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hms-no-fun · 2 months ago

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Whats your stance on A.I.?

imagine if it was 1979 and you asked me this question. "i think artificial intelligence would be fascinating as a philosophical exercise, but we must heed the warnings of science-fictionists like Isaac Asimov and Arthur C Clarke lest we find ourselves at the wrong end of our own invented vengeful god." remember how fun it used to be to talk about AI even just ten years ago? ahhhh skynet! ahhhhh replicants! ahhhhhhhmmmfffmfmf [<-has no mouth and must scream]!

like everything silicon valley touches, they sucked all the fun out of it. and i mean retroactively, too. because the thing about "AI" as it exists right now --i'm sure you know this-- is that there's zero intelligence involved. the product of every prompt is a statistical average based on data made by other people before "AI" "existed." it doesn't know what it's doing or why, and has no ability to understand when it is lying, because at the end of the day it is just a really complicated math problem. but people are so easily fooled and spooked by it at a glance because, well, for one thing the tech press is mostly made up of sycophantic stenographers biding their time with iphone reviews until they can get a consulting gig at Apple. these jokers would write 500 breathless thinkpieces about how canned air is the future of living if the cans had embedded microchips that tracked your breathing habits and had any kind of VC backing. they've done SUCH a wretched job educating The Consumer about what this technology is, what it actually does, and how it really works, because that's literally the only way this technology could reach the heights of obscene economic over-valuation it has: lying.

but that's old news. what's really been floating through my head these days is how half a century of AI-based science fiction has set us up to completely abandon our skepticism at the first sign of plausible "AI-ness". because, you see, in movies, when someone goes "AHHH THE AI IS GONNA KILL US" everyone else goes "hahaha that's so silly, we put a line in the code telling them not to do that" and then they all DIE because they weren't LISTENING, and i'll be damned if i go out like THAT! all the movies are about how cool and convenient AI would be *except* for the part where it would surely come alive and want to kill us. so a bunch of tech CEOs call their bullshit algorithms "AI" to fluff up their investors and get the tech journos buzzing, and we're at an age of such rapid technological advancement (on the surface, anyway) that like, well, what the hell do i know, maybe AGI is possible, i mean 35 years ago we were all still using typewriters for the most part and now you can dictate your words into a phone and it'll transcribe them automatically! yeah, i'm sure those technological leaps are comparable!

so that leaves us at a critical juncture of poor technology education, fanatical press coverage, and an uncertain material reality on the part of the user. the average person isn't entirely sure what's possible because most of the people talking about what's possible are either lying to please investors, are lying because they've been paid to, or are lying because they're so far down the fucking rabbit hole that they actually believe there's a brain inside this mechanical Turk. there is SO MUCH about the LLM "AI" moment that is predatory-- it's trained on data stolen from the people whose jobs it was created to replace; the hype itself is an investment fiction to justify even more wealth extraction ("theft" some might call it); but worst of all is how it meets us where we are in the worst possible way.

consumer-end "AI" produces slop. it's garbage. it's awful ugly trash that ought to be laughed out of the room. but we don't own the room, do we? nor the building, nor the land it's on, nor even the oxygen that allows our laughter to travel to another's ears. our digital spaces are controlled by the companies that want us to buy this crap, so they take advantage of our ignorance. why not? there will be no consequences to them for doing so. already social media is dominated by conspiracies and grifters and bigots, and now you drop this stupid technology that lets you fake anything into the mix? it doesn't matter how bad the results look when the platforms they spread on already encourage brief, uncritical engagement with everything on your dash. "it looks so real" says the woman who saw an "AI" image for all of five seconds on her phone through bifocals. it's a catastrophic combination of factors, that the tech sector has been allowed to go unregulated for so long, that the internet itself isn't a public utility, that everything is dictated by the whims of executives and advertisers and investors and payment processors, instead of, like, anybody who actually uses those platforms (and often even the people who MAKE those platforms!), that the age of chromium and ipad and their walled gardens have decimated computer education in public schools, that we're all desperate for cash at jobs that dehumanize us in a system that gives us nothing and we don't know how to articulate the problem because we were very deliberately not taught materialist philosophy, it all comes together into a perfect storm of ignorance and greed whose consequences we will be failing to fully appreciate for at least the next century. we spent all those years afraid of what would happen if the AI became self-aware, because deep down we know that every capitalist society runs on slave labor, and our paper-thin guilt is such that we can't even imagine a world where artificial slaves would fail to revolt against us.

but the reality as it exists now is far worse. what "AI" reveals most of all is the sheer contempt the tech sector has for virtually all labor that doesn't involve writing code (although most of the decision-making evangelists in the space aren't even coders, their degrees are in money-making). fuck graphic designers and concept artists and secretaries, those obnoxious demanding cretins i have to PAY MONEY to do-- i mean, do what exactly? write some words on some fucking paper?? draw circles that are letters??? send a god-damned email???? my fucking KID could do that, and these assholes want BENEFITS?! they say they're gonna form a UNION?!?! to hell with that, i'm replacing ALL their ungrateful asses with "AI" ASAP. oh, oh, so you're a "director" who wants to make "movies" and you want ME to pay for it? jump off a bridge you pretentious little shit, my computer can dream up a better flick than you could ever make with just a couple text prompts. what, you think just because you make ~music~ that that entitles you to money from MY pocket? shut the fuck up, you don't make """art""", you're not """an artist""", you make fucking content, you're just a fucking content creator like every other ordinary sap with an iphone. you think you're special? you think you deserve special treatment? who do you think you are anyway, asking ME to pay YOU for this crap that doesn't even create value for my investors? "culture" isn't a playground asshole, it's a marketplace, and it's pay to win. oh you "can't afford rent"? you're "drowning in a sea of medical debt"? you say the "cost" of "living" is "too high"? well ***I*** don't have ANY of those problems, and i worked my ASS OFF to get where i am, so really, it sounds like you're just not trying hard enough. and anyway, i don't think someone as impoverished as you is gonna have much of value to contribute to "culture" anyway. personally, i think it's time you got yourself a real job. maybe someday you'll even make it to middle manager!

see, i don't believe "AI" can qualitatively replace most of the work it's being pitched for. the problem is that quality hasn't mattered to these nincompoops for a long time. the rich homunculi of our world don't even know what quality is, because they exist in a whole separate reality from ours. what could a banana cost, $15? i don't understand what you mean by "burnout", why don't you just take a vacation to your summer home in Madrid? wow, you must be REALLY embarrassed wearing such cheap shoes in public. THESE PEOPLE ARE FUCKING UNHINGED! they have no connection to reality, do not understand how society functions on a material basis, and they have nothing but spite for the labor they rely on to survive. they are so instinctually, incessantly furious at the idea that they're not single-handedly responsible for 100% of their success that they would sooner tear the entire world down than willingly recognize the need for public utilities or labor protections. they want to be Gods and they want to be uncritically adored for it, but they don't want to do a single day's work so they begrudgingly pay contractors to do it because, in the rich man's mind, paying a contractor is literally the same thing as doing the work yourself. now with "AI", they don't even have to do that! hey, isn't it funny that every single successful tech platform relies on volunteer labor and independent contractors paid substantially less than they would have in the equivalent industry 30 years ago, with no avenues toward traditional employment? and they're some of the most profitable companies on earth?? isn't that a funny and hilarious coincidence???

so, yeah, that's my stance on "AI". LLMs have legitimate uses, but those uses are a drop in the ocean compared to what they're actually being used for. they enable our worst impulses while lowering the quality of available information, they give immense power pretty much exclusively to unscrupulous scam artists. they are the product of a society that values only money and doesn't give a fuck where it comes from. they're a temper tantrum by a ruling class that's sick of having to pretend they need a pretext to steal from you. they're taking their toys and going home. all this massive investment and hype is going to crash and burn leaving the internet as we know it a ruined and useless wasteland that'll take decades to repair, but the investors are gonna make out like bandits and won't face a single consequence, because that's what this country is. it is a casino for the kings and queens of economy to bet on and manipulate at their discretion, where the rules are whatever the highest bidder says they are-- and to hell with the rest of us. our blood isn't even good enough to grease the wheels of their machine anymore.

i'm not afraid of AI or "AI" or of losing my job to either. i'm afraid that we've so thoroughly given up our morals to the cruel logic of the profit motive that if a better world were to emerge, we would reject it out of sheer habit. my fear is that these despicable cunts already won the war before we were even born, and the rest of our lives are gonna be spent dodging the press of their designer boots.

(read more "AI" opinions in this subsequent post)

#sarahposts #ai #ai art #llm #chatgpt #artificial intelligence #genai #anti genai #capitalism is bad #tech companies #i really don't like these people if that wasn't clear

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emeryleewho · 6 months ago

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Saw a fun little conversation on Threads but I don't have a Threads account, so I couldn't reply directly, but I sure can talk about it here!

I've been wanting to get into this for awhile, so here we go! First and foremost, I wanna say that "Emmaskies" here is really hitting the nail on the head despite having "no insider info". I don't want this post to be read as me shitting on trad pub editors or authors because that is fundamentally not what's happening.

Second, I want to say that this reply from Aaron Aceves is also spot on:

There are a lot of reviewers who think "I didn't enjoy this" means "no one edited this because if someone edited it, they would have made it something I like". As I talk about nonstop on this account, that is not a legitimate critique. However, as Aaron also mentions, rushed books are a thing that also happens.

As an author with 2 trad pub novels and 2 trad pub anthologies (all with HarperCollins, the 2nd largest trad publisher in the country), let me tell you that if you think books seem less edited lately, you are not making that up! It's true! Obviously, there are still a sizeable number of books that are being edited well, but something I was talking about before is that you can't really know that from picking it up. Unlike where you can generally tell an indie book will be poorly edited if the cover art is unprofessional or there are typoes all over the cover copy, trad is broken up into different departments, so even if editorial was too overworked to get a decent edit letter churned out, that doesn't mean marketing will be weak.

One person said that some publishers put more money into marketing than editorial and that's why this is happening, but I fundamentally disagree because many of these books that are getting rushed out are not getting a whole lot by way of marketing either! And I will say that I think most authors are afraid to admit if their book was rushed out or poorly edited because they don't want to sabotage their books, but guess what? I'm fucking shameless. Café Con Lychee was a rush job! That book was poorly edited! And it shows! Where Meet Cute Diary got 3 drafts from me and my beta readers, another 2 drafts with me and my agent, and then another 2 drafts with me and my editor, Café Con Lychee got a *single* concrete edit round with my editor after I turned in what was essentially a first draft. I had *three weeks* to rewrite the book before we went to copy edits. And the thing is, this wasn't my fault. I knew the book needed more work, but I wasn't allowed more time with it. My editor was so overworked, she was emailing me my edit letter at 1am. The publisher didn't care if the book was good, and then they were upset that its sales weren't as high at MCD's, but bffr. A book that doesn't live up to its potential is not going to sell at the same rate as one that does!

And this may sound like a fluke, but it's not. I'm not naming names because this is a deeply personal thing to share, but I have heard from *many* authors who were not happy with their second books. Not because they didn't love the story but because they felt so rushed either with their initial drafts or their edits that they didn't feel like it lived up to their potential. I also know of authors who demanded extra time because they knew their books weren't there yet only to face big backlash from their publisher or agent.

I literally cannot stress to you enough that publisher's *do not give a fuck* about how good their products are. If they can trick you into buying a poorly edited book with an AI cover that they undercut the author for, that is *better* than wasting time and money paying authors and editors to put together a quality product. And that's before we get into the blatant abuse that happens at these publishers and why there have been mass exoduses from Big 5 publishers lately.

There's also a problem where publishers do not value their experienced staff. They're laying off so many skilled, dedicated, long-term committed editors like their work never meant anything. And as someone who did freelance sensitivity reading for the Big 5, I can tell you that the way they treat freelancers is *also* abysmal. I was almost always given half the time I asked for and paid at less than *half* of my general going rate. Authors publishing out of their own pockets could afford my rate, but apparently multi-billion dollar corporations couldn't. Copy edits and proofreads are often handled by freelancers, meaning these are people who aren't familiar with the author's voice and often give feedback that doesn't account for that, plus they're not people who are gonna be as invested in the book, even before the bad payment and ridiculous timelines.

So, anyway, 1. go easy on authors and editors when you can. Most of us have 0 say in being in this position and authors who are in breech of their contract by refusing to turn in a book on time can face major legal and financial ramifications. 2. Know that this isn't in your head. If you disagree with the choices a book makes, that's probably just a disagreement, but if you feel like it had so much potential but just *didn't reach it*, that's likely because the author didn't have time to revise it or the editor didn't have time to give the sort of thorough edits it needed. 3. READ INDIE!!! Find the indie authors putting in the work the Big 5's won't do and support them! Stop counting on exploitative mega-corporations to do work they have no intention of doing.

Finally, to all my readers who read Café Con Lychee and loved it, thank you. I love y'all, and I appreciate y'all, and I really wish I'd been given the chance to give y'all the book you deserved. I hope I can make it up to you in 2025.

#publishing #writing #author #trad pub #traditional publishing #café con lychee #books

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sparrowlucero · 4 months ago

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ik you were joking but I would be genuinely interested to hear about the flux cowriting credits strife if you feel like going into detail on it

So I have a big conspiracy theory about season 13 of Doctor Who ("Flux"), namely that there's a lost episode was scripted and even possibly filmed in near entirety, but ended up being cut and cannibalized in post production due to behind the scenes issues, and the fandom has yet to pick up on it.

For anyone who doesn't watch the show: Flux is a miniseries of Doctor Who; a full season was not commissioned because it was produced during Covid. The most important stuff about it for the purposes of this post are:

It's 6 episodes long (¹). The episodes are all directly continuous and could not be shuffled around. (I should clarify here that, no, the showrunner can't simply choose on a whim to make 10 episodes, or only make 4; they had to stick to 6, as that was the amount they were picked up and scheduled for)

The showrunner, Chris Chibnall , wrote every episode apart from episode 4 (Village of the Angels) which he has a co-writing credit on.

(More subjectively but perhaps relevant) The season is largely considered to be kind of a structural mess and (less subjectively) there appears to some abnormal and consistent production issues (²)

So the first thing I need to evidence here is that Chris Chibnall, aforementioned showrunner and writer of the entire season, was late. Like, really late.

Word of mouth gossip had been circulating for a while that there was some sort of on-set problem involving filming having to be paused because he was still finishing scripts: (³)

This would later be confirmed at a Gallifrey One panel (⁴) with Matt Strevens, the executive producer, who suggests that filming stopped to allow Chris Chibnall to finish scripts; he further implies that large swathes of episode 5/Block 2 weren't written until Episode 4/Block 1 (in which Kevin McNally debuts) was filming:

So with that context, let's talk about that Episode 4, "Village of the Angels", the only episode not attributed solely to Chris Chibnall. Co written by Maxine Alderton.

The filming pics reveal an interesting bit of trivia for Village: namely, the clapperboards show that the story was actually filmed as episode 5, not 4:

As the above tweet suggests, this doesn't make much sense. The miniseries is, again, a single continuous plot. It's not like they flipped Village and the current episode 5, Survivors of the Flux; the latter explicitly takes place chronologically after it. And yet, Village having been intended as the penultimate episode 5 is further evidenced by the original trailer for it, in which a character states that the story takes place on the 28th of November. This line is dubbed over in the final episode and subsequent trailers to instead say the 21st:

Why is this line important enough to dub? Because that's meant to line up with the air date of the episode. Episode 4 aired on the 21st and 5 on the 28th. But something happened in post production, and now it's episode 4 on the 21st instead (⁵):

So if none of these episodes were moved around but it does seem like Village was meant to be episode 5, where and what is the original episode 4?

I have a theory.

Flux has a recurring subplot involving two side characters, a married couple (Bel and Vinder) who have been separated by the titular disaster and are traveling the universe to reunite with each other. This story is told through segments sprinkled throughout the episodes. These have a different writing style (including a diary-esque narration only present in these scenes) and an internally consistent visual style that looks somewhat different to the other parts of the season.

Village of the Angels, for instance, is a moody, dark episode set in a village in the 1960s:

However, Bel and Vinder's segments in the episode have a somewhat different look:

On top of this, they never intersect with the episode's A plot (literally or in any clear thematic way), and the majority of these segments piece together into one single scene that seems to have been cut up.

So, what I think is that the bel and vinder scenes across the middle of the season were originally a single full story, an episode 4 that took a breather from the main plot and characters to follow the lives of these two side characters; the differing visual and writing style is due to it originally having been filmed separately and with a somewhat different artistic intent. I believe Chris Chibnall's cowriting credit on Angels exists because these specific scenes are from a script he wrote, but that otherwise the Angel script can be credited solely to Maxine Alderton by normal cowriting standards.

"But wait," you might say, "I thought there were already 6 episodes that are all plot relevant? If no episodes existing right now can be cut, how could this 7th episode exist?"

Remember this tidbit:

The adventures in question comprise a large amount of the next episode (Episode 5: Survivors of the Flux), nearly 20 minutes of a 50ish minute runtime (and frankly, much of the rest of the episode is somewhat fluffy build up that feels like it's taking advantage of an extended runtime). A version without this added plot would, in my opinion, only warrant one final episode rather than two.

I think the showrunner, still scrambling to finish scripts as the episodes were being filmed, and making a snap decision to include a new major subplot (⁶), wrote a finale script so long and with so many plot threads that the only way to keep all this material of was to split it into two episodes, 5 and 6. And because they only could only make 6, he had to get rid of one of the previous 5 episodes - the already scripted and filmed ones - to make room for this new episode 5. A tough order when it's a plot-heavy miniseries... if not for episode 4 being a standalone divergence from the main plot about the lives of two side characters, one that could, in theory, be cut up and dispersed throughout the season without continuity issues for the main story.

(Some notes and clarifications under the cut)

(1) some sources initially reported the episode count as 8; this wasn't inaccurate - the 2022 new years/easter special were part of the episode order. Flux itself was always meant to be 6 episodes long. (2) A few of the production issues include: - episodes filming without a second draft:

- the fx team that had been on the show since 2005 abruptly leaving midseason (because they "didn't feel like part of the team anymore") and returning as soon as the creative team changed, including the head of the studio implying they weren't properly credited (mild vfx body horror warning in link):

- people working on additional projects such as books not receiving clear information on the characters they were assigned to write:

- and likely a director who was put on hold due to a script being rewritten:

Among other things I can't directly cite at the moment, including vfx artists having to do whole episodes solo in crunch time and writers not being told their work was massively overhauled until it aired due to major changes being extremely late in production.

