one understands the importance of your job better than me, babe.” You continue, at this point unable to remove the sarcasm from your tone even if you tried. She nuzzles into the crook of your shoulder facedown, head supported by the cushiness of your tit. You weave your fingers in her hair.

“The honorable burden of great duty… The unfathomable smothering of moral obligation, even. One might describe it as an immensely… strategic pressure-”

“-For FUCK’s SAKE”

“You have worker’s rights, you know! Demand an hour off — paid — in your underground torture chamber-breakroom. You’re entitled to relax and sip coffee as you watch the bodies hit the floor, goddammit!”

Feigning exasperation, Sev dramatically collapses backward starfish-style on the old-ass creaky-ass decrepit-ass daddy longlegs convention of a double bed the two of you share; in a shithole apartment, in a shady-ass neighborhood, in a collapsing city. That’s how it was between the two of you. Underneath it all, she trusts that you’ll always be there to kiss her wounds, to make sure her collar is straight and there’s no shmutz on her face. You trust that at the end of the day, it’s you she’s coming home to.

[fear-less]

Request!!!!!!!!!!!!¡!!!!!!!!!!¡!!!!¡!!!¡!!!!!!!!!¡!!!!!¡¡!!!!!! Anyways teen mom reader x any character ig lol totally fine if you're not comfortable writing for that I'm a teen mom and YA lol perfectly fine if you're not comfortable though totally get it have a great day <3

₊˚⊹˚ 𐙚 thorns with my petals

paring: regulus black x f!reader

➥ In which, you find out you're pregnant and go through many emotions, especially when you realize you'll have to tell Regulus about it, luckily he doesn't seem as scared about it as you are. 

warnings: teen pregnancy, reg stays DON'T worry, fluff, angst, happy ending woo, sirius and reg are on good terms in this bc duhh, and a few time skips. 

2.0K words

The chill of late autumn settled over the castle as you sat in the quiet corner of the library, staring blankly at your parchment. The Charms essay in front of you might as well have been written in Gobbledegook for all you could concentrate on it. Your hands trembled slightly as they rested in your lap, still trying to process the news you'd received earlier that day.

Madam Pomfrey's kind but firm words echoed in your mind. "You're a few weeks along, my dear. It’s not uncommon to feel overwhelmed, but I’ll be here to help, should you need anything."

You were pregnant.

It didn’t feel real yet—how could it? You were just a student at Hogwarts, barely scraping through Transfiguration and dodging Peeves' pranks. How were you supposed to take on something so enormous, so life-changing? And how would you tell Regulus?

The thought of him made your heart twist. Regulus Black was not an easy person to read, though you knew him better than most. He had a quiet intensity, a weight on his shoulders that he never spoke of, and a fierce loyalty that burned brightly when it came to you. Still, he was young, like you, and tied to a family that would likely never forgive this kind of scandal.

The library door creaked open, and instinctively, you looked up. There he was, tall and elegant in his Slytherin robes, his dark hair slightly missed from the wind outside. He scanned the room, and when his gaze landed on you, his lips curved into that small, private smile he reserved only for you.

"Hey," he greeted softly, sliding into the seat across from you. "You look like you've seen a ghost."

You swallowed hard, suddenly finding it impossible to meet his eyes. "I—I need to talk to you about something."

His brows knitted together, concern flickering across his features. "Is everything alright?"

The words caught in your throat, tangled with fear and doubt. Regulus reached across the table, taking your trembling hands in his. His touch was grounding, as it always was.

"You can tell me anything, you know that," he said, his voice steady.

You nodded, taking a shaky breath. "I'm... I'm pregnant."

For a moment, the world seemed to still. His grip on your hands didn’t falter, but his expression shifted—surprise, disbelief, and then something softer, something that made your chest ache.

"You're sure?" he asked gently, his voice barely above a whisper.

You nodded again, tears welling up despite your best efforts to hold them back. "Madam Pomfrey confirmed it this morning."

Regulus sat back, running a hand through his hair as he processed your words. "Okay," he said finally, the word surprising you with its calmness. "Okay."