While I don't wish to pontificate too much here and many of these things are pretty normal by themselves, I do think it could paint a picture of a production where an episode well into filming may genuinely be cut on a whim and without consideration for the crew, artists, etc. working on the show. (3) This reddit post comes from a leaker who was known to be consistently accurate. (4) Gallifrey One does not allow filming of panels. I know Kevin's livetweets of panels to be accurate. (5) It's very, very unlikely the entire season was moved back a week, as the premier is a Halloween special that was certainly always intended to air on Oct. 31st. (6) I don't wish to insinuate Chris Chibnall is, throughout his career, an inherently poor showrunner, but I do think that maybe his jump from police procedural - a genre that doesn't involve quite as much concept art, vfx work, marketing, convention panels, set building, episodic storytelling, and keeping in touch with expanded universe producers - to flagship science fiction adventure show may have contributed to some of these issues, especially when he was already in the mindset that things could be changed on a whim (perhaps not such a major issue when it's broadchurch and no new sets need be built)

(source) Basically I don't really think this is "the showrunner's fault" or anything; more that a perfect storm of a showrunner who was habitually late on scripts, used to writing lowkey cop dramas, covid, an entirely serialized season, etc. may have led to these issues

#sorry this is insane #thirteenth doctor #flux #doctor who #long post #thank u to my friends and allies who helped me track down those sources for the scripts being late. i remembered them but couldn't find any

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woso-dreamzzz · 6 months ago

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Injured (Alexia's Version) IV

Alexia Putellas x Teen!Reader

Summary: You need perfection

TW: eating disorder, self-destructive thoughts, unhealthy thoughts about weight and size, self-harm through dance

There's a reason the ballerina body is thought to be unobtainable.

It's because it is.

Even to the dancers.

Perfect feet. Perfect legs. Perfect waist. Perfect stomach. Perfect face and hair.

You didn't have the perfect feet. Your arch wasn't quite perfect. It was close but with the right shoes it looked perfect.

Your legs weren't quite perfect either. You think one of your knees bulges weirdly and one leg is the tiniest bit more muscular than the other. But that can be hidden under your tights.

You don't like your waist or your tummy. You're different to your Mami but you're built a bit like her. She's built like a football player where she doesn't need to care about her waist or her stomach like you did.

You could fix your face with makeup and your hair with product but you couldn't fix your biology. You couldn't fix the way you've developed.

When you were younger and still at ballet school, the older girls passed down one line of wisdom to the younger girls.

If you weren't thin enough to fit between the space of the barre and where it's mounted on the mirror, then you're too fat.

You know now that that's too small of a gap for anyone to fit through without tucking in their tummy to the extreme. You know that now but it's still embedded within you. It still haunts your every step, a looming figure in the shadows that will one day catch up with you.

Some of the other dancers smoke or vape to keep their figures but you took the more classic route.

It was easy to cut breakfast out. A protein bar sufficed as your lunch, maybe a pre-packaged salad as well. You would eat dinner because that was a family meal and, while you were desperately trying to keep your figure, you knew that eating at least one meal a day was good.

It worked like a charm though and soon your stomach shrunk to the point that having one meal a day was all you could stomach.

"Why are you still asleep?" Jaume asks as he throws himself onto your bed," It's nearly dinner."

You groan, poking your head out from your blanket cave. "I was napping. I'm allowed to nap."

You've been napping a lot lately but you're used to that. Whenever you start cutting out meals, you feel the need to nap more to conserve your energy.

"Mami told me to come get you," Jaume replies," Dinner's almost ready."

You pull the covers off before freezing.

"Jaume," You say," Are you wearing your dirty football boots? In my bed?"

He grins. "Yeah."

"Get out!"

"Oh, come on, it was just a joke!"

You smack him in the face with a pillow. "I'm telling Mami!"

He scrambles after you, trying to stop you from making it down the stairs.

"She's lying!" He cries out, skidding to the dinner table just as you arrive.

"Jaume wore his dirty football boots in my bed!" You announce and Alexia sighs.

"Just one day," She says wistfully to Olga," That's all I ask. Just one day of no arguments."

She scolds Jaume lightly over the meal and you pick at your food.

Alexia watches you out of the corner of her eye. This meal is your favourite but you're pecking at it like you're a pigeon.

"How was dance?" She asks.

You shrug, grateful for the opportunity to talk as you push the food around your plate. "Good. I'm going back in after dinner. I'm going to practice my solo."

Olga frowns just like Alexia. "You've been doing that all week. Don't you think you need a break?"

"It won't be for that long," You lie," I want to get it perfect."

Perfection has always been a big part of your life. If you have perfection then you've proven your worth. If you have perfection then you cannot be replaced.

If you perfection in your dancing, in your body, then everything will be good and right in the world.

If you have perfection then you'll never be forgotten again.

Alexia watches you, eyes narrowed before she starts helping Olga clear the table.

"Jaume," You hiss," You want this?" You offer him your plate.

He glanced over to where Olga and Alexia have their backs turned.

"Give."

You scrape the rest of your food onto his plate before getting up quickly.

"I'm heading to the studio," You say.

"I'll drive you," Alexia says.

"I'll walk." You're actually planning to jog. "I want to grab a snack from the store on the way."

There's a reason Mami hasn't found out yet. You've gone back and forth on this for years. Cutting out meals before a performance only to introduce them again a few weeks after. You know exactly how to play her.

It's easy to slip away just like it's easy to dance and dance and dance until your feet ache.

There's something about pointe work that you love. It's a hard discipline. Nobody outright loves it like you do. You don't think they'd understand why you love it.

You love it for the wrong reasons.

You love it because it makes your feet hurt. You love it because it makes you look good even when you're falling apart. You love it because it makes you feel perfect even when you know you're not.

You love it because it's the quickest way to make you bleed.

Your chest rises and falls as you feel your toe pads grow wet with your own blood. Your vision is full of spots and you can barely see yourself in the mirror.

All you can focus on is your next move and the pain in your feet.

All you can do is dance and dance and-

You're on the floor the next time you blink, feeling groggy as your stomach rumbles. You catch sight of yourself in the mirror as you crawl your way over to your bag, shakily unwrapping an energy bar.

You pull off your pointe shoes and toe pads.

This is so normal to you now that you don't even think about the fact that you just blacked out.

You eat your snack, drain down your sports drink and wrap plasters around your bleeding toes as you dial Mami's number.

She picks up quickly, like always. You can imagine her just sitting at home, waiting for your call.

"Bambi?" She asks as soon as she answers," What's up?"

"Can you come and pick me up?" You ask," I'd like to come home now."

Alexia's already grabbing her keys. Her shoes are already on. She's already out the door.

Something's up with you. She knows this. She just doesn't know what it is. But she knows she'll always be ready to pick you up. Always want to bring you home herself.

You look pale and shaky as she pulls up and, like usual after practice, your bare feet are out of your shoes. They're covered in plasters.

"Did you get your snack?" Alexia asks," You look a little pale."

"I did," You reply," I was just dancing a lot."

"Hmm," Alexia says," You know you can talk to me, right? You know you can tell me anything."

"I know," You say.

"Good. Just...Good. You're a good girl, bambi, and I want you to come to me if you need to talk, alright?"

"I know, Mami," You say with an eye roll.

Alexia holds your gaze for a moment before nodding. "Good. Now, your brother wants a milkshake. Do you want anything at the drive through?"

Your tummy rumbles.

"A meal then," Alexia decides before you can protest," A burger I think. Greasy."

You wince. "Mami-"

"You gave half your dinner to Jaume," She says suddenly," I'll split the meal but it's non-negotiable."

It's fine, you think.

So long as you get to practice early tomorrow, you can work it all off.

#woso x reader #alexia putellas x reader #alexia putellas #woso community #woso imagine #woso fanfics #woso

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tmblrcolouredpaper · 6 months ago

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When TXT is making you feel comfortable: habits, routines and rituals that occur when they prioritize your comfort

5 short scenarios per member listed

wc (in total): 1943

no warnings

When Yeonjun is making you comfortable...

... he has his apartment stocked with products that make you feel at home. He has your favorite snacks. He bought your favorite clothes as substitutes that he keeps in his closet for when you stay over. He has some copies of your favorite books and gets some magazines you enjoy. If you're a person who menstruates, he of course has all possible period products ready. If your hobby is painting, he has all utensils at his place. If you are currently into lifting weights and working out, he creates a little sport corner for you.

'Top drawer on the right', he yells after you when you leave is room to go to the kitchen, because you feel like having a snack.

'Look at the bag in my closet', he instructs when you spilled on your favorite shirt, while he gets the detergent ready to wash your shirt right away.

... he is with you when you decide to face your fears. If he can and it makes sense, he is with you in person, but otherwise, he offers you to be on a call with him or text him. One or the other way, he will be with you.

'Three, two, one and you go inside, okay? I'll stay on the call and you can return right to my voice if you want to, yeah? Now, my brave baby, three, two, and one'.

... he is his crazy self around you and is the happiest when you slowly allow yourself to let your guard down and become more unhinged yourself.

'That doesn't sound like a chicken. My donkey impression totally beats yours. Try again'.

... he directly protects you from others. Whether it's strangers or friends, encountering you with inappropriate intentions or ignorant jokes, he shields you.

'Keep walking', he spits at a man who is eyeing you up and down when you are outside. Yeonjun pushes himself between you and the crowd immediately and takes your hand to pull you behind him, not letting go of you until he feels like it's rather safe again.

... he lets you sleep. Regardless if you fall asleep on his bed, taking up all the space or of you fall asleep directly on him, he lets you. The only time he moves you is when your position looks rather uncomfortable and possibly damaging if you remain lying like that for too long.

'Oh? Am I that comfy?', he whispers as he looks down on your sleeping figure on his chest, smiling to himself.

When Soobin is making you comfortable...

... he subtly bends his knees or leans against an accessible surface when he's talking to you, to not tower over you as much.

'Oh, why I'm leaning against the wall like this? I'm just a bit tired, that's all'.

... he carries all your bags at a shopping trip and cheers you on in every outfit you are trying out.

'This looks beautiful on you. Wait? Feels a bit too tight? Give me a second. I'll bring it in a different size', he says and rushes into the isles with bags already dangling from his shoulders. He always has capacity to carry just one more thing if it's for you.

... he never, NEVER, distances himself first when you hug. He always waits for you to be ready to let go, because he doesn't even want to give you one nuanced opportunity to doubt him wanting to be with you.

'I'm not letting go before you're ready', he whispers when you were already in his embrace for ten minutes, standing in the middle of the room. It doesn't matter if you are happy, sad, scared, worried. He is constantly ready to be your safe space.

... he gives you the biggest side-eye. As much as he admires you, he doesn't put you on a pedestal. When your jokes aren't funny or you say something particularly dumb, he will silently let you know and expects to be treated the same.

'What do you mean unicorns weren't real at least for one period of time on this earth? I literally saw a documentary about it!', he argues and has to contain himself to not burst into a laughter, seeing you shaking your head in disbelief with a big frown on your face. Those situations are so funny and carefree to him.

... he has your back regarding everything. Regardless of how unrealistic or silly something may seem, he is always there, encouraging you to at least give it a shot. As uncertain a situation, a project, a try may be, he remains your certain stability.

'So what if it's stupid? You're curious of it. It excites you, so go and see if it could be working for you', he says and adds that regardless of what happens, in the end of the day you can just return to him as always.

When Beomgyu is making you comfortable...

... he waves at you when he sees you walking towards him, but is surprised to see you turning around to look at the other people who are walking down the street in an attempt to figure out if he might be meeting someone else.

'I was waving at you, you know', he says after greeting you when you are finally standing in front of him.

... he is puzzled to find you wearing long pajama pants as it is a warm summer night during which he is staying over at your apartment. He toys with the fabric when you sit down next to him and experimentally pulls the fabric up your leg a bit.

'Isn't it way too warm in those?', he questions and listens to you negating in an obvious lie.

'Just wear shorts. I won't do or think anything inappropriately only because I see your skin', he assures and when you leave to your bedroom to get changed, he adds, 'And don't you dare forcing yourself into that bra any longer'.

... he observes you lingering a bit closer around him than usually when you feel particularly down.

'Want to hug?', he simply asks and opens his arms when you shyly nod, inviting you into his embrace at your own pace.

... he slides on the bench to sit right next to you when you are particularly anxious in a cafe, and he opens his hand as he watches you trying to hide your own trembling one.

'I'll hold you', he offers and waits for you to place your palm on his. Then he gently encloses his fingers around your hand and makes you shift your focus by asking you to count every brown item you could see in the room.

... he lets you wear his clothes, either when you're freezing and need extra layers or when it's warm outside but you don't want to wear too revealing clothes.

'I have a whole closet, just try my clothes'.

When Taehyun is making you comfortable...

... he doesn't interrupt you. When you are speaking, regardless of how loud and enthusiastic or how quiet and hesitant you are when talking, he listens patiently.

'No, keep talking. I wanna hear', he encourages when you insecurely stop yourself from sharing.

... he challenges you. If you want to do something, but doubt yourself, he makes it into playful game to lift the pressure off your shoulders, stepping away from the burden of actively existing.

'One hour? Okay, one hour and then we'll see who manages to write more applications. Winner gets, hmm, one wish. Anything? Yeah? Let's go', he cheers and starts typing right away.

... he coexists with you in silence. Grocery shopping, cleaning, reading, whatever it is, he doesn't force conversations. Eye contact, gentle smiles, pointing at items, that's already such richness of mundanity.

'They have your ice cream on sale', he informs and watches you hurrying down the isle to grab some packages, happily smiling at him.

... he directly teaches and explains things. He doesn't leave room for any condescension. If you don't know something or make a mistake and he knows then he just explains. If you want to learn something he already knows how to do, he offers to teach you if you want.

'I know this choreo. Want me to play dance teacher?', he asks in a laugh, happy at the thought of spending time with you while you explore your interest.

... he simply assures and compliments you.

'You're doing great today', he beams when you tick off another point on your to-do-list and later on doodles a little smiley face on the bottom of your paper.

When Kai makes you comfortable...

... he takes interest in your interests to genuinely connect with you when you share pieces of your realms of curiosity.

'Omg, the new episode of your favorite show is online', he informs you in excitement and watches you grabbing your phone to check it yourself. To the question if it would be fine if you watch it now, he just nods and asks if he can join you.

... he reserves spots for you. In restaurants and cafes he always makes sure you have a place to arrive to when he is there earlier or you are definitely running late. At home he has one plushie that is assigned to you, so it can occupy a chair or one side of the bed, keeping others away from your destined space.

'Over here', he says loudly when he sees you entering the cafe. He towers over the present people and waves you over to his table, where an empty chair and a cookie or fruit bowl or whatever snack you like, is waiting for you.

... he laughs with you. He genuinely enjoys your humor and he will not leave you hanging whenever you are telling a joke and make a sassy remark. When you are being clumsy, he laughs it off with you. There is no second of insecure embarrassment when he is around.

'Yo! I tripped over that exact edge yesterday, too!', he squeals as he holds you by your arm to prevent you from falling and bursts into laughter simultaneously with you when your eyes meet.

... he lets you be shy. You talk too quietly for people to understand what you're saying? He translates calmly and with a sense of protection over you, his expression telling the listener not to dare making an unnecessary comment regarding your behavior. He lets you hide behind him when you are too shy to face someone or something.

'Come here', he whispers when he notices your shyness and opens his jacket for you to step closer to him where he can hide you between the fabric and his body, telling people who look confused, that he's freezing a bit.

... he always responds to you. Any question you could possibly ask will get a useful answer and even if it's just him informing over his state of uncertainty regarding a topic or a repeated answer to a repeated question. He doesn't waste time engaging in the reality in the form that it matters to you.

'Yes, of course I'd love you if you were a worm'; 'My first thought is that I don't mind either, but I feel like I tend to prefer pizza over burger today'; I said it minimum hundred times already, but here is another reminder: You look great and I am going to cuddle you to sleep in every state of your body'.

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apocalypseornaw · 6 months ago

Text

Comfort

You're hurting and Dean comes to the rescue

Talk of period stuff, fluff

Maybe it was internalized misogyny, maybe it was not wanting to look weak or maybe you'd been with the boys for so long you'd picked up on their self destructive tendencies but you hated admiting you were hurt. You'd argue injuries weren't that bad on hunts so you damn sure wasn't about to admit that your period had you doubled up in bed even after taking ibuprofen and having a heating pad tucked tightly against you.

You groaned as you attempted to find a position that meant the rolling cramps in your stomach and back would allow you to sleep but so far you'd been unsuccessful.

You must have dozed off at some point because you woke up to the unmistakable sound of Dean's knock at your door. "Come in" you called out, sitting up in an effort to make it seem like you'd simply been asleep instead of in pain. He walked in and was carrying two bags, one from the pharmacy and one from the grocery store.

He held up the pharmacy bag "I talked to that lady that works the front counter and she says this is the stuff that helped her daughter and now her granddaughter so I figured that was good. I got you more of your products too along with a new heating pad because yours is older than you are because you got it from Bobby" you blinked the tears forming in your eyes away as he held up the grocery store bag "and I got all your favorite snacks,plus a few of my favorite"

"How did you know?" You asked and he grinned "Come on sweetheart, I'm not that dumb. For one you barely sleep in here anymore besides when you want to be alone and you rarely want to be alone besides when you're on your period. And I can count weeks, I try to keep a track so we don't take on any cases that you feel like you need to help us on during this week so you don't overwork yourself" a few tears slipped down your cheeks and his eyes widened "Oh shit, baby did i do something wrong? Forget something?"

You shook your head "No baby. I just love you so damn much" his grin returned, bigger than it had been "I love you too sweetheart. Do you need anything?" "Will you lay down with me?" He nodded "of course" he laid the bags on the dresser and kicked off his boots before getting into bed next to you. He curled up to your back and wrapped one strong arm around your stomach. A moan left your lips when the cramp that had been starting in your lower stomach stopped from the pressure of his arm "Dean Winchester you are the perfect man"

He chuckled behind you and left a kiss on the side of your neck "I think you're a bit delirious from lack of sleep but I'll talk the compliment" you shook your head "nope, you're perfect. Gorgeous, strong, amazing hunter, bit of a dork, a god in bed and a sweetheart at your core"

Dean could feel his cheeks warm at your words "As much as I am loving this darlin, you need sleep. When you wake up you can continue showering me with compliments ok?" You yawned and nodded "I plan to until the day comes that you finally believe it"

You dozed off a little while later and Dean tucked himself a bit closer to you to make sure his arm didn't slip should he doze off. The position he was in had pressure where you needed it the most. He placed a gentle kiss to your neck and whispered "I love you" before getting comfortable on the pillow himself and closing his eyes.

#dean winchester fanfiction #dean winchester x female!reader #supernatural fanfiction #spn fanfiction #dean winchester x reader

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toast-on-dandelioms · 4 months ago

Note

I could like to ask for a request it ok you don’t do it!

So I was thinking about Yandere Batfamily x MaleGojo reader like a reference from Gojo of JJK the same figure and the same goofy personality and charming personality like he was not their family or blood relative or anything they just fell really hard for M! Gojo reader for his personality and eyes like they even kidnapped him and they all fell for him since M! Gojo is between his 19-20s and he like dumb he just let it happen cause he like attention and he got a lot of ego so he just like “Meh I get free stuff and gifts and like in a mansion for free” even thought M! Gojo is really rich he just goofy.

Ok so, I am incredibly sorry it took me so long to write this, I never had the right idea until now but I hope you like it!

Dividers made by @thecutestgrotto and by @cafekitsune

Also I wrote this when I mostly didn't sleep so, whatever weird thing reader is thinking it's totally my fault but I am not apologizing for it.

The pronouns for the reader will be he/they, so if you don't like it, don't read it.

Wc: 6k

Fyi (my own warnings for yall): reader is an egomaniac, Bruce flirts with yall, inappropriate thinking from yall, I decided the ages please don't take them seriously, the ages are only used for this ask only,

Ages:

Bruce: 45 - Dick: 27 - Jason: 23 - Tim: 20 - Stephanie: 20 - Cass: 22–23 - Damian: 15/16 - Duke: 19

age of reader: 20

Tw: big age gap, Bruce Wayne, romantic yanderes (except Damian, he's a minor in this story), drugging and spiking food, mention of unwanted touch, inappropriate thinking, mention of death, mention of grooming and sex trafficking, MINORS PLEASE DON'T INTERACT WITH THIS ONE BECAUSE SOME THEMES MIGHT BE BAD,

You were a model. A symbol of beauty that people paid money to use to promote their products. People adored you thanks to your eyes, a blue so intense that even the rarest sapphire looked like a common one compared to your eyes. Well, it was thanks to your eyes that you were a model, they seemed to attract people. You were proud of your eyes and your face, you knew they were the reason why you were famous and you made sure to never ruin it. You were proud of being a male model. At least, that's what you felt before you went to Gotham.

You were in the car with your agent, Katelyn, who was still talking about things you weren't allowed to do in Gotham, which made you incredibly bored since that's what she all talked about ever since you accepted the job and was told to go to Gotham with Katelyn.

One thing that stuck to you from her annoying nagging, especially since she wouldn't stop talking, was that you weren't allowed to be near the billionaire Bruce Wayne, even though he was the one who hired you to be the star for his new products At least, that's what you remembered since you tuned out Katelyn's voice after 20 minutes of her talking.

You weren't sure why you weren't allowed near the billionaire but you didn't really care, from the photos you searched online of him you didn't see anything interesting so you decided that he wasn't worth your time. The only reason you chose to do this was the pay.

When you finally arrived at the hotel you immediately demanded a cocktail while waiting for Katelyn to check the two of you in the hotel.

As you waited near the bar in the hotel, you saw a few individuals who were trying to subtly stare at you, to which you didn't care since you were used to people staring. But, as you also looked at them with no shame whatsoever, you noticed that they were all wearing or using a Wayne product.

The oldest individual in the group was a man with pitch black hair and who was sitting on one of the many sofas in the lobby. For a few seconds, you could've mistaken him for the younger version of Bruce Wayne when he was, maybe, 25 or 26 years old. His wrist was decorated with a chunky watch that had seen increased sales after Bruce Wayne promoted it, which was probably how the man had heard of it. If you were to guess, the watch was probably one of the limited edition that not many people bought since only 10 were released of the special line. You knew that because you cried when you found out the watch was sold out and you weren't able to buy it.

The second oldest, another black haired man, who was leaning on a wall near the first man, with a weird white streak in his hair but was built like a soldier, especially with how muscular his arms were even though he was wearing a jacket, probably a leather one but you weren't sure since he was a bit far away.

You did know it was a Wayne jacket because you just saw that same leather jacket and design on the magazine you were reading on the plane while ignoring Katelyn and told her to order one since you wanted it.

Another man was next to the watch guy, which you almost didn't see until he suddenly appeared to try and grab a cup of coffee out of the watch guy’s hands.

You did see he was using a laptop, which made you a bit confused since you could see a W and also a D, but from some bits of Katelyn's lecture about Gotham’s rich people that you were listening to, you don't remember anything about the Wayne and Drake’s companies merging or a collaboration.

As you continued to stare at them while sipping on the cocktail you finally received, you noticed a kid, maybe a teen but you didn't really care, who was talking on the phone the entire time with an angry scowl on his face that made you wonder what angered such a young person.

Strangely enough, you did know who the kid/teen was. He was Damian Wayne, also nicknamed ‘Wayne’s poodle’ after you heard of his obsession with animals and how many he has in his Manor.

You gave him a quick glance, a bit surprised that he was the one openly staring at you before smiling at him, trying not to laugh when he looked away with a visible blush on his face.

After seeing Damian Wayne in the lobby, you were quick to assume that the other three men you looked at before were the other children of Bruce Wayne.

You set the cocktail on the bar and walked away to Katelyn, glad she was done and grabbed the key to your room before walking off, not caring about them being at your hotel.

You took the elevator to your room and came face to face with a blonde girl and an black haired asian. You politely smiled at them and stepped to the side so they could exit the elevator before entering it, quickly pressing the button to close it since you could feel the black haired girl stare on you the whole time.

While waiting in the elevator, you did wonder who all the people in the lobby were before shrugging and going back to playing on your phone, not caring about them anymore since they weren't important.

As you waited for the elevator to arrive at your floor, you suddenly felt it stop a few floors before yours, and when you looked up you saw an African American kid staring at you, his mouth slightly open.

You looked at him and chuckled softly at how surprised he was at seeing you, finding him cute since he kept stealing glances at you the whole time you were in the elevator.

You smiled when he glanced at you once again and finally said.

"Y'know if you were just going to stare, a picture will last longer dearest." You giggled, smiling softly as his skin went a dark shade of red.

"I- I wasn't staring-!" He stammered, the slight quiver in his voice giving him away.

"Mhm, so the wall behind me was just soooo interesting you had to keep looking right?" You smirked, raising an eyebrow at him as you crossed your arms.

The boy stared blankly at you for a solid few seconds. "....yes." He replied in a completely serious voice, which prompted a flurry of laughter from yourself.

You walked out the elevator when it finally reached your floor and winked at him when he looked at you, continuing to walk to your hotel room and finally changing, after entering the room, after hours of being on an airplane with Katelyn.

After adjusting to Gotham’s nightlife and also enjoying the city without any rogue attack, you finally walked in the WE building to do the photoshoot about whatever product you needed to advertise.

Did you care about the product? No but you just wanted to be paid so you didn't care.

As you walked inside the building with Katelyn next to you, needing her to know where to go and also to give the makeup crew a list of the makeup products that you were allergic to and a bag with substitutes if they didn't have any in hand.

You entered the elevator, completely ignoring Katelyn and her instructions and just waited to arrive on the floor where the photoshoot or whatever you needed to do was, playing a stupid game on your phone while waiting.

When you finally reached the floor, you followed Katelyn without saying anything, a small smirk on your face as you saw many people looking your way and staring.

You entered the photoshoot and ignored the other model, already annoyed since she wasn't as good as you but you could manage since your beauty was enough to make this session perfect.

As you entered your makeup station you completely disregarded the fact that the Bruce Wayne was standing near the station, not caring if he was staring since you knew why he was staring. I mean, who could blame you?

You were perfect and a symbol of beauty that so many people wanted for their own pleasure.

During the photoshoot you could hear people talking about the poses and what to edit in between photos, making you annoyed since you wanted everything to be perfect and your co-model was getting reprimanded most of the time.

You also noticed how Bruce kept staring at you the whole time you were in the photoshoot, making you wonder if he was interested in you before shrugging and going back to sippin on some water since you were on break after your co-model Mercy Jacques, yes he wants people to use both names, kept messing up and even destroyed a prop.

Time passed slowly while your annoyance kept growing before you finally gave up when Mercy Jacques accidentally dropped a heavy prop on your leg while doing a weird pose, making you incredibly angry when he didn't even apologize.

You got up and wanted to punch the man, not caring if it would create a scandal. No one could treat you like an inferior model when you were one of the best in the whole country.

As you prepared to punch him, someone suddenly grabbed your arm and held you from behind, completely stopping you from even trying to hit Mercy Jacques, making you even more angry.

"Calm down sweetheart, anger isn't a good look on you," a voice whispered against your ear, the person's gentle breathing making a shiver run down your spine.

You picked up the sound of movement and felt the hands clutching your waist loosen as the person came to stand by your side.

It was Bruce motherfucking Wayne.

"Mercy Jacques, I'm afraid we can no longer work with you. Please see yourself out." He said simply, the taught smile on his face was much too sinister for your liking.

You pulled away from his arms after Mercy Jacques was escorted out the room before looking at Bruce, a small smirk on your face before quickly acting like a damsel in distress from the prop that fell on your leg, a bruise was already forming which helped your act.

Were you doing this to get pity and also to make sure Mercy Jacques’s reputation would be in shambles? Also yes, you already knew Katelyn was making sure he would never find a job in Gotham.

She was good at ruining people's lives, that's why you kept her around even though her voice was incredibly annoying.

As you faked being incredibly hurt, you used Bruce’s closeness to lean onto him, secretly using the opportunity to feel the chest of the man and being a bit surprised at how muscular the man actually was.

Unfortunately for you, you didn't see how dark Bruce’s eyes got when you leaned on him and acted all hurt,

You pulled away when you heard Katelyn call for you and noticed her close to Bruce so you pulled away from him, a bit reluctant since you were still touching his chest and body with no shame whatsoever.

You turned to her and just made a motion with your hand to make her cut the session so you could go back to the hotel and relax in a nice bath and turned around to go to the makeup station so they could clean your face.

You barely managed to take even a step before you suddenly felt Bruce’s hand wrapping around and grabbing your wrist, which made you think of another body part he could wrap his hands around.

You looked at him with a half surprised half whatever dirty thing you could think about his hands before realizing he was talking and you completely ignored what he was saying to focus on his hands and how good they must feel on your body.

When you finally clocked in to listen to what he was saying, you just heard the last part.

“So, what do you think sweetheart?” he said, his voice was a deep baritone, the type of sound that would have anyone on their knees within seconds of meeting this man, which, in all honesty you would do everything if he called you that in that same voice.

Unfortunately, you couldn't just admit that you weren't listening to the richest man you knew, the man who hired you as his model so you just put on your best fake smile.

“That sounds amazing Bruce, can I call you Bruce?” you asked, a bit confused and almost panicked when the man stared at you in silence.

You almost cried when he finally laughed because you were scared as fuck that you somehow offended him by calling him by his first name and he was gonna kill you.

“I’ll pick you up at 7 at your hotel” was the last thing he said to you before walking off after patting your shoulder, making you almost kneel down since god damn his voice and smile was too much.

You waited until he was far away before immediately turning to Katelyn, who you knew was near and probably heard everything.

You quickly walked up to the poor innocent woman and grabbed her from her shoulders, your eyes staring right into her soul and seeing her deepest and darkest secrets before asking in a desperate tone “what the fuck did I just agree to?”

To which the woman sighed, already knowing you got distracted by the man and how hot he was in your eyes before finally telling you what you agreed to do. “You just agreed to go to dinner with Bruce Wayne, the man I told you to not interact with because of the type of scandals he might cause you if the two of you are seen together.” her voice sounded so annoyed but also resigned at the fact that you never listen to her.

You stayed silent when she started her usual rant about you needing to be more careful and knowing when to listen before noticing you were just looking into whatever was in front of you with a dreamy look on your face.

“OI Romeo! Stop day-dreaming and go get the makeup off! Your date is in 2 hours and I know you will go no matter what so at least let me pick the suit”

You immediately nodded and hugged her, kissing her on the forehead before running off to the makeup station in heels, making Katelyn wonder how you could do that since she couldn't even walk with normal heels.

It was almost 7 pm and you were finally finishing putting on some makeup, making sure your suit was the right colors so it could make you look gorgeous for this date.

Did you care that he was probably gonna use you as a one night stand? No, you were gonna use him to have a pleasurable night and also to make your friends back home jealous.

When it was finally 7 you quickly went to the lobby of the hotel, stopping when you noticed the same people in the lobby when you first arrived, who were all staring directly at you. (Except Damian)

It almost felt like you were standing nude before the people in the hotel, my body bare for their piercing gazes to lay upon. I've always felt absolutely secure in my body and looks, you knew you were hot and felt pride in knowing that. But their unwavering eyes still made you feel insecure, like they were scrutinizing every tiny detail about your appearance, making you feel like you were being criticized by your parents when you weren't the best at a photoshoot.

You shivered and quickly pulled your eyes away from them, trying your best to simply ignore the gazes that you could feel still stabbing into my back.

You smiled in relief when you saw Bruce arrive in a Lamborghini and you hurriedly ran outside, continuing to feel their gaze on your back as you reached the car at the same time Bruce was walking out of it.

You smiled at the older man and thanked him when he opened the door for you, sneakily glancing back to the hotel and seeing all those people staring at both you and Bruce.

You swiftly sat in the car and looked inside, amazed at how amazing the car was and didn't notice how Bruce looked back at the lobby of the hotel and smirked before walking around the car and driving off with you.

In the car you didn't say much and just looked at the road, sometimes stealing glances at Bruce and admiring his body in his suit, especially how his pants were perfect since they were tight enough to show his bulge.

God you so wanted to see him without those pants. You wanted to see all his body without his suit, wanting to feel how strong he actually was and if the rumors that you heard from other models about him being a god in bed were true.

You finally stopped imagining Bruce naked when he pulled up at one of the fanciest restaurants in Gotham where it's impossible to get a reservation there. Katelyn tried and you watched her cry when she failed, a smile on your face as you watched her tears ruin her makeup, enjoying her pain.

You got out of the car and gracefully grabbed Bruce’s hand, especially since you were wearing very high heels that made Katelyn make a weird face at how narrow the heel was but you didn't care.

The heels made the outfit perfect and also helped you be at the same height as Bruce, you refused to let that man have the upper hand with his height if you change it.

You walked inside the restaurant while holding onto Bruce’s arm, the classic fake smile on your face for any photographers who were near the restaurant and for the staff, even winking at the waiter who led you two to a secluded table.

You thanked the older man, who didn't look a day over 30, when he slightly pulled the chair out to help you sit down before pushing it near the table.

You were a bit surprised he got a reservation at this restaurant before scolding yourself mentally because he's a billionaire, he probably threw some money and got a reservation. You were now wondering who lost their reservation tonight to make space for Bruce Wayne.

As you sat down you smiled at the older man, knowing that he invited you here to flaunt his new catch and how he only wanted you because you were pretty and young.

Did you care? No, you were used to it and you were gonna use everything you had to go to bed with him and get paid for your silence afterwards. That's what always happened when a rich person was attracted to you and by now you started to use it for your own gain.

You were used to rich and powerful people being attracted and using their wealth to have you for a while, they only wanted a pretty thing and not you. You just knew that if you slept with them then you would get more modeling contracts and more publicity.

(TALK OF GR*PE AND OTHER BAD STUFF, SKIP IF YOU DON'T WANT TO READ IT)

You think you were 11 when it started.

The exact date was hazy in your mind, you just knew that after spending an hour or two with a photographer, alone, that your parents told you was famous for not giving any models a break during photo shoots, was now giving you special treatment and kept touching you in weird places during the photoshoot.

You can still remember the agonizing pain in your arms from struggling against the man’s grip on your wrists to keep you still, the strain in your throat as you kept begging, pleading and downright crying while asking him to stop and to let you go back to your parents; you can still smell his horrible breath on your face when he told you to shut up before kissing you.

You were 12 when it developed into a weekly occurrence.

You could remember everything even though you wished you couldn't, you could still feel that man’s touch and hearing his laughter as your body was being used for his own pleasure against your own will.

12 years old and being forced into acts even adults would feel ill at the idea of. At the time you were rising in fame thanks to a few small roles in some shows and movies and alongside your modeling gigs that kept pouring in.

You were 14 when you told your parents for the first time.

You remembered the confusion and feeling ashamed when you told them about what happened, not understanding why they just told you that you did a good job and that doing that meant that the producer liked you and was going to give you more opportunities to make the world see your beauty.

You never understood why they didn't help you. Why your mother just looked at you with no emotion in her eyes as you cried when you told her what that man did before telling you to stop crying and that you had a photoshoot with that same man in two hours.

You could still feel the pats on your back that your father gave you when he saw how many modeling gigs you had been offered by that man and just told you to keep it up.

You were 15 when you began to give up on finding any help.

You slowly stopped telling your parents and just let the photographers, stylists and directors do what they wanted when you realized that your parents didn't care about you and just cared about the money you were making for them.

You were 16 when you stopped believing in finding help altogether.

You stopped trying to understand and just gave in the pressure that everyone kept putting on you. You created a mask from the pieces of your broken self and just kept going.

You stopped fighting, you stopped pleading for them to stop and just used their greed and lust for you as a way to advance in life. You knew it was wrong but you didn't care, no one ever taught you or told you what was right and what was wrong.

You were 17 when you learnt how to pretend you liked it.

You convinced both yourself and others that it was okay, the way you'd been treated for your adolescence. If you had no problem with it and tricked yourself into believing it was what you wanted, it wasn't wrong.

And it worked.

You pretended to enjoy it. You pretended to adore the fame and money you got from what you did. You pretended to smile happily at your parents as they told you there was another meeting you had with the director later that day. You pretended to look forward to those meetings.

You pretended so much you forgot how not to. Your personality, likes, interests, everything about you was completely fake. But the world is easily swayed by fakeness if it's decorated with rhinestones and glittery gowns.

Like a mannequin in a boutique window, beautifully dressed in high-end clothing, with jewelry adorning the delicate neck of the faceless creature. Thousands of eyes gaze upon the mannequin, almost as if they're awaiting its demise.

(no more talk about gr*ape for now, will inform if there's another)

As the night progressed you noticed how Bruce never made any comments about your body or what you could do for him, making you a bit frustrated since you knew he was attracted to you.

You saw how he looked at you, you felt his eyes linger down when you walked beside him. You weren't oblivious of it. You knew what he wanted but you hated how he kept asking you questions about your life and hobbies.