"That's all you have to say?" you asked, your voice trembling.

"No," he said quickly, leaning forward again. "No, it's not. I just—I need a moment to think." He exhaled deeply, his gaze locking onto yours. "This isn’t what we planned, obviously, but... I’m not going anywhere. We'll figure this out together."

His words brought a fresh wave of tears, but this time, they carried relief. You hadn’t realized how much you’d feared his reaction until now.

"What about your family?" you asked hesitantly.

A shadow passed over his face, but he shook his head. "They don’t matter. You matter. This—" he gestured between you—"matters. We’ll handle it, whatever it takes."

You reached across the table, cupping his cheek. "I was so scared," you admitted.

"I know," he said, covering your hand with his. "But you’re not alone in this. Not ever."

In that moment, despite the uncertainty of the future, you believed him. Regulus had always been your anchor, and now, you would be his too.

ʕ•̫͡•ʕ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʕ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʕ•̫͡•ʕ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʕ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʔ

Many months later…

 The small cottage you and Regulus had made your home after graduation was quiet, save for the sound of the rain pattering against the windows. The world outside was gray, but inside, everything felt warmer—a sanctuary you had built together, away from the expectations and chaos of the Black family and the wizarding world.

Regulus paced the length of the sitting room, his usually composed demeanor cracking under the weight of his nerves. Every so often, he glanced toward the closed bedroom door, where Madam Pomfrey—who had insisted on being there—was helping you through labor.

"Regulus, love, sit down before you wear a hole in the floor," Sirius teased, leaning casually against the doorway. He had shown up unannounced the day before, claiming he wouldn’t miss this for the world. His grin was wide, but even he couldn’t hide the tension in his eyes as the occasional sound of your pained cries echoed through the cottage.

"I can’t just sit," Regulus snapped, running a hand through his already-disheveled hair. "She’s in pain, Sirius. Real pain, and I can’t do anything to help her."

"She’s stronger than you think," Sirius said, his voice softening. "You’d know that if you weren’t so busy pacing."

Regulus shot him a glare but said nothing. Instead, he turned to the window, watching the rainfall in steady streams. His mind raced with thoughts of you—your strength, your determination, and how you had faced the last nine months with a courage that left him in awe. He wanted nothing more than to be by your side, to hold your hand and whisper that everything would be okay.

Just then, the door creaked open, and Madam Pomfrey stepped out. Regulus froze, his breath catching in his throat.

"It’s time," she said with a small smile, her face flushed but kind. "She’s asking for you."

Regulus didn’t wait for another word. He brushed past her, entering the bedroom with his heart pounding in his chest.

You were lying in bed, your hair damp with sweat and your face pale but glowing with determination. Your eyes met his, and despite the exhaustion etched into your features, you managed a weak smile.

"Hey," you whispered.

"Hey," he murmured, rushing to your side and taking your hand in his. His fingers were cold, but his touch was steady, grounding you as another wave of pain rippled through your body.

"I can’t do this," you choked out, tears streaming down your face.

"Yes, you can," he said firmly, his voice filled with a confidence that surprised even him. "You’re the strongest person I know. I’m right here, and I’m not leaving."

With his words and the gentle encouragement of Madam Pomfrey, you found the strength to push through the pain. The minutes stretched into what felt like hours, but finally, a cry filled the room—soft and piercing all at once.

Madam Pomfrey carefully placed the tiny, wriggling baby into your arms, and you felt your breath catch. The weight of the child, your child, was both surreal and grounding. Regulus leaned closer, his wide eyes locked on the baby.

"It’s a boy," Madam Pomfrey announced with a proud smile.

"A boy," Regulus repeated, his voice barely a whisper. His hand trembled as he reached out to brush a finger against the baby’s cheek.

You glanced at him, tears streaming down your face. "We did it," you said, your voice breaking.

He looked at you then, his gray eyes shining with emotion you’d rarely seen. "You did it," he corrected softly. "You’re incredible."

The baby let out a small, hiccuping cry, and Regulus carefully scooped him into his arms. He stared down at the tiny face, his expression a mixture of awe and love.