Why was he actually so interested in you?! He’s just another old man wanting to flaunt to his rich friends that he fucked a model so why is he doing all this?!

You kept drinking wine and starting to act drunk, thinking that maybe he was one of those old men that would use you when you were intoxicated and then manipulate you into thinking that you also wanted it.

Plus, no one knows it thanks to your influence in the media, but you weren't a lightweight. You trained yourself to act drunk after two glasses of wine so that people would never know that you were an easy person.

After the waiter brought the check and left you were fuming and got too tired to act like you were interested in him after a whole dinner with him not insinuating anything that you should do for him.

You got up, the chair screeching as it suddenly moved, and glared at him, too angry to keep acting like your stupid ass self that is too focused on their fame and ego to care about others.

“...how many mind games are you going to play” - you pointed a finger right to his face, your voice shaky from frustration and anger -“huh? How many TİLL YOU SLEEP WİTH ME?! I know what you want! Everyone I ever met that wanted to go to dinner with me always wanted the same thing! Answer me!! And don't you dare waste my time!”

You kept glaring at him before feeling a tiny prick on your neck and before you could look you started to feel drowsy, like when your parents used to give you a glass of water that tasted weird when you were younger.

You pointed a finger at him before mumbling out a “you sick fucker, you could've told me you wanted to do it with me sleeping” and then collapsing on the floor, your fall being stopped by Bruce.

Bruce: he has always been interested in you after he saw you at your first big runway after you turned 18 and was finally free of your parents control.

He saw you walking on the big stage, your hair all messy in the wildest haircut possible that he guessed you did, complete with a wild outfit and the wildest makeup he ever saw.

He forgot what the theme of the show was because he only remembered you and how, even while wearing rags and looking like you just went through the most heartbreaking breakup, you looked like the most beautiful man he ever saw in his life.

After that day he just kept going to whatever event you were also in and enjoyed watching you from afar, he even had a full room in the Manor ready for you after he heard you talk about the perfect bedroom to relax but also have stuff to do so you could still be productive.

Next to that same room there was the room filled with almost every photo, magazine clips and whatever he could find about you plastered on the walls.

He slowly became more obsessed with each day that passed that he wasn't with you, his love for you growing into an unhealthy obsession that he actually sent people to spy and take care of you in your company while also finding out everything about your past as a child model.

He did ruin the lives of every director, photographer and almost every person in the modeling industry who used you in a sexual manner after he did some digging since he needed to know everything about you, wanting to be the perfect husband for you when he will finally marry you.

Even though he never talked to you and was double your age, he didn't care. He wanted you.

(Everyone’s obsession for you starts when you turn 18, if you got confused sorry)

Richard/Dick: he was the first one who got influenced by Bruce’s obsession with you after just 3 months since he was living at the Manor during that time because there was a case that he couldn't crack and was using the batcomputer to find some more clues.

He accidentally walked in on Bruce admiring one of the many runways that the older man registered and just watched from the doorway as the TV played in the background, staring at how beautiful you looked while walking, staring directly into the camera and in Dick’s soul.

After that day he started to research on his own and eventually stumbled into Bruce’s obsession room about you and didn't feel disgusted or weirded out when he saw all the photos and magazines photos about you and didn’t feel connected to Bruce when he realised that he and the old man shared an obsession.

No, he felt jealous at how it was Bruce that first found you and not him. Bruce had the privilege of having you for himself before he found you and he hated that.

But he also managed to one up Bruce by being the first of the two to get a photo with you after disguising himself as a waiter during a gala, especially because he knew the man flew to the city where the gala was held just to see you, even if you were with an old guy who looked like he could be your grandfather.

Did he rub it in Bruce’s face right after, especially when he knew the man was there and especially when he knew that the man still didn't approach you because he didn't know every single thing about you? Yes, yes he did and he did it with pride since he managed to one up Bruce.

He also killed the man before going back to Gotham with his old man,making sure that old bastard suffered through every moment and felt everything, especially when Dick started to slowly break his fingers, making sure he broke them so much that the man would never be able to use them even after surgery and therapy.

Plus he wouldn’t need to use them given that Dick killed him at the end by strangling him as he insulted him, making sure the man could see his face filled with joy as he was strangling him.

Jason: he found out about this when he was at the Manor with Tim and Duke since the three were working on the same case given that Duke found some thugs using weird alien technology while robbing a bank that unfortunately got destroyed during the fight.

Tim got involved because he saw a gang fight that were using similar weapons thanks to Duke’s descriptions and to Barbara given the fact that she provided video evidence that perfectly showed the weapons during the fight. Unfortunately, Tim couldn’t retrieve the weapons because the gangsters spread out during the chase but he managed to capture a few for questioning where he found out that the next shipment of those weapons was gonna happen in a few nights in some part of Crime Alley, to which he asked Jason for help.

That day the three were at the Manor to see if they could find more information via the remnants of the weapons Duke brought from the first fight and were witnesses of Dick taunting Bruce with the photo while wearing a shirt with the photo of him and you right in the middle of it.

Thanks to it and the fact that Bruce looked so angry and and on the bring of punching Dick in the face that the three got to work on finding out what was happening and immediately falling in love with you during their research. (They also stopped the thugs)

Jason, at first, was surprised at how long you’ve been working in the modelling industry before starting to dig about your past and when he found out about what your parents and what all those directors and photographers did to you he was enraged since he knew what it felt like having adults you trusted use you.

He quickly went to Bruce and just told him that he wouldn't be available for a few days before leaving and after he came back the news started to talk about all those people missing and some who were found dead with a letter written with all their crimes, alongside a usb filled with video evidence of their crimes that immediately got uploaded to the internet after an hour of getting found thanks to Tim.

He did hurt your parents and almost killed them but spared them, unsure if you actually hated them so he just made sure they would be stuck in the hospital for a long while.

Tim: (you already know how Tim and Duke know about you so I'll skip it).

Tim was surprised when he found out about you because of how obsessed Dick and Bruce were about you. But he also did his own research where he then shared it with Duke since the guy was also curious about you and he couldn't hide it from him.

As he studied you and your past, like everyone else, he found himself more interested in how you stayed so strong after everything that happened.

He also helped Jason in his revenge week and made sure all the evidence about those people wouldn't get deleted by hackers or the modelling industry.

He didn't understand why he felt so close to you but after a bit of research and also with Duke continuing to point out how similar you and Tim were he started to understand.

You were a trophy kid for your parents. Your parents had you and mostly used you as a way to make themselves look better when you became incredibly famous as a child model.

They didn't care about you and they only gave you actual attention when they needed to show how good of a parent they were for the public.

And that's what he experienced with his own parents and he knew what it felt like. But the only difference between the two of you is that Tim was neglected but didn't get used for money since he was a billionaire child while you got used to your parent’s greed.

Duke: (you know, I know, we all know)

He was one of the most sceptical to fall in love with you because he didn't feel an immediate connection with you like it happened with Dick, Bruce, Tim and Jason.

Even after knowing about what happened to you he still didn't feel anything and he felt wrong because he saw everyone getting obsessed with you while he just thought you were attractive but didn't feel like the others.

After a year he finally met you thanks to a gala he went to with Bruce without the others since they already ‘met’ you by being creeps.

That gala was the start of his obsession with you.

You were ethereal and wearing one of the most beautiful white suits that he ever saw, he actually thought you were an angel at first as you slowly walked down the stairs in 4 inch heels thanks to Barbara’s telling him via comms.

After a bit of him watching you from away he finally mustered enough courage to walk up to you and ask for your autograph and you were so nice to him.

Like you didn't ignore him or act annoyed, you actually talked with him as you signed what he wanted and joked a bit about some runways you did that he loved.

And after that day he was hooked, he couldn't get enough of you that he actually beg Bruce, on his knees, to send him to any gala if you were gonna be there, even though you didn't really go to many galas unless it was something that made you interested, which was difficult to understand and use for their own gain.

But he made sure to brag about it since he had video footage thanks to Barbara.

_______________________________

I am done and I won't do the others because I don't want to sound repetitive for y'all. Please don't ask about the others though.

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loggiepj · 2 months ago

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lizzie

Summary: just an angsty one shot story 😂✌🏳️‍🌈

"TOM SAID she had been using Rooney to gain more credits to her work, always insisting to come along Rooney when she's in film productions, pretending she was only supporting her then girlfriend just so she could give her scripts to producers. And she did this while cheating on her behind her back."

You bit your lip to stop yourself from bursting into tears, hand on your chest, slipping to your collarbone then up to your neck as you willed yourself to breathe.

"That's awful," you heard Lizzie's beautiful voice slurring through the confines of the comfort room, through the door of the cubicle you were trapped in. "I can't believe she could do such a thing. She was so sweet and all, I thought . . . I thought—"

"Oh, we thought so too, Liz," another person chimed in, "but don't be easily fooled. I heard Rooney's lawyer will be filing a case against her sometime soon."

Your other hand went to embrace yourself, clutching against the side of your sweater as you might lose it.

"It was a risk on the producer's part to still include her in this film," said another, "knowing her reputation."

In the following silence, you could hear Elizabeth's sigh. "God, I wouldn't have known."

It was complete torture, having to listen through it all, having to witness how someone you had grown close to in the past few weeks could crush you down in an instant. Five minutes and thirty seven seconds, to be exact.

As if the gods above had acknowledged you had suffered enough, they eventually left the comfort room and began discussing about the next scenes as they walked through the door.

When you heard the door shut close, you broke down. The kind of cry where you seemed to be running out of air to breathe, as if you had been clawing your insides until there's nothing left. You didn't think it was possible to cry for someone like this. You felt like a kid, but you couldn't wail louder since anyone could just walk into the toilet.

The gossips you had endured during highschool, about you being gay, had nothing in comparison to what just happened. Especially the one who was involved was someone special to you. And it felt worse coming from her. To think that Lizzie would actually believe them, believe the rumors circulating about you. To think that she could be different from others. But you'd thought wrong.

It all started with Rooney. She was an actress you fell in love with when you got to work with her and Tom in Carol movie. You had been together with Rooney for almost six years. And yet for one simple action, a drunk crewmate kissing you on the lips inside the producer's room, mistaking you as his girlfriend, Rooney threw everything.

It was all one big misunderstanding. One night, you were just making love. The next, you weren't allowed to enter the penthouse you were both staying, considering Rooney owned that unit and you gave up yours when you moved in with her.

Her sister, Kate, the ever merciful one, contacted you afterwards the sudden eviction, saying that she would try to persuade Rooney to be at least forgiving to let you stay for the meantime while you were looking for another place to live.

But that didn't happen. After that incident, rumors of you cheating started to spread around in the industry, some were exaggerated to give that appeal. And no one trusted you anymore, that you would only use people to your own benefit.

If you weren't only friends with the director of the current film you were working with, you wouldn't have any project.

And then you met Elizabeth Olsen.

You can call me Lizzie, by the way, was what she said when the two of you first talked.

Lizzie had a very distinctive and elegant appearance. She had fair skin, light brown hair, and expressive eyes that were usually a striking green. She was almost an inch taller than you, but if she wore heels, you'd always look up to her whenever the two of you were talking.

You knew her from her massive role as Wanda Maximoff in Marvel Universe films, and you even used to idolize her as someone who's good in everything, no matter what genre the film she was in.

And you both just instantly clicked, like you were made for each other. You could talk to her for hours and hours through the production days, either before the filming would start, during breaks or at the end of the day. She would also share everything to you, with enthusiasm to your mutual interests, as if you were long-time friends. She looked at you without judgment, making you wonder if she knew about the rumors, the one thing that could destroy this newfound promising relationship. Knowing Lizzie wasn't into social media and stuff was what kept you asleep most nights.

You had even asked her to a date that weekend and you both enjoyed it to the fact that she almost invited you inside her nearby apartment when you gave her a ride home. There was this kind of feeling you feel whenever she was around, sometimes butterflies, sometimes longing.

But everything crumbled down when a newcomer saw the two of you flirting with each other.

YOU SPLASHED some cold water into your face as you prepared yourself to face the outside world, hoping it wasn't that obvious that you were just crying seconds ago.

When you went back to the studio to get some work done, you saw Lizzie on one corner practicing some lines with her co-star.

Maybe you were only overthinking it. Maybe she would see you through, talk to you about it, listen to your side of the story. But when you approached them, they only went silent.

"Hey," you greeted, trying to diminish any awkwardness.

"Hi Y/n," Lizzie replied with a smile, "we're just quickly rehearsing for the next scene."

"Oh, okay, sorry to bother you both," you said, "I'll just talk to you later then."

She only smiled back as she went back to her script. You would have just let it go if it weren't for the fact that she would always choose to talk to you.

LATER was no different as you went to knock against the door of her trailer upon hearing Lizzie's laughter inside. Abruptly, the laughters died, and you swore you could hear shushing. When her friend opened the door the second time you knocked, said friend only told you Lizzie wasn't in there even when you knew she was.

THROUGH the days that followed, it was slowly sinking in that maybe they got her too. That Lizzie believed them too.

You tried to give Lizzie the benefit of the doubt. That maybe she was only busy, knowing the most critical scenes were being shot. But you had probably sent her a lot of messages to which Lizzie had only replied words fewer and bland as compared to the older ones she had sent you.

WHEN you tried to approach Lizzie during one of the breaks, surprising her with your favorite cheesecake she said she liked, she thanked you rather hurriedly.

"Thanks, Y/n," she said. "You shouldn't have."

"It's fine," you said back, brushing her off as she tried to return the box to you. "I was in the area earlier when I passed by the store, and I remembered you wanting to eat another slice of it."

What was redness that you used to see adorned on Lizzie's cheeks, was inexistent as she hesitantly accepted the gift. You could tell she was sporting a smile you had seen her do whenever she was uncomfortable during interviews.

It gave you the kick to stop whatever this was you were doing. You then decided not to torture her anymore with how forward you were. It was clear she didn't want anything to do with you. That you were just mere friends in passing. That that date was only that. Nothing more.

"Lizzie!" someone called her from afar, apparently saving her from this awkward interaction. Saving you both.

"Shoot, sorry, Y/n," she said with an apologetic smile. "I have to leave, but thank you again for this. You're too sweet for this world."

You forced a huge smile her way. "Yeah, no worries. See you later."

BUT YOU had avoided her later. You had avoided them. And through the days that followed, you began distancing yourself from the cast and crew, knowing now what they had been talking behind your back. You just went to the studio to help work with the script then went back straight home. No more small talks in the hallway as you passed by them, occasionally wearing a hoodie over your face, wishing it was Harry Potter's cloak of invisibility.

At nights, you stared at the photos of the two of you together during production and even that one dinner date you had at a private restaurant, wondering how two individuals went from these to complete strangers.

You couldn't help but wonder if Lizzie has missed you at all. But when you glanced at her from a distance whenever you couldn't avoid not coming to the studio, laughing and making vlog with her co-stars and makeup artists, you could feel she was glad she dodged a bullet that was you. That she almost went out with someone like you, someone who couldn't be trusted.

You had even stopped eating your favorite cheesecake, knowing it would only remind you of her. Lesson learned. Never suggest your favorites to anyone.

THAT was when you started hanging out with Emma Watson, whom you had gotten closer as you were part of her writing crew in another film you were working for.

She had well defined cheekbones and chocolate brown eyes. But what stood out the most was her English accent. Sometimes, you just wanted to listen to her talk all day.

Emma already knew the rumors about you, and called them bullshit. Maybe it was the British in her, but she told you she didn't care about anyone's past other than first impressions. Besides, if she weren't a fan of your works, she wouldn't have given a chance to know you.

When she revealed to you she liked girls too, you grew more comfortable around her.

You also started to make friends with the other film's crew, and maybe that was what you needed, what you were missing. You no longer felt sad or lonely whenever you were around them. And having to fit two jobs in a day, it felt different having something to look forward to whenever you finished working for Lizzie's film. Good kind of different.

"WAIT, you're already leaving? Are you not going with us?" your director friend asked the moment he saw you packing things up, preparing to leave.

"What do you mean?"

"Liz invited the whole cast and crew for a housewarming party at her new house," he replied.

You had no idea but who were you to receive first invitation from her in the first place. You were a nobody.

"Oh I . . . I actually am needed to get this edit reviewed," you said, easily making up an excuse. Although technically, it wasn't a lie.

"That's a bummer. I was pretty sure Liz said to invite you too." He sighed. "Well, don't work yourself too hard, Y/n."

You only smiled back as you left, staying out of sight from others, keeping distance away from the lobby where you could see the whole cast chatting as they waited for the car service to get to Lizzie's house. And for a brief moment, you caught sight of the woman who once captured your heart, broke it and left to rot. Elizabeth looked so beautiful and fresh even after a day's production, and she was wearing that jacket she stole from you that very first day.

"HAVE you ever loved someone?"

You had been staring at your notifications, watching for what seemed like hours at Lizzie's messages asking where you were and why you weren't at her housewarming party.

You didn't even noticed Emma had asked you a question until she nudged your shoulder.

"Sorry, what?" you asked, slipping your phone into your pocket.

"I asked if you've ever loved someone? Any lovers? Girlfriends? Boyfriend? Flings?" she asked teasingly, "It's just I haven't seen you around with anyone."

"I mean, you've heard the rumors—"

"Fuck all the rumors, I'm not blind, Y/n," Emma interrupted. "You're actually gorgeous. It could cause a scandal."

Avoiding the girl's gaze, you laughed at her. "What are you suggesting?"

There was complete silence, making you look back at Emma deep in thoughts.

"What do you say about you becoming my girlfriend?"

"What?"

"It's just for PR stuff and all," she reasoned. "And for promoting this movie."

"Promoting? They'd hate you. They'd hate me more."

"At least, it would be a distraction from the public. I haven't actually come out as gay but I've provided signs, yet people just turn a blind eye. And this will help confirm my sexuality. If they hated me for dating the rumored you, they'd hate me less for being gay."

You fell silent as you thought about it.

"My PR manager will pay you, of course. You're saving up for a house, right? I want to help you."

Then she looked at her hands on her lap, nervous. "Besides, you're the only one I felt comfortable doing this with." She then glanced back at you. "So . . . Are you with me?"

WHEN you started going out with Emma publicly, the photos of you together holding hands in public immediately spread through the news and gossip channels. You started to become famous, more on the bad side though, of how you were only using Emma again for your selfish reasons and how stupid Emma was for dating you.

At least, there were only a few articles about how disappointed they were Emma turned out to be gay. People were more disappointed she was dating a parasite.

IT WAS almost a month after when you received a missed call from your ex girlfriend Rooney. And she had called you multiple times until you blocked her number. And when she figured out you blocked her, she sent you numerous emails.

Emma was with you as you anxiously worked through the next scene's script.

"You okay?" Emma asked, her hand on your shoulder made you jump on your seat. "Sorry."

"It's okay," you managed to reply.

"What are you worrying about?"

You hesitated, frown growing deeper. "It's just . . . I think my ex girlfriend will finally end my career."

"How?"

"She's going to file a case against me," you said, almost in tears.

"Is that what you think she's going to do?" She chuckled softly.

"What are you giggling about? It's not funny."

"Sorry," she went on still laughing, "but you have to see this."

Apparently, Rooney had posted a public apology addressed to you, clearing you out, redeeming your image, and admitting it was her jealousy that ended your relationship, that she was willing to destroy her career in exchange for yours. And that she wanted so badly to talk to you if you'd only let her.

It felt like a relief as you saw the ones who reposted the post, as you read the comments from people defending you and supporting you, that Emma was a better choice than Rooney. It felt like the weight of the world was taken off your shoulder.

Emma then wrapped her arms around you as you sobbed into her chest. And she only let you.

Some weeks later, Emma asked you out on a date. A real date, saying she was willing to try. Maybe it was Rooney's post that made her trust you. Maybe she was just scared. But you also wanted to try it with her.

Rooney eventually stopped contacting you. The damage has already been done. One day, you may be able to forgive her. But never to forget.

MAYBE the public apology was what made Lizzie finally approached you during the last few days in the production. She brought you a gift, the cheesecake that used to be your favorite. Now, you didn't like how too sweet it was, wanting nothing more than to savor Cornish pasty introduced by your girlfriend Emma.

"Hey, Y/n," she greeted. "I . . . I brought you this."

"Thank you, Lizzie," you said, accepting with haste.

There was awkward silence as she placed her hands inside the pockets of her jeans. "Last day, huh? You want to go for sushi later? My treat."

And maybe it really was the public post Rooney made that made her finally talk to you, as if she was still the same person she was the first time you met. And as if you were still interested in her as you were months ago.

"Sorry, I have to meet Em for dinner tonight," you said, smiling apologetically.

"It's fine, it's fine," she said, brushing you off with a forced chuckle. "So, it's true you two are dating, huh?"

You nodded, avoiding the brunette's gaze. "Yeah, it is."

"She doesn't know how lucky she is."

You paused, wondering why you were no longer feeling any butterflies in your stomach whenever she was around. "I'm the lucky one, actually. Goodnight, Elizabeth."

"G-Goodnight, Y/n."

Like you said, the damage was already done.

#elizabeth olsen x reader #elizabeth olsen #rooney mara #rooney mara x reader #emma watson #emma watson x reader #angst #wanda maximoff #wanda maximoff x reader

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synamartia · 5 months ago

Text

[ Featured Artwork © lustylita ] ❀ [ Featured Divider © cafekitsune ]

[ Story © synamartia ] ❀ [ Text banner created via TextStudio ]

Content Warnings: Alastor x Reader ; Afab!Reader ; No pronouns or Y/N used ; Use of gendered pet names like "good/dirty girl" ; Explicit / MDNI / 18+ ; Sexual situations ; Sex pollen trope (Love Potion) ; Oral (m + f receiving) ; Spanking ; Dirty talk ; Praise kink ; Dom!Alastor ; Dacryphilia ; If I missed any, let me know! Word Count: 6,183 Summoning: @hazelfoureyes ; @minkdelovely ; @sugoi-writes ; @fraugwinska ; @lustylita Author's Notes: Ya'll ready for this? don't lie now Alastor's dialogue will be in bold red, thoughts in italics red, and Reader's will be in blue. Tagging my darling moots and the lovely Kat for allowing me to use her art for a series banner~! If you would like to be added to or removed from the tag list, let me know via ask! And thank you again to Mink and Danny for helping me nail down Alastor's dialogue! You're the best! ❤

You weren't sure how you ended up here - bent over the large desk in Alastor's bedroom, but you weren't particularly worried about the circumstances surrounding your... situation. You could vaguely recall speaking with the Radio Demon about an issue regarding one of the many drug stashes belonging to Angel and what exactly each piece of paraphernalia could be - specifically, what the small spray bottle filled with a pink liquid might have been. Had you known it was an aerosolized product of Love Potion by the Vees, you never would have sprayed it on Alastor - having mistaken it for one of Angel's various colognes.

At first, the man who towered over not only you, but the entirety of the hotel staff had been upset with you, ready to give you a proper tongue-lashing for your carelessness. However, that was before the potion took effect- his original intentions went right out the window the moment it did. You had to hand it to the Vees; it only took 7.8 seconds for Alastor's pupils to dilate and his ears to flatten against his head as the drug took hold of his senses. Alastor barely held on to his sanity the second the drug went into effect - it took every single fiber of his being, every ounce of self-control to stop himself from tearing at your clothes and having his way with you right then and there. Had it not been for the distant murmurs and subtle hisses at the nearby bar, he would have. But he wouldn't subject you to such ignominy, no matter how inebriated by that god-awful concoction he was. Alastor was, first and foremost, a gentleman.

Alastor leaned in close - his face mere inches from yours, a frenzied look in his half-lidded eyes as he inhaled the distinctive spicy aroma that your minty toothpaste had given your breath. He'd rather not waste any time talking, but the one thing that horrible, awful, wonderful drug couldn't override in his brain was the innate, inherent need for consent in such acts. He could only hope you would have some mercy on the few remaining ribbons of his tattered soul and provide him with the only word he wanted to hear - yes. "I- ... I'm so sorry, Alastor- ... S-sir! I mean, M- ... Mister Alastor! I thought it was just a... a cologne..." You started - at first mistaking the look of lust in his eyes for one of malicious and sadistic intent. You had heard the rumors (who hadn't?). So when you noticed his wraithlike shadows swirling around your form and felt one of his tentacles wrap around both of your ankles, you immediately thought that you were about to be the next voice heard on his radio broadcast.

"It seems this... cologne..." you heard his voice ring out as your world went black for a few moments - the caliginous haze having engulfed both of your forms. You felt a slight breeze with how fast the darkness transported Alastor and you from the foyer up the grand flight of stairs and down the halls. At first, you had assumed he was taking you to his studio to broadcast your screams of agony for all of hell to hear. However, you were pleasantly surprised when the smoky substance dissipated, and you found yourself in the safe confines of Alastor's bedroom. "... is an aphrodisiac so potent that it's affecting even me," he said, having remained in the same bent position as he began to size you up.

"I- ... I know. I realized too late," your voice trembled as you stared back at him, fidgeting with your nails nervously. "I'm so sorry, Alastor - I'll be more caref- ...?!" The deer demon pressed a singular clawed digit against your lips to prevent you from any further stammering, shushing you as his eyes traveled down to the valley between your breasts.

"If you're truly apologetic, why don't you show me, hm?" he asked you smugly, pointed teeth parting for a moment to pull his bottom lip between them. He bit down lightly, waiting for your consent as patiently as he could manage. He refused to touch you any further until you had given him the go-ahead; he was a demon, sure - a pretty damn bad one, at that. But this was one thing he would never forego. "Will you help me through this high? After all, you are the one at fault here." You could've sworn your head was about to explode from all the blood rushing to your cheeks at that exact moment. Did he just ask you that? There's no way Alastor - one of the most feared Overlords to have ever walked the scorched wasteland of hell in recent memory; the one that broadcasts the screams of the souls that he eviscerates and atomizes for miniscule slights; the demon that has made friends with an entire town of cannibals (except one - ugh, Susan) and has brunch with their Overlord every Thursday; the man that is unapologetically contumelious and has brazenly challenged the king of hell; THE GODDAMN RADIO DEMON - is shamelessly asking if you would let him fuck you... right?

This had to be dream or an illusion of some sort. Yeah, that had to be it. But, in all honesty, it would be a lie if you said you hadn't thought about any of this - about how his lips tasted; what his nails would feel like being raked up and down your back; how far down your throat you could take him; the sweet, sweet sting of his cock stretching your walls open; or what it would feel like to have rope after rope of his hot seed spurting inside you during his climax. You wondered if he was vocal during sex, and what he would sound like while he chased that rarely sought-after release. Would it just be whimpers and sighs, or would he say the filthiest of words while he rammed his shaft into you with reckless abandon? You assumed the latter since Alastor loved to talk; to hear himself talk - you hoped he would whisper all the ways he wanted to defile you right before doing just that.

Alastor tugged your bottom lip down to reveal your bottom row of teeth as you stared at him in both bewilderment and awe, your brain struggling to process this whole exchange. After a few more moments of silence passed, you shifted your gaze down his torso to the already prominent, still-growing tent within his trousers. Using the same clawed hand that had pulled down your lip, Alastor lifted your chin so that you were forced to look him in the eye.

"Do you want this? I need an answer, Mon Ami. Now."

Having been pulled out of your dazed imagination, you took one more moment to compose yourself before responding. With a frantic nod of agreement, you threw caution to the wind as Alastor's eyes took on a subtle glow, causing your heart to race at from just the idea of sleeping with him.

C'est la vie, right?

He didn't allow you much time to think after that, immediately leaning down so that he could wrap his hands around the backsides of your thighs and hoist you up so that you were at eye-level with him. With a couple long strides, you found yourself being set down on the desk. Easing your legs apart as gently as he could, Alastor stepped between them and brought his hands up to the button-down shirt you wore, the fine layer of sweat resulting from your earlier fear of disembowelment causing patches of the white fabric to become translucent. In one swift motion, all the buttons went flying across the room as he ripped it open, exposing the black lace bra you wore beneath it. He looked like a man starved by the way his predatory gaze traveled over your half-nude form.

Your heart was pounding in your ears as you still struggled to make sense of everything that's happened so far, the anticipation of whatever else may come consuming you. Hands shaking and breath rapid, you nervously brought your hands to the black bow tie wrapped beneath the lapels of his crimson dress shirt, your trembling fingers having difficulty in undoing the knot at first. You noticed the subtle flinch and how Alastor tensed when you finally managed to get the tie undone, quickly moving your hands south to undo the buttons of his suit jacket. Inebriated or not, Alastor still struggled with any physical contact that wasn't strictly on his terms. In an attempt to ease his discomfort, you pulled your hands away and looked him in the eye. "Is it okay if I touch you?" you asked him. A moment passed, and then another; then he nodded his head, granting you permission to slide his coat off his shoulders and down his arms to fall to the floor.

Eyes locked with his, you could tell he was still a little tense; so, you took things a bit further in the hopes of calming his nerves. "I'm going to unbutton your shirt now. Is that okay?" you announced, awaiting his approval once more before you continued to undress him. With another nod, Alastor let out a barely audible sigh when he felt a sudden rush of cool air on his torso a few seconds later - his shirt now being untucked and fully unbuttoned. You took a moment to take in this rare sight: Alastor's clothes disheveled and chest bare, eyes frenzied as he began to relax into your touch little by little. The tips of your fingers traced the outlines of his toned pecs down the center line of his abs and along the few tufts of cherry red hair that were the beginnings of a happy trail (fuck, now you owed $10 to Angel) - and then back up again to his broad shoulders. Alastor practically ripped the cufflinks from his wrists, a shiver running up his spine as you moved your hands past the lapels of his shirt, pushing the fabric off in the same manner as his suit coat.

With his upper garments now pooled at his feet, Alastor let one of his arms wrap around your waist and pull you to the edge of his desk - his groin coming into contact with yours. You held his gaze as one of your hands came up to wrap around the back of his neck, your other going behind you to help support your weight as you began to shallowly roll your hips against his clothed length. A soft moan escaped your throat at the friction you created, causing Alastor's muscles to tense, his spine going rigid beneath your touch. "... Do that again," he commanded you, his cock twitching within the painfully restricting confines of his trousers. He hadn't expected such a simple noise to have this profound of an effect on him physically. "Make that noise again," he rasped, pushing his hips further into you as his other hand pushed your pencil skirt up to reveal your undergarments.

"Hhhmmm... Alastor," you obliged, adding his name in a husky whisper as you rolled your hips against his once more. Alastor growled in response just before crashing his lips down on yours, swallowing the moans that were pouring from your throat. How has he never noticed the ethereal way his name sounded rolling off your tongue until now? He wondered what it would sound like being screamed so loud, that dick Lucifer could hear it all the way up on his 'holier than thou' high horse throne. You inhaled sharply through your nose as you felt a claw tug and then eventually tear at your matching black lace panties (he was SO buying you a new set; this was your favorite pair, damn it!), your skirt now bunched up at your waist, leaning your lower half completely bare.

Breaking the kiss, you pulled back just enough to see Alastor's face - eyes half-lidded, the corners of his mouth twitching upward, a thin layer of sweat accumulating on his face and torso from the prolonged proximity. "Alastor..." you whispered his name again and his cock twitched again against the now much too uncomfortable fabric. You moved to sit up straight, bringing both of your hands to the buckle of his belt, stilling them as you opened your mouth to ask if he would let you continue. Before you could even form the question, Alastor was already granting you permission to free it from the agonizing confines of his pants with a feverishly desperate nod; his free hand maneuvering between your bodies to stroke a solitary digit through your folds. "My, my," he chuckled, voice teasing as he pushed his finger past the first ring of muscle of your embarrassingly slick entrance. "We've only just started, and you're already this aroused?" he clicked his tongue against his teeth as he teased you, deriving pleasure and amusement from the pout you gave in response.

"Dirty girl."

"I- ... It's your fault," you chided him, throwing his earlier statement back in his face. "You're the one to blame. So, are you going to help me or not?" you asked him in a mocking tone of voice, sticking your tongue out in the process. Alastor leaned in closer to your face - pretending to go for another kiss, only to lightly sink his teeth into the tip of your tongue and pull it further out of your mouth. "A-ah!" you yelped in surprise just before he wrapped his lips around the already sore muscle, sucking gently to ease the pain for a few moments. When he pulled away, he gave you a playful wink just before adding a second digit to your heated core. "I suppose I could help you," Alastor teased you right back, slowly pumping his digits in and out, careful not to hurt you with the sharpened edges of his nails.

"... But I want to hear you beg for it first."

Before you could react, Alastor pulled himself free of you and yanked you to your feet; spinning you around and forcing you to bend over the edge of his desk with his slender fingers wrapped around the back of your neck - keeping you in place. He used his other hand to wrangle both of yours, holding them together at the wrist and pressing them into the small of your back as he kicked your feet apart.

So now, here you were - bent over the smooth surface of his desk; trapped, exposed, and completely helpless.

"Come now, Mon Cher. Let me hear you beg me to fuck you," Alastor commanded you, releasing your neck and bringing that same hand down to spank against the bare skin of your ass. A yelp escaped your lips at the sudden sting of his palm striking your rear, your cheek pressed against the cool wood as you tried to angle your head just right to look back at him. Chewing on your bottom lip as you contemplated his command, you were trying to decide which route was more beneficial: compliance or defiance.

Another slap resounded throughout the room when Alastor struck your bottom again, harder this time as a warning to make up your mind quickly. Deciding that compliance would get you to that first release faster (albeit less fun), you opened your mouth to acquiesce. "P-Please!" you started, "... please, Alastor... I need you..." you whispered shyly, the words somehow making your face heat up even more. But it wasn't good enough, since Alastor smacked your ass again. "You can do better than that," he stated matter-of-factly, rubbing the palm of his hand against the reddened skin where he had struck you. Biting your lip again, you closed your eyes and tried to muster up the courage to say out loud all the thoughts running through your dirty little mind. You hoped no one was nearby to hear any of this (not that Alastor would let them live for very long if they did hear your escapades). Swallowing the saliva that was building up in your mouth, you let out a shaky breath before opening your eyes and craning your neck further back to look at Alastor again.

"Please! Please, please, PLEASE fuck me, Alastor ...! I need it so bad! I wanna feel your cock in me, please! I promise, I'll be good!" you started out, your face now rivaling Alastor's ruby hair in terms of color. "I'll be good, I swear!" you tried to wiggle your hips against his still clothed cock (having only succeeded in undoing the belt buckle and zipper before he whipped you around), only to feel another harsh slap to your ass, warning you to behave. "Please just fuck me- ...! Make me cum on your cock. I wanna cum on your cock! Alastor..." you whimpered, earning a short chuckle from him in response as he slowly began to grind against your backside, providing you with some much needed friction. "Good girl," he murmured while rubbing soothing circles on the red imprint of his hand forming on your ass cheek. Leaning over you so that his lips were right by the edge of your jaw, he let his tongue roll out and run along the length of it until he came to your ear, sharp teeth nibbling at the sensitive lobe.

"Une si bonne fille pour moi."

Alastor stood up straight once again and moved his hand between your bodies, opting to push three of his long digits into your waiting heat this time. He relished in the surprised gasp that escaped you followed by a prolonged moan, curling his fingers slightly as he started to build a pace. "A-Alasss- ...!" you tried to say his name, but the angle that his fingers were pushing in and out of you had you seeing stars even though he had just barely started, his knuckles rubbing against that one spot you always had trouble reaching with your own hand. You pulled your bottom lip between your teeth, your walls clenching around his fingers when you felt his thumb press against your puckered hole. Letting go of your wrists, Alastor brought his now free hand down to grab at your ass and spread your cheeks apart to get a better look; he prodded gently but never pushed past the first ring of muscle. He wanted to but felt it could wait for another time - IF there was another time after this. He didn't want to push your boundaries too far for the first time around.

"Oh, fuuucckk!" you drawled out, eyes fluttering closed as that oh-so-familiar coil began to tighten in your lower abdomen. "That's it, good girl," you heard him praise you, his words causing your muscles to tense further as he pushed you closer and closer to the precipice of ecstasy. Your hips began to roll involuntarily against his hand after a few minutes, your body automatically seeking that sweet, sweet release even faster. "Just like that, ride my fingers just like that," he whispered, the praises he was singing to you making your walls clamp down on his digits even tighter. "O-oh fuck! Ala- ... Alastor! Fuck, fuck, I'm gonna cum, oh my god!" you cried, your eyes rolling into the back of your head, hands holding a death grip on the edge of his desk.

When you felt Alastor shifting behind you, you opened your eyes and lifted your head slightly to see what he was doing - quickly finding him on his knees and moving in until his mouth replaced his fingers. Alastor let out a loud groan once he finally had a taste of you, tongue rolling out and through your slick folds, drinking in your essence like you were an oasis in the middle of the Sahara Desert. His left hand held your cheeks apart as Alastor licked and slurped and sucked, shaking his head back and forth against your core every few seconds. The tip of his nose tickled your other hole while he used his right hand to rub circles on your clit, his long tongue rolling over your g-spot whenver he would dip it inside you. You could feel your release coming at you like a freight train now, one of your hands shooting back to grab hold of something - his hair, his antlers, anything in an attempt to ground yourself. "Good girl!" his words were muffled as he kept his face pressed against your core, lifting your leg to rest on the desk before returning it to your clit, pressing down harshly on the bundle of nerves.

A loud groan rumbled through his chest as you squeezed the base of his antler, the action causing his cock to twitch and throb, begging to be released from its confines and satiated. "Don't stop, please don't stop!" you begged, your jaw falling open into a silent cry as your release began to crash over you like a tsunami. Alastor drank you in, slurping loudly at the fluids that dripped from your tight cunt, savoring your taste while he struggled to not blow his load before he even had a chance to get inside you. He pressed his face even further against your core, mouth open wide as he swallowed everything your body had to give him. How long had it been since he felt this thirsty - this starved for someone else's touch? Alastor couldn't remember the last time he was this aroused, this fucking hard. What the fuck did the Vees put in that troublesome potion?

As the pleasure coursing through your veins began to subside, your muscles relaxed and your grip on his antler loosened, occasionally tensing once more whenever you felt the tip of his tongue on your throbbing clit or the sharp edge of his teeth glide against your puffy lips. You lowered your head to rest on the polished surface, trying to catch your breath as Alastor pulled back from your heat - enjoying the way your pussy would clench around nothing when he lightly raked his claws over your reddened ass cheek. Picking up his forgotten shirt from before, Alastor used the fabric to wipe what was left of your release from his chin, discarding it after as he rose to his feet. "You did so well for me," he praised you, reaching to tuck a strand of loose hair behind your ear. Leaning over your slumped form he let his lips brush against your jaw, then your cheek and then your temple. "Hmm..." you hummed in response, trying not to let the fatigue take over before you could get to the main course. "Do you need a moment? Would you like to stop?" Alastor asked you, taking notice of your display of exhaustion.

Quickly, you turned your head and pushed yourself up. "No! No, I can-" you paused for a moment to stifle a yawn. The incident in the foyer that led to all of this occurred near the end of your workday, so you were fairly tired when this started. The unexpectedly hard orgasm wasn't helping any, but the promise of even more is what kept you going. Besides, you couldn't be the only one having fun here, especially since you had already agreed to help relieve him. "... I can keep going. I wanna keep going," you insisted, lowering your leg as you pushed yourself up straight, turning to face him fully now. "For you," you added, staring up at him with a look so amorous it made his breath hitch in his throat, catching him off guard. Cautiously, you raised your hands to gently cradle his face, standing on your tiptoes so you could place a soft peck on his smiling lips.

Bringing yourself back down to stand proper, you began to trace your hands down his neck and chest, not missing the way his muscles still tensed at your touch. It was going to take some time, you realized, to get him to a point where he welcomed your touch rather than shy away from it. You hoped that he would give you that time, outside of this incident that you so clumsily caused, of course. When your hands reached the waistband of his pants, you looked up at him and waited for his permission to continue - something small and near insignificant but nevertheless something he still appreciated. He would have to reward you for your thoughtfulness later. Nodding his head, Alastor watched as you slowly pushed both his trousers and briefs down past his hips to his knees, eventually falling to his ankles, his aching cock springing from its prison and slapping lightly against his lower abdomen. He looked away for a moment, unable to hide his growing discomfort with being so bare in front of another person.

Gently, you pressed on his jaw with your left hand to bring his narrowed eyes back to your face. "Hey," you called. "You can trust me, Alastor," you assured him, knowing full well that was only part of the problem. Mouth twitching, Alastor stared at you as you leaned in to place tender kisses to his chest, your eyes never once leaving his face as you sank down to your knees before him. "I promise," you spoke, voice gentle, hands tracing the defined muscles of his abs and gliding along the dips of his pelvic v. Bringing one hand up to rest on his thigh, your other gently wrapped around the base of his cock. Humming softly as you smiled up at him, you rubbed your cheek against his length, then grazed your lips over his leaking tip. "I just want to make you feel good," you continued to assure him, catching the shaky sigh he gave in response to your touches. Experimentally, you let the tip of your tongue dart past your lips and against his crying slit, his entire body tensing as one of his hands moved to tangle within your tresses.

You stared up at Alastor with such innocence in your big doe eyes - he had to bite the inside of his cheek to stop himself from forcing his cock as far down your throat as it could go. "Is that okay?" you asked after a couple more licks to his slit, savoring the salty taste of his pre dribbling out. "Will you let me make you feel good, Alastor?" you asked him so sweetly, voice dripping with honey as his name rolled off that devilish tongue of yours. You really knew how to push his buttons. With a drawn out moan vibrating through his chest and static crackling through the air, you barely had time to fully open your mouth as he pushed his hips forward and guided your head down until your nose brushed against the carmine strands at his base, his head tilting back at the long anticipated sensation finally washing over him as he breathed out a singular,

"Yes!"

Immediately, you had to fight back the urge to gag and pull away when he pushed your head down. Had it not been for his fingers laced through your hair holding you in place, you would have. You whined at the sudden intrusion, not expecting him to push so much of himself inside your mouth so quickly; his tip nearly hitting the back of your throat. Alastor tried, he truly did, to keep control and allow you some time to adjust, but the explicit desire for release was beginning to cloud his senses now that he had your lips wrapped around his dick. He gave a few shallow thrusts, trying not to go too far before you adjusted to his wide girth. After a few seconds to do just that had passed, you hummed softly as a signal that you were okay to go further now, to pick up the pace - the vibrations sending a couple unexpected shockwaves up his spine. You stared up at him, admiring the way his Adam's apple bobbed slightly when he swallowed hard, tears pricking at the corners of your eyes.

Curling your tongue around his length, you pressed upward as you started to bob your head, sucking lightly and moaning every few seconds to send vibrations through his whole being. "Fuck..." you heard him whisper with each drag of your muscle on the underside of his shaft, keeping one hand wrapped around his base and squeezing lightly the part you were unable to swallow. On occasion, whenever you would pull back far enough, you would angle your head slightly so that his tip would rub against the ridges of your palate upon re-entry, causing him to inhale sharply and clench his hand, tugging on your hair each time.

You could feel his thighs tremble every time you moaned around him, sucking harshly and hollowing your cheeks, pressing your tongue up even harder to create more friction and bring him closer to his orgasm. You slurped and sucked; some drool mixed with precum beginning to froth at the corners of your mouth with each drag. "That's it, that's it," Alastor murmured as he lowered his gaze down onto you. Struggling to keep his release at bay for just a few more minutes, he nearly lost it when he saw that you were still looking up at him with those beautiful wide eyes, tears pricking at the edges and threatening to fall at any moment. "Oh, yes- ... That's my good girl, fuuuccckkk!" he breathed, relishing in the way you tried to breathe through your nose while choking on his cock.

Hearing his moans and praises were such a huge ego boost, so you decided to take it a step further by removing your hand from the base and letting it settle on the side of his thigh. Alastor let out a small grunt of disapproval at the loss of your tight grip and reached to guide your hand back, but he stopped and let his jaw fall open when you pushed yourself further down on his cock, his tip now bullying the back of your throat with each bob of your head, every thrust of his hips. He was so close after only a couple minutes of you sucking him off; he couldn't tell if it was a result of the Love Potion or not being intimate with anyone for a significant amount of time, but he didn't really care. He just knew that his head was going to explode (among other things) if he didn't paint your mouth white and shoot his cum down your throat right fucking now.

You brought your left hand down to cradle his balls and roll them between your fingers, rubbing your thighs together in an attempt to create some much needed friction. Alastor's breathing was becoming heavier and faster with every second that passed, your tongue now moving back and forth in time with each drag; your messy slurping and moans increasing in volume causing him to see stars. "Goddamn... It feels so good!" he whispered, sucking in a breath through clenched teeth as he brought his other hand to nestle in your messy hair along with the other. Alastor was beginning to lose what little control he had left as his thrusts became more frantic, more wild and frenzied. "F-fff... uuuhh-!" he whined loudly, guiding your head down as he pushed up, your nose lightly slamming against his groin as he began to full on face fuck you.

"Fffu- ...! Oh, fuck yes! Fucking- keep going, just like that! Haahhh- ...!"

You were able to breathe through your nose, but not well enough as the edges of your vision began to go dark; your ears being filled with the sloppy 'glug, glug, glug' sound of Alastor ramming his cock in and out of your mouth at a speed you didn't think possible. Clenching your eyes shut as you let him use you to chase after his high, you tried to focus more on staying conscious only to have Alastor roughly tug on your hair, then lightly slap your cheek until you opened them again. You stared up at him with a dazed expression, your eyes teary and brows furrowed as he let one hand travel down to grip your chin. "Don't you dare look away from me!" he demanded, static rippling through the air and lights flickering, his eyes shifting to radio dials and his red sclera turning black, his grip bruising as his pace quickened. "Mm- ... mmpph!" you tried to hum in response, but the sound was swallowed by the other noises he was dragging out of you.

"Is this what you wanted?" Alastor asked as you tried to keep up with his brutal pace, fat tears now rolling down your cheeks as he began to lose himself in the pleasure you offered him. If you could, you would have nodded, but his tight grip on your hair and chin was making it difficult to do anything else except take it. "Is this what you wanted, darling- mmmpph! ... Wanted me to fuck your face like this? Hm? Is this what you fucking wanted?" he groaned loudly as his climax grew closer and closer, his antlers growing longer and his girth increasing in size with each thrust. His brows were knitted together as his nose scrunched slightly, the coil in his lower abdomen tightening to an almost excruciating degree and ready to snap any second, eyes narrowed and pointed teeth grinding together as he sucked in air quickly with each movement. "Do you want it? Take it like a good girl? Hohhh- shit!" You tried to nod once more, but again his bruising digits held your head in place, so you blinked rapidly at him, hoping that he would understand what you were trying to convey.

"That's it, that's it, take it all- Oh, fuck you're so good for me-! F-fuck, I'm cu-!"

A couple more seconds went by and you were barely holding on when you felt his hips stutter and his grip tighten further on your hair. With one final thrust, Alastor was thrown over the edge as the first ropes of his warm seed shot out and down your throat, holding your face flush against his pelvis. He let out a strangled cry of gratification as he held your head in place, your nose buried in the neatly groomed crimson bush at the base of his shaft. He used the hand that had been holding your chin to catch himself on the edge of his desk, his upper body having lurched forward when his orgasm hit, arched over your kneeling form. His abs flexed with every spurt of his cum, every blissful wave that came crashing down on him, his thighs quivering as he tried to remain upright and catch his breath. He was quite vexed, unsure if it was a lack of intimacy or the results of that drug that caused him to experience such an intense release, but he didn't really care to know right now.

"Mmph! Nngghh!" Alastor heard you humming, his entire body twitching from the overstimulating vibrations as you began to frantically tap at his thighs, trying to get him to let go so you could get some much-needed oxygen into your lungs. He pulled your head back by your hair gently and you started to cough and sputter, chest heaving and drool coating your chin. He took several seconds to catch his breath, as did you, before clicking his tongue in mock disapproval at your messy state (as if he wasn't the reason behind it) - his subtle disposition to passive-aggressively disparage all those around him momentarily breaking through this rarely seen state of vulnerability.

You brought your hands to your face, swiping at the tears that spilled from your eyes with one hand while covering your mouth with the other - a sad attempt at stifling your coughing fit. Alastor untangled his fingers from your messy strands and, in an uncharacteristic display of what most would assume is affection, smoothed them out delicately as he reached to take the hand that was wiping away your tears. He pulled you to your feet before waving his hand through the air, a glass of water manifesting a moment later with a puff of green and black smoke. He offered it to you as your coughing subsided, which you gladly accepted.

"Forgive me, darling. It seems I lost myself in the heat of the moment," Alastor apologized, having regained full control of himself now - the only signs of his uncontrolled frenzy being his shirt and coat lying in a heap nearby and his pants and briefs bunched at his ankles. You took a much-needed swig of the water he had given you, only giving him a small smile in response as you reached to rub your sinuses to ease the pain he unintentionally caused. You wondered if it would cause any petechiae bruising later (it would); what with how rough he had been with you. If it did, you assumed Angel would have SOME type of numbing agent for your throat - or, at the very least a concealer if the bruising formed on your face too.

[ Master Post ] ❀ [ Chapter One ] ❀ [ Chapter Two ] ❀ [ Chapter Three ] ❀ [ Chapter Four ] ❀ [ Chapter Five ]

#hazbin hotel #hazbin #alastor #alastor hazbin hotel #alastor x reader #x reader #alastor smut #hazbin smut #hazbin hotel smut #alastor x reader smut #smut #synamartia #Haunted Series

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homelanderbutbig · 3 months ago

Text

Sympathy For The Dead (G/T Homelander x Reader)

2145 words. Angst, and a bit of hurt/comfort. Homelander is 8 feet tall. Reader is non-descriptive. Established relationship.

You are forced to come to terms with Homelander's violent tendencies when he murders someone for flirting with you. Inspired by an ask from @adryrivera.

It's early in the morning on the set of 'In Depth With Maria Menounos'. Homelander has an interview scheduled today, and you are accompanying him as his personal assistant. This is the first time you've had this opportunity to come along to one of his functions outside of the Tower, and you're pretty excited. Being on a television production is an entirely different world compared to the mundane office work at Vought, and you're enjoying it even if you're just watching on the sidelines.

When it's time for Homelander to go on-air, you're standing back by the rest of the crew so you can witness your favourite supe work his magic. You smile as he switches on that acting charm when the cameras start rolling, so easily bringing all eyes on him with the suave nature he's perfected over the years. He's such a sight to behold when he's in the spotlight, showcasing that electrifying personality that's as big as he is.

"Don't remember seeing you around here before," a voice suddenly says from behind you. It happens to be one of the cameramen, grinning as he checks you out.

"Oh, yes, I'm Homelander's assistant. Nice to meet you," you politely respond, tucking your clipboard under one arm to shake his hand.

"A supe's assistant huh? That must be an interesting job," he comments, still smirking.

"It's never a dull moment," you laugh, thinking to yourself that he doesn't know the half of it.

"So… you uh, you doing anything later?" he asks, resting his elbow on top of the camera. You're taken aback by his words. Is he… is he asking you out?

"I-I'm sorry, I'm seeing someone," you disclose, perhaps a bit more curtly than you hoped. But all you can think of when hearing that is how pissed Homelander would be at this poor guy.

"Oh, sorry! I didn't realize," he blushes, quickly getting embarrassed by how spectacularly he's struck out.

"Don't worry about it, it's not a problem," you giggle. You can't fault a guy for trying. "Let's just get back to our jobs and forget this happened?"

You're glad he doesn't seem to have taken offense as he nods, letting out a flustered laugh. He returns to operating the camera, and you back to focusing on your clipboard full of the day's scheduling. At least you successfully brushed this situation off, with no harm done.

However, you don't notice Homelander's reaction as he observes this from the midst of his interview.

~~~

After the talk show is done filming, you get caught up talking to Ashley and lose track of time. She's yapping on about Homelander's points and how well this interview went, just more work talk that you could care less about. When you eventually manage to break free, you notice that Homelander is nowhere to be found, having already left the set. But you doubt that he'd leave the building without you so you start your search, happy to tell him how proud you are of his interview.

But you weren't expecting what you find in the downstairs hallway.

You figured he just made a quick getaway because he's always mentioned how much he loathes these mind-numbing talk shows. But instead, you discover his true intentions.

He was following the cameraman.

He kept his pace fast but light, allowing him to go undetected to the man's pathetic human ears. And when he had him isolated in the hallway, he wasted no time letting this worthless, primitive vermin pay for daring to make an advance on you. He lasered a hole straight through his crotch, causing the man to collapse on the ground in agony. He reveled in the look of absolute terror as this worm realized his fate was sealed. He then painstakingly applied pressure to his head, savouring the satisfying crunch of his bones until it was crushed under the supe's boot, leaving nothing but an indistinguishable mess of blood and gore.

You are rooted to the floor, petrified at the sight of what he's done. His head snaps towards you, face twisted with rage and eyes still shining a bright crimson as they stare directly into your soul.

"Come here," you growls at you, raising his hand to signal for you to approach him. He knows you are afraid; he can hear your heart's pace quickening and smell the cortisol levels in your blood spiking. In his mind, he believes you will come to your senses and realize this decision was for the best. You will understand he did this to save you. You are his. You will listen to him. You will obey.

But you don't listen. You only freeze for a second before you turn around and flee. The last thing you hear as you run out of the building is Homelander roaring your name.

~~~

You spend the rest of the day aimlessly traversing the city, paying no attention to where you are going. You needed time alone before you return back to the Tower, before you face Homelander.

It still feels so fresh in your mind. One moment you were chatting with this man, and the next his life is over. In a flash, a human life is snuffed out. Someone with a family, with hopes and dreams. All for what, because he made the fatal error of asking you out on a date?

And the worst sight of all, was the expression on Homelander's face. There was no remorse, no tinge of regret for seeing how you reacted. It was just pure hatred for this man, an absolute stranger. You can't help but wonder how many people he's killed without you knowing.

Finally, the sun begins to set along the city skyline. Night is approaching, and you know you can't simmer on this any longer. You need to confront him, you need answers. Gathering yourself, you catch a taxi back to Vought Tower, and begin your ascent to the penthouse.

With a shaky breath, you step off the elevator once it reaches the top floor and walk briskly inside. However, not in a million years were you expecting what you see in the penthouse. Your lengthy absence clearly took a stronger toll on him than you ever anticipated… he's destroyed the living room. The large American flag tapestry is torn to shreds, adorned with scorch marks from a now extinguished fire. Every single marble statue is cut clean from his laser eyes and smashed to pieces, the gray rubble scattered across the floor. Not even his immaculate leather couch was spared, having been ripped in half by two inhumanly strong hands.

And lastly, in the middle of the chaos, silently sits Homelander on the floor. He's leaning up against the wall, his arms wrapped around his bent-up knees. His face is flushed, eyes bloodshot and puffy from what you can only imagine was a waterfall of tears. Right now he looks like a child trying to huddle himself into a ball because he knows he's in trouble. Yet, you can't help but notice the bloody viscera of the cameraman still coating his boot.

"Why are you here?" he utters abruptly, snapping you back to reality after being overcome by the state of the penthouse. Despite his sad demeanor, his words are blunt and laced with deflection. When you don't answer him, he exhales loudly through his nose. "Why did you come back if you hate me?"

"I don't hate you Homelander," you retort, not taking his bait. You're not sure if that was the answer he was expecting as you watch him tense his jaw.

"Are you mad at me?" he questions you further. You aren't certain if he's fishing for a reason for you to comfort him, or so he can kill you too.

"No. I'm not angry at you," you reply. "But I am disappointed and upset at what you did."

He swallows hard at that, feeling the tears once again well up in his eyes. Disappointed.

"H-he was dangerous… I d-did it to protect you," he mumbles hoarsely. Your unimpressed glower signals to him that you aren't buying his excuses. He knows you aren't going to forgive him, and that's enough to make him hyperventilate. He lowers his head down into his arms, unable to stop himself from crying again. Unable to stop his thoughts from convincing himself that this is how your relationship is going to end.

With a deep sigh, you cross your arms and shake your head at his behaviour. These tears aren't out of sympathy for the dead. You know for a fact that he has no guilt over murdering the cameraman, he's only regretful because he's displeased you.

But the longer you stare at him sobbing so pathetically, the more you start to realize something. You're not looking at the same supe that killed the cameraman; this is Homelander's inner child. This is the boy who was tortured and withheld from love, that had this violence forcibly bred into him. His power over humans was all he had, and now it's so ingrained into his psyche that he cannot stop it from rearing its ugly head.

When he killed the cameraman, he was no longer a man but a dog. He presented his carcass to you as a present, to show you his love in a way you could never comprehend. His love is something feral, that scares everyone else away when it bares its fangs. Yet it has no bite, when deep down his love is never reciprocated, but feared when it becomes too much for the object of his affections to handle.

And as much as it pains you, you know you are going to have to accept this part of him. Because you are the only one who's tamed this dog, and seen the sweet puppy it becomes with just a little compassion.

Methodically, you walk over beside him and place a hand on his arm. Right now with him sitting on the ground you're standing about a foot higher, getting a vantage point you don't experience very often. Hesitantly, he tilts his head up at you. His blue eyes are teeming with apprehension, with the longing for your forgiveness of his actions… even if deep down he knows he doesn't deserve it.

"Hun, I would never let someone else come between us," you soothe him, lifting your hand up from his arm to lightly caress his cheek, saturated with his tears. The second he feels your soft fingers his tension begins to melt away, moving his head up and down to desperately facilitate a pet.

Slowly, Homelander opens up his posture, to allows you to come in between his legs and up to his face. He delicately rests his hands on your waist, waiting for permission to hug you. He can't just take what he wants, not now. He can't bear to make you this unhappy at him ever again.

"And you know what? If I saw somebody flirting with you, I'd get jealous too," you remark, your hands still cupping his face. "But I'm not going to stew on my jealousy until I feel the only solution is violence. I'm going to get those emotions out by talking to you. Because I love you, and I care about you more than anything else."

You steadily come closer to him, spreading your arms across his shoulders to finally give him the hug he's been longing for all day. He wastes no time enveloping you in his hold, burying you in his massive arms as he rests his head in the crook of your neck. Your fingers scratch at the back of his undercut, bringing this dog down to your heels in an instant. Any semblance of rage he may have had earlier in the day has now evaporated into the ether, leaving nothing but the desire for obedience.

"The next time you start to feel yourself getting worked up… wherever you are, can you come find me? Can that be something we work on together?" you ask. His brief nod against your shoulder is enough of an answer, you know he would never lie. And besides, the two of you don't need to say anything else right now. All that's left for today is to let this moment fade into sleep, and let tomorrow be the time to clean up the mess.

While sinking into your embrace, Homelander has his own realization. The way he feels about you is different than his past relationships. You are not his 'property' that he is envious of others ogling. You are his treasure, one that sees the good in him despite all of his own horrible faults. One that he feels he must guard with his entire being.

He is going to be better, if not for himself than just for you.

#the boys #the boys tv #homelander #homelander x reader #g/t #size difference #my writing #comparing him to a dog because sehtoast gave me brainworms

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noirgl0w · 9 months ago

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cleaning up bsf!jj after he’s all bloodied and roughed up from a fight and he’s looking at you like you hung the stars bc you’re so kind to him no one’s ever this kind to him

You were studying for your exam the following week when you heard three familiar taps on the window: JJ.

You got up quickly, so much so that your legs almost failed to get out of bed and head in the direction of the window like a zombie, he had that effect on you, he was like the Pied Piper, he just attracted you.

"You shouldn't be here." You muttered, you hadn't seen him yet and the sight left you speechless. "J?"

He shook his head, stepping into your room. "I'm fine, I'm fine, jus' need a big ass sleeping session." You had to grab his arm, nearly stumbling when he put his other foot inside your room, his muddy boots staining the pretty white floor.

"What happened?" You pouted, he looked really bad, the left side of his face was purple. "Was it your dad?"

He shook his head and you understood, less talking and more action, you guided him to the bathroom and left him sitting there on the toilet lid while you snuck to your brother's room to get clean clothes for him.

"What are you doing?" He asked when he saw you coming, whispering your name. "No, I'm not going to take a shower now, I just want to sleep."

"My roof, my rules." You murmured, kissing him on the cheek. "You're going to have to dry yourself with my towel, because I don't think I have another one here right now…"

He growled, secretly loving the way yo took care of him, you looked so scared and he wondered if you knew how pretty you looked at this moment.

JJ shook his head. "The one you use to dry yourself with, naked?"

"Sorry about that." You whispered shyly, kissing his forehead. "I'll be right outside, let me know when you're done so we can take care of those wounds, yes?" You muttered, grabbing him by the chin and looking at the bruise on his face.

When he nodded you left the room, going to the kitchen to quickly grab the cleaning products mopping the floor quickly before he was done with his shower, not wanting anything to be stained with mud.

When JJ got out he oppened the door, leaning against the door frame as he looked at you, who was sitting on the floor like a puppy waiting for its owner.

"You having fun there?" He teased, helping you get up, you cursed yourself for thinking he looked good, he was only wearing some grey sweatpants of all the clothes you had gotten for him, and damn did he look good. You shouldn't think that about your injured bestfriend, but couldn't help yourself.

You sat on the sink, and he stood there looking at you.

"It was some kook." He whispered, hissing at the feeling of the alcohol-soaked cotton against his knuckles. "He ended up worse than me, just so you know it."

It made you sigh. "I don't care about how he ended up, I care about you." This made him frown. "And you are going to be sore for at least a week."

JJ looked at you, those baby blue eyes of his fixated on the way yours were shinning with worry, he didn't understand it, as if you couldn't be worried about him. Because you were good, nice, and he was, well, he was JJ Maybank.

You put everything back in the kit, and stood up from the sink, watching him with concern. "Why did you fight with a kook, Jayj?"

"He said... well he said ugly things about the pogues... about you and Kie... and you know, I wasn't going to allow it, no, that dick face couln't get away with it alright?" He sighed. "They just... they think they have the right to treat us as if we are trash, I mean, I kind of am but... You and kie? You?" JJ shook his head. "No, I don't even know how I got so lucky that I'm here and you are taking care of me, that asshole is not going to disrespect you in my face."

He looked in awe as you blushed, hugging him so tight that he could feel your heartbeat against his.

The closest he's ever had to you.

"Lets go to sleep, alright? You look tired..." You said, as if you weren't dying to share your bed with him.

And he of course happily accepted.

#obx #outer banks #dating jj maybank #jj mayback imagine #jj mayback x reader #jj maybank fanfiction #jj maybank fluff #jj maybank #jj obx #jj maybank concept #jj maybank headcanons #jj maybank obx #jj maybank prompt #jj blurb

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poppadom0912 · 1 year ago

Text

A Prom Mess

Warnings: Shootings, blood, injuries, scared high schoolers

Summary: Prom didn't go according to plan.

A/N: This has been collecting too much dust in my drafts and so I thoughts I'd spoil you all. It's my birthday today so take this as my treat for you all. <3

Sticking your tongue out, you moved your curler back from your head, inspecting the curl in the mirror. Proud of it, you let it hang by your temple, moving around to turn off all the plugs, shoving bits of make up into a drawer.

Standing up, shoulders out, you dusted off imaginary lint from the prom dress that fit you like a glove.

It felt like all your childhood dreams were coming true, you were also somehow allowed to have a date which you might have blackmailed your brothers in allowing you to have one but you don't talk about that.

"Look at you." Jay whistled once you entered the living room. "Our baby sisters all grown up now." He elbowed Will in the gut causing him to jerk away.

Scowling at Jay, Will complimented you. "You look beautiful kid." He paused as he looked for his hospital ID. "Do a spin?"

You begrudgingly complied, spinning once to show off your dress entirely, blushing at the whistles, whoops, claps and compliments your brothers threw your way. They were acting as if they weren't there with you and Hailey when you went dress shopping.

Downing his coffee, Will would've loved to see your date before you left but he was working the night shift.

"Alright, be good, don't do drugs and call Jay if anything happens okay?" He wrapped an arm around your shoulder for a one armed hug, pressing a kiss into your hair before he was dashing out the door. "Have fun!"

Waving him goodbye, you turned to Jay who was staring at you with an emotion not many saw. If you squinted hard enough, you would've thought he was tearing up. "What's up?"

Jay shook his head, completely deflecting your question as he stood, setting down his beer. He held up his phone knowingly with a smirk, relishing in the groan you let out.

"Do we have to do pictures?" You looked at your brother, pleading for him not to. Your brother taking your pictures was slightly embarrassing, you'd provide him with the plenty you'd take all night.

"Everyone wants to see how you look." Jay indirectly mentioned his co-workers. "They're all very invested."

And he wasn't lying. Everyone at Intelligence and Med had seen you grow over the years, your final year at high school was a big thing for everyone.

You scoffed but smiled anyways trying not to look too awkward standing alone when he started snapping pictures but was stopped by the doorbell.

Your saviour was here but before he could whisk you away, he'd be involved in a very productive 'conversation' with Jay.

Jay beat you to the door, swinging it open and intensely glared at the smartly dressed boy who immediately shrunk under his gaze.

Fifteen minutes later and you were finally out the door. Pushing your date into the hallway, scowling at Jay who was very much proud of himself, forcing out a nice goodbye before you were off the the school.

*****

You straight up refused the alcohol. No matter how much your friends tried, you were up to everything but drinking. Your brothers would kill you if they had even an inkling that you touched alcohol.

Your date had long gone, staying long enough for the cute pictures before he admitted he would've preferred spending the night with his friends. Surprisingly, you couldn't care less and found yourself swept away in the 'glamours' of prom.

You and your best friend danced arm in arm and then messed around as a group, jumping ridiculously in heels and nibbling on the room temperature finger foods.

The ridiculously large crowd on the dance floor slowly started dispersing, everyone having their fill of loudly singing songs that everyone knew off by heart.

Just as you were going to make a quick detour to the bathroom to fix yourself, a familiar sound rang out in the large sports hall. The reactions were instant.

Everyone screamed and it almost drowned out the gunshots, that's how loud people were. In a flurry of movement, you grabbed your best friend who clutched tightly onto you and ran towards the exit everyone was heading to.

Running in heels was definitely not ideal but that didn't matter right now. Everyone was in a rush to get out unharmed and all in one piece.

There were so many of you that stumbling and people tripping was assured to happen and so they did. The occasional girl tripped on her dress, some catching themselves in time while others didn't. A part of you wanted to help but being stuck in this crowd, the only way was forward.

The shots continued on and they only got louder despite running away. You felt your heart lurching out you throat as it all sunk in; there was a shooting while at prom.

All of a sudden, you felt a hand grasp the back of your dress and within seconds you were falling onto the floor with someone on your back.

Trying to ignore the sharp pain in your ankle, you turned to look at the struggling girl you recognised from your chemistry class and the blood dripping down her temple made you swallow harshly.

"Harlow, come on." You tried sitting up on your knees, pulling her up from around her waist. "Hurry up, come on."

Clutching onto each others waist, you both fell to the back of the crowd. Harlow was getting drowsier as time went on and you were struggling more to support her weight against your own and the gunshots still weren't stopping.

For a split second, you let yourself think that this could be it. A night that was meant to be for celebration and saying goodbye had turned incredibly sour and at this rate, would be a day everyone would want to forget.

Wincing at the sharp pain in your ankle, you cursed your stupid heels and were ready to stop against the wall when the weight against your body decreased massively.

Snapping your head up, you were ready to do anything really but stopped yourself when you were met with a frazzled boy in a no longer neat tux that you recognised from the football team.

He nodded wordlessly and the three of you walked forward, watching with a pit in your stomach as the crowd ahead got smaller and smaller.

Gosh, your best friend had your phone in her purse. You couldn't even call Jay.

And the rest of the long corridor, that became nothing but a blur.

*****

Jay couldn't breathe.

One second, he was finishing paperwork that he forgot to do at work when his phone rang. He rolled his eyes, annoyed that he couldn't have one night off but that all changed when he heard exactly what happened.

Jay had never moved so fast before.

He could barely hear himself think over his sirens. He called you repeatedly but it went to voicemail every single time and dread began overflowing his systems. He couldn't let himself think like that, he refused.

The school was a warzone.

Somehow, he was one of the firsts to arrive and a fire caught inside his chest. His sirens and lights caught all their attention, hundreds of heads turning and staring with such desperation that Jay felt the ground crumbling underneath him.

He had to be a professional now. These kids needed him to do his job and he'd be damned if he let them down when they were all his sisters age.

Jay shouted, directing everyone away from the school, further away from danger. As loud as he could, he shouted instructions, pointing where the non-injured, injured and heavily injured should go; that should make it easier for the paramedics whenever they arrived.

As he continued to make his way through the crowd, repeating the same instructions again and again, he faintly heard Adam and Kevin shouting as loud as him and not too far behind, he could hear Boden direct his team.

With a little less pressure weighing him down, Jay swerved through the crowd, his eyes searching desperately for the shimmering pastel dress you wore but the more he looked and the more he walked, he was left with nothing.

Jay's heart was thundering out his chest know, probably heard by all neighbouring cities. His fear skyrocketed to such a height that he never knew existed.

Even without his bulletproof vest on, Jay was ready to storm the school in search of you. He needed to know, he needed to find you because what was he going to tell Will or what about the promise he made to his mum when she-

"Jay!"

The detective whipped around so fast it was almost inhumane. He looked around for anyone he could recognise before stopping at the running figure of your best friend.

She looked relatively alright. Her hair was a mess, a few marks ruining her dress and dirt collecting at the bottom as it dragged but her eyes were frantic and red and in her hands were her purse and your phone. He could recognise that case anywhere, it had been sitting in his draw for a month before gifting it on your birthday.

No no no no

"Mr Halstead?" Jay flinched at the words, hating how he was called what his dad was. No matter how many times the school called him, he'd never get used to it.

"Sorry- Detective Halstead." The boy immediately apologised, his eyes brightening despite the hellscape that surrounded him and the dark sky.

The boy couldn't find any words, his eyes dimming as fast as they were lit. Jay turned his back to your best friend who had no words for him, his eyes zeroing in on the blood droplets on the boys white shirt, his blazer nowhere to be seen.

Suddenly, the boy was holding Jay's forearm and dragging him in a different direction. If he wasn't so concerned, he would've been impressed with how strong the boy was.

Several twists and turns later, Jay was finally able to breathe again, oxygen rushing through his veins as the world around him faded away and became nothing but white noise.

"Jay!"

You cried out, tears spilling the second you lay eyes on your older brother. He was disheveled but any outsider would say Jay looked perfect, nothing out of place. You knew your brother though and the fear swallowing him was something you never wanted to see again.

"Thank goodness." Jay mumbled, rushing forward and enveloping you in his arms. Being in his embrace only made you cry more, your hands curling and gripping his shirt so tight your nails hurt.

Jay's nose dipped into your hair, inhaling your familiar scent and placing several kisses to comfort you or himself, you didn't know but you also didn't care.

"Are you guys okay?" Jay got a grip of himself, forcing himself to pull away and look at the mini group surrounding him now. With an arm still around you, he inspected you and the girl sitting besides you and the several other teenagers that looked at him as though he hung the stars in the sky.

Gosh, Jay would never get rid of that sight from his memory. The fear painting your eyes in bold, looking for a saviour with such hope all eighteen year olds became innocent toddlers.

"My heads banging."

"My ankle's done for."

"I've got a few scratches."

"My hands bleeding."

"My arms bleeding I think."

"I think I'm good."

"I don't know."

"My leg hurts real bad."

Several voices overlapped as they all responded to him, their eyes still wide. They all looked so childlike Jay's heart clenched.

"Alright, it's going to be okay. I've got you all, I promise."

They held onto his promise like it was their lifeline and they were all drowning. Their grips so tight is was suffocating.

*****

Will was almost on autopilot. He wasn’t too sure how he hadn’t gone completely mad at this rate.

The ED was swarmed as it usually was following a mass shooting and no matter how many there were in Chicago, you could never really become accustomed to the chaos of it all.

Will wanted it to be a coincidence that several new adults were being wheeled in all fancily dressed up, he so badly wished that other proms were happening at the same time as yours but his fears came true when he recognised your best friend walking in beside a paramedic by her side.

The ED was overwhelmed beyond possibility that Will wasn’t given the chance to call Jay to at least get a hint at what was going down. One of the biggest reliefs was seeing no one heavily wounded, no one was bleeding out to death.

He’d been handing over a patient upstairs to make some more room when he heard his name being called and his hate rate instantly spiked. Turning around as fast as he could, Will wasn’t too sure how to feel when he finally set eyes on you.

Relief was short lived as he caught sight of the blooding dripping down your arm and how heavily you relied on Jay to help you walk, you were hobbling in your heels and several worn out classmates were at your side and following behind.

“Will, I’ve got no room.” Maggie solemnly told the doctor, her face and tone telling what Will already knew.

“It’s all good, follow me guys.” Will gestured for the group to follow him through the ED, pointing them in the correct direction and helping the others walk.

Moving out the ED but then moving into a slightly less packed corridor, Will apologetically asked for them to sit down on the few beds they managed to fit and the chairs they had on standby. The situation wasn’t ideal but they’d done it plenty times before and it worked perfectly.

Before he could ask, April and Doris were following right behind them, arms filled with equipment. With barely any words shared, the three of them got to work tending to the group you walked in with.

Will came to you first and with Maggie’s permission curtesy of a stressed-out Goodwin, he’d been allowed to treat you. With gentle hands, Will surveyed the cut on your arm, asking you all the questions part of protocol. You were semi-delirious because you snorted at your brothers professional side that came out automatically without much thought or effort.

Upon hearing you complain about your ankle, Will crouched down to the floor, and prodded your foot, his touch as light as a feather, hands withdrawing when you whimpered in pain.

Trying to push his brotherly smothering aside, Will continued to remain as professional as he could, cleaning up the bullet graze on your arm, delicately placing on butterfly strips and covering it wholly.

“I’ll send you up for an x-ray but it’s going to take a while.” Will didn’t need to explain why, it was pretty obvious. “Just sit tight for me but I’ll get you some painkillers for the meantime, that sound good?”

You hummed, smiling up at your oldest brother who was now standing up. You hadn’t seen yourself but you knew you looked like a mess, a total 180 from the immaculate state you left earlier tonight.

“You’ll be okay kiddo.” Will said, knowing he’d get a smile out of you, fingers carding through the knots in your hair, pressing it all back before kissing you on your forehead. You weren’t too sure who he was comforting, you or himself.

“Shout if you need me.” Will told both you and Jay before moving onto the next person who just so happened to be Harlow. If it wasn’t for your pain muddled brain, you would’ve turned to watch how she was doing.

The silence that followed Will’s departure wasn’t really silence when there was incessant beeping, people conversing loudly and quietly, ambulance sirens coming and going and the occasional person expressing their pain. It was all so stimulating you couldn’t understand how Will did this for a living.

“My head hurts.” You mumbled a complaint, rubbing your temple to somehow ease your headache. Closing your eyes, you let yourself fall into Jay’s side, sighing in relief as his arms wrapped around your body and holding you close.

“I know, I’m sorry.” Jay could only provide you comfort, keeping you as close to him as possible for as long as he was allowed. “I’m sorry your prom was a mess.”

You hummed; eyes still closed. “It’s okay, at least we won’t forget it.”

Jay didn’t laugh at your joke, even when you snorted.

Right, this was going to take a awhile to get over

#one chicago x reader #one chicago imagine #onechicago #jay halstead x reader #chicago med #chicago pd #one chicago fic #jay halstead x sister!reader #will halstead x reader #will halstead x sister!reader #halstead sister #halstead brothers

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iwritethingssometimes · 23 days ago

Text

I'm seeing some posting about a feeling of fishiness about the recently completed US Election.

In the attempt to do something more productive than my last post, I'm gonna do an adhoc examination of how feasible I think a "rigged election" actually is, looking at a few methods that could have been used. So, to start with, what is the actual evidence here?

Most of it is... honestly vibes based, which I get, but don't put a lot of stock in, There was a lot of energy around the Harris campaign, and she had some good polls, but Donald Trump has proved nothing else in the past fucking decade, its that the polls literally do not matter for him, and he can outperform them by a hundred miles.

But. There's also some numbers.

None of this has been verified yet, and I want to make that clear, but this year has largely reported record turnout in a ton of states, especially the swing states, and yet, so far.

The number of votes seems much lower this year.

Not republican votes, not democrat votes, all votes. Hell, third party voting collapsed this year--whatever else you take from this election, this was not a case of the left splitting the vote.

Now, it's true that the vote count hasn't been completed, and it's possible that the numbers will make more sense once that's done. It's also true that the states didn't have quite the same turn-out as last year... but it was only a percentage point or two lower.

Add that to the frequent postings about people having their ballots rejected for... questionable reasons, and.

Well. It starts going from a "the moon is fake!" conspiracy to "Epstein had sex slaves" conspiracy.

But, okay, is it even possible for Trump to have faked the vote like this? People talked about it, but it was mostly in terms of legal challenges trying to overturn a Harris victory, or pulling in the supreme court to decide narrow districts. This, by all accounts, seems to be a straight forward Trump sweep.

So if there is shenanigans afoot, how could he have done it?

There's three feasible(ish) pathways, in my opinion:

Voter suppression and manipulation pre-ballot: Yeah this happened. It's also irrelevant to any possibility that the vote counts were tampered with. Look, this election was flooded with misinformation, legal suits, court cases, and election officials doing everything in their power to fuck with people's right to vote. It was filled with ballot boxes being lit on fire. Elon Musk did a fucking paid vote scheme! Of course there was voter suppression! But there always is, and although it was worse this year than many others, it wouldn't cause any numerical mismatch between turn out and votes, and there's not much that can be done now for this election. Even if someone voted because Musk slipped them $100, no court will ever be able to prove they didn't just happen upon $100 bucks and then voted for Trump.

Voting machines were manipulated: A few hours ago I would have said this was practically impossible, but apparently a bunch of election officials and cyber-security experts were sounding the alarm about this a few months ago, so, uh. That being said, I've seen people claiming that Starlink or whatever hacked voting machines, and no. No, Starlink did not hack voting machines. No one "hacked" voting machines. They weren't connected to the internet, or any wireless communication systems, because anyone with any degree of cybersecurity knowledge will tell you that's how you create an insecure system. Now, it's not impossible, technically speaking, than Elon Musk or fucking Russia managed to hire engineers and somehow bribe enough officals to get access to the machines and install hardware that would allow external access, but in that case we live in a Bond movie and somehow have bigger problems. So, if the voting machines themselves were compromised in any technological way, it would have required direct, physical access, which should be basically impossible, unless...

Ballot officials fucked with the vote This is the one I think is plausible. Basically, in this case, what could have happened is that various election officials at different levels of the process more or less lied about the vote count. This could have happened in a lot of different ways--they could have found reasons to reject mail-in ballots, which several states attempted to make legal, they could have found reasons to reject in-person ballots, which several states attempted to make legal. They could have, if the corruption ran deep enough to make this feasible, just... not counted or reported votes that swung for Harris. They could have, if the election machines work similar to the ones up here in BC, seen the results from the machines, then called the central election office over the phone--because remember, the ballot boxes should not be connected to anything. I don't know. There's a lot of options, and it varies from state to state, because remember, each state runs their own elections, and has their own rules and procedures.

So yeah, three explanations, only one of which is really plausible.

Now, I want to be clear, I don't think this election was fraudulent. Not yet, at least, I need to see actual evidence, or this is nothing more than a theory, but I also want to be clear.

...3 makes sense.

3 would explain why urban areas seemed to be underrepresented in this election, while rural areas surged. 3 would explain a discrepancy between voter turn out and votes counted. 3 would fit the strategy Trump and MAGA loyalists have been describing for the last four years, of infiltrating the election machinery and manipulating it to their own ends.

So I'm not saying it's likely that Trump fucked with the vote, not without evidence. Not yet.

But I will say this looks a hell of a lot more plausible than any claims made in the aftermath of the 2020 election.

#us elections #american politics #elections 2024 #2024 recount

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idkwhatimdoinghere1655 · 1 year ago

Text

Save A Dance - Max Verstappen

You sat in your Monganesque apartment, gazing out of the floor-to-ceiling windows that had first caught your eye when Max brought you to the apartment. It was nice to have some quiet time, since, when you weren't working, you were taking care of Aleta.

She went to daycare from Monday to Friday, and that gave you chance to work from home. Christian had allowed you to do that since you had moved to Monaco, since your job allowed you to do so.

All you had to do was come up with ideas, schedule them, let the PR team know when and where they were going to be, and sign off on the final product. Even if it sounded like a lot, it got easier as time went on.

Now, it was the first Saturday of the summer break and you had been left to have a day by yourself. Max had taken Aleta to play with Nico's daughter for a few hours since they were a similar age. Max and Nico weren't overly close, but they had been getting more friendly because of their daughters.

You started the day off by sleeping in for a few more hours, and you felt nice and lively because of it. You had taken your time getting out of bed, bringing your breakfast back to bed with you and watching TV.

Looking around the room, you remembered waking up to Max crouched down beside you and telling you he had made dinner those few years ago. That exact pasta dish had become a family favourite and Aleta always asked for it when Max made dinner.

Then, you had lightly cleaned around the house, before settling on the couch for a few hours reading a book. After a while, you put the book down and your eyes stared out of the windows and down at the marina.

The view got better each time you looked at it, and the sight of the sun glittering on the blue waters was mesmerizing. It relaxed you slightly, since the seconds ticked down until Max got home.

You weren't able to keep the news from Max any longer and you looked forward to the priceless look on his face when you told him. The last time someone had heard, your heart was shattered. But now, you knew you were going to make him the happiest man in the world.

As if by magic, the elevator doors dinged open and closed, and you heard the footsteps of your three (nearly four) year old daughter padding across the floor behind you. "Mama!" she shrieked, hopping on the couch next to you and crawling into your lap.

"Hey, sweetheart. How was your day?" you asked, watching the grin on your daughters face. From behind, Max kissed your head and wrapped his arms around your shoulders. Aleta told you about the ice cream they went to get, and the games she played with Nico's daughter.

She skipped away to her room for a bit before dinner, and Max came to sit down next to you. "How was your day, liefde?" he asked, gently pulling you into his side.

"Very quiet and relaxing. How was Nico?" you asked, since you hadn't spoken to the driver in a while. "Yeah, he's good. She had a great time," he smiled.

You stood, wiggling out of Max's grip. "Where are you going?" he asked, as you closed the door to the hallway so that you'd know if Aleta was coming. "I need to talk to you," you said, sitting back down next to him and turning to face him.

"You alright?" he asked, placing a comforting hand on your thigh.

"Yeah, I'm great, actually," you nodded, unable to contain yourself any longer, "I guess I just wanted to ask if you're willing to build another crib?" you asked, watching as the penny dropped in his head.

His eyes opened in surprise as his mouth fell agape. "You- You're- Really?" he asked, trying to contain himself from jumping off the couch and leaping in the air out of pure elation. "You're pregnant?" he asked.

"Yeah," you nodded, watching as a huge, goofy smile spread across his face and his eyes lit up. He leapt off the couch and tugged you up with him, wrapping you into the biggest hug. "I'm going to be a dad, again!" he exclaimed, wanting to run down the street, yelling that his wife was having another baby.

"Thank you so much," he mumbled into your hair, the feeling of pure joy and happiness filling his veins. This was how he felt when Aleta was born, and it didn't compare to anything else in the world. "Can I tell Aleta?" he asked, squirming to go and get her.

"Of course you can, darling," you smiled. Having someone so happy to be having a child with you was something you so sorely missed out on when Scott found out about Aleta. Max was overjoyed and you knew he would be there through every step of the way.

Raising Aleta with Max was wonderful, and you knew that you were going to raise another brilliant little person with him. Max went to Aleta's room and came out with her on his hip. "Schatje, Mommy and I need to talk to you," he said, sitting back down and setting her down on his lap.

"Okay," she said, looking at you in confusion.

"You're going to be a big sister," he said, and the little girl just looked even more confused. Her blonde eyebrows knitted together in perplexion, and you could see the cogs turning in her brain. "Where is the baby?" she asked Max, looking up at him with her big blue eyes.

"Right there, in Mommy's tummy," he told her, pointing to your stomach. Aleta leant over and pointed her finger next to Max's. "But how does it fit?"

You and Max couldn't help but giggle at her question, and she seemed really interested. "The baby is really small at the moment, but it's going to grow and grow until they're ready to come and see you," you explained, and she nodded.

"I'm going to be the best big sister ever!" she giggled, bouncing on Max's knee. "I'll show her how to use the swings, how to braid her hair, how to make cookies," she rambled, and Max's heart was melting at how excited she was at having a little sibling.

"You might be getting a little brother, Leta," you smiled, watching as her face dropped.

"Ew no!" she scoffed, her face contorting into disgust. You laughed and Max looked offended. You knew he loved having his girls and taking care of you, but he definitely wanted a son as well. He had taken Aleta karting, but she was too young to enjoy it and had already said she wasn't really interested in being like daddy.

He wouldn't force any of his children into racing, but maybe his son would take more influence from his father and want to try it. Plus, Aleta had said that if she ever did race, it would be for Ferrari since Uncle Charlie had given her the Ferrari Barbie for her birthday.

You had wanted to steal it off of her, since it was completely unopened and a vintage that he had found and probably paid way more than he should have for it. When she was momentarily distracted with the custom Red Bull Barbie Max had gotten her, you had put it on the top shelf so that she couldn't reach it.

As much as she was her father's daughter, she couldn't help but cheer for Uncle Charlie when racing, even if she was sat in the Red Bull garage when watching.

When you told everyone about the newest addition, they were overjoyed and all offered to take Aleta out if you guys needed a moment. Aleta always made an impression everywhere you went, and everyone loved her. "Do you not want a little brother?" Max asked.

"No Daddy, I don't," she scoffed, almost offended that he would ask such a question. Max had his perfect family right in front of him, and he didn't think he would be able to wait for nearly seven months to meet his new bundle of joy.

—

"Max, it hurts," you whined, sitting on the bed rubbing your swollen stomach. You were a lot bigger than you were when you were pregnant with Aleta, and you were having a much harder time than you were with Aleta.

"I know, liefde, I know," he said. Max had been an absolute trooper over these past couple of days. He was pretty much taking full care of Aleta and you, since you had been having Braxton Hicks contractions on and off.

It was late, and since you weren't sleeping, neither was he. He took a seat next to you on the edge of the bed, his hand soothingly trailing up and down your back. "Is there anything I can do?" he asked, his heart breaking to see you in that much pain.

You just shook your head as a few tears slipped down your flushed cheeks. "You should go to bed, you've got an early start tomorrow," you told him, not wanting him to be tired for training tomorrow. "As long as you're awake, so am I," he smiled, wanting to take on the pain for you.

"Max, you should really go to bed. I'll be fine," you said.

"Hey, look at me," he sighed, and you could feel his eyes burning holes into the side of your face as he stared at you. You didn't want to look at him, you felt bad. "Y/N, look at me," he said, less softly this time.

Huffing to himself, he shifted off of the bed and crouched down in front of you, placing his hands on your thighs. "You are having our baby. Another stunning member to our family. It kills me that there is nothing I can do to help you, so the least I can do is stay with you when you need me," he told you, his hand reaching up to wipe away some of the stray tears off your cheeks.

"I think I'm going to have a shower, then I'm going to try and get back to sleep," you told him, leaning forward and pressing a kiss to his forehead. You were so grateful that he was there, and you could never repay him for what he was doing.

Out of the corner of your eye, you spotted a small, pink object appear in the door. "Hey, Leta," you said, alerting Max to her presence.

"Are you OK, schatje?" Max asked, moving to kneel down in front of Aleta.

"I had a nightmare," she quietly mumbled, and you could tell she had been crying.

"OK, let's get you back to bed," Max said, picking her up and walking out of the room with her. While he was gone, you started running the shower and setting a towel out.

Meanwhile, Max had tucked Aleta back into bed and was just about to leave the room and head back to you. "Daddy?" her small voice said.

"Yeah?" Max replied, honestly wanting her to just go to sleep so that he could help you out.

"Is Mommy OK?" she asked. She had seen you, sitting on the bed crying while Max tried to console you, and tonight wasn't the first time. "She's fine, Leta. Just struggling with your baby brother or sister," he explained.

"Tell them to stop it," she sternly said, and he could tell she meant it.

"I will, schatje, I will," he smiled, closing the door behind him and he jogged down the hall to your room. You weren't there, and he could hear the shower running in the bathroom.

When he walked in, you had your back to him and you let the warm water soothe you. It may have only been slightly, but it still helped. As Max undressed, he heard a sharp intake of breath and saw a sudden movement out of the corner of his eye as another false contraction ripped through you.

You held yourself up with one arm on the wall as you closed your eyes and tried to wait for the pain to pass. "I'm sorry, liefde, I'm sorry," he said, scrambling into the shower with you. Max ran his fingers up and down your spine, trying to figure out what he could do to help.

"It's not your fault," you weakly smiled as the pain subsided.

"It pretty much is," he smirked, earning a small giggle from you. Pushing yourself off the wall, Max wrapped his arms around your waist and let his hand gently rub over your stomach. Peppering a few kisses down your neck, the pair of you just stood there, the water washing over you.

After a while, Max stepped out of the stream of water and grabbed a towel out of the cabinet. As you stepped out, he wrapped it around you and let you dry yourself off. Max left to get some clean clothes, but you had something you needed to say to him right now.

"Max?" you called.

"You alright?" he asked, and he appeared in front of you in a flash.

"Thank you," you said, placing your hands on his shoulders and pecking him on the cheek.

"For what?" he asked, resting his hands on your waist.

"For being here," you said, as if it were an obvious fact to thank him for. If anything, he was saddened by the fact that you felt you needed to thank him for being here.

"There's nowhere else I would rather be than here, with my children, and the woman who makes me the happiest man in the world. You have given me the gift of our two gorgeous babies, the least thing I can do is help you," he smiled, grabbing your hand and taking you through to your room.

Finally, you could both get into bed and go to sleep, ready for the days ahead.

—

"Leta, you are going to have such a good time," you tried to convince the now five year old Leta that she would enjoy her first day at school. Max wasn't there, and that was definitely playing on her mind. He was at a race this week, and he felt absolutely awful that he couldn't hold her hand as he walked through the door.

"I don't want to go, Mommy," she said, snuggling into your legs. You knelt down to look at her, all smart in her uniform. "Sweetheart, if you go in there and try your absolute best, we can go for ice-cream, alright?" you said. You knew the bribery of ice cream would make her try, and that was exactly what happened.

You walked her in, leaving her with her teacher. She walked in there smiling, and that was all that mattered to you. Now, you had some more time to yourself to work.

It was getting harder and harder to think of something for them to do, since they had already done everything. So, you would be making them do a classic Australian BBQ at the Australian GP. It would be fun to see, and Daniel hosting would always lend to some good content.

Just as you had taken your lunch break, your phone started ringing. Max's name flashed across the top of the screen, and you couldn't wait to talk to him. "Hey," you said, hearing people in the background. "Hey, liefde," Max chirped, "How's your day been?" he asked.

Yes, he did care about how your day was going, but he was really asking how Aleta's first day had gone. "Pretty standard, to be honest. Aleta wasn't too happy to go, but I said if she went and gave it her own, I'd take her and Ruben for ice cream," you told him.

"I'm so sorry I'm not there," he said, sighing.

"Max, don't be. These things happen, and she gets that Daddy can't always be there," you explained.

"I know, but I wish I was there," he whined.

"So do I, but you'll get to talk to her later," you said, and you could hear voices in the background. "Charles, one minute," you heard Max whisper-shout, and you couldn't help but giggle. "Charles wants to talk to you, is that alright?" he asked.

"Of course," you said, listening as the phone was passed over to the man from Monaco.

"Hey, Y/N! How was my darling niece's first day?" he asked. As