"He’s perfect," he murmured.

"And so are you," you said, watching him cradle your son with a tenderness that made your heart ache.

Sirius peeked his head into the room, a rare softness in his expression. "So? What’s his name?"

Regulus glanced at you, and you exchanged a smile. "Orion," you said in unison, the name a tribute to the stars that had always guided you both, even in the darkest times.

As the storm outside began to ease, a sense of peace settled over the room. In that moment, surrounded by love and new beginnings, you realized that despite the challenges ahead, you were exactly where you were meant to be—with Regulus by your side and your son in your arms.

ʕ•̫͡•ʕ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʕ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʕ•̫͡•ʕ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʕ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʔ

11 years later…

The crisp September air carried the hum of excitement as families bustled around Platform 9¾. The scarlet Hogwarts Express stood gleaming on the tracks, its whistle echoing through the station. You stood hand-in-hand with Regulus, watching as your eleven-year-old son, Orion, darted between trunks and trolleys with boundless energy.

"Slow down, love, or you’ll knock someone over!" you called after him, though you couldn’t help but smile at his enthusiasm.

Regulus chuckled beside you, his arm slipping around your waist. "He’s been waiting for this moment since he could hold a wand," he said, his voice soft but filled with pride.

"Sounds like someone I know," you teased, nudging him gently.

"Except he’s far more excited than I ever was," Regulus admitted. His gaze followed Orion as he helped a smaller boy with his luggage. "He doesn’t have the weight of family expectations hanging over him. He gets to just… be."

You leaned into him, understanding the unspoken words. Regulus had come a long way from the boy who once felt trapped by the Black name. Together, you’d built a life for Orion filled with love, freedom, and the chance to define his own path.

"Dad! Mum!" Orion’s voice rang out as he waved you over to where his trunk was now safely stowed on the train. His face was alight with excitement, his gray eyes—so much like his father’s—sparkling with wonder.

"Have you got everything?" you asked, crouching down to check his robes and tie one last time. "Your wand, your books, the lunch I packed?"

"Mum," he groaned, rolling his eyes in that way only an eleven-year-old could. "I’ve got everything. I’m not a baby."

Regulus smirked, kneeling down beside you. "She’s going to worry no matter what, Orion. You’ll just have to write home and reassure her every day."

"Every day?" Orion groaned dramatically, though his grin betrayed him. "Maybe once a week. If I’m not too busy being the best student Hogwarts has ever seen."

"Best student, huh?" Regulus arched an eyebrow. "Let’s start with staying out of detention, shall we?"

Orion grinned mischievously. "No promises."

The train’s whistle blew, signaling the final call for boarding. Your heart clenched as you realized the moment had come.

"Alright, love," you said, pulling Orion into a tight hug. "Be brave, be kind, and don’t forget how much we love you."

"I won’t," he mumbled, hugging you back with surprising force.

Regulus pulled him into a quick but firm embrace. "And remember," he said, his voice quiet but steady, "the Sorting Hat listens to you. Whatever house you choose, we’ll be proud of you."

Orion nodded, his expression momentarily serious. Then, with a bright smile, he picked up his owl’s cage and turned toward the train. "See you at Christmas!" he called as he climbed aboard.

You and Regulus stood side by side, waving as the train began to move. Orion leaned out the window, waving frantically until the train turned a corner and disappeared from view.

The platform slowly emptied as other families departed, but you and Regulus lingered, the weight of the moment settling over you.

"He’ll be alright," Regulus said, slipping his hand into yours.

"I know," you whispered, though tears pricked your eyes. "But it’s hard letting him go."

Regulus pulled you close, pressing a kiss to your temple. "He’s strong, like his mother. And he’s got a whole world ahead of him."

You looked up at him, a smile tugging at your lips. "He’s got the best parts of you, too."

The two of you stood there for a moment longer, watching the empty tracks. Though your hearts ached with the bittersweet pride of watching your son grow up, you knew this was just the beginning of his own adventure—and you’d always be there to cheer him on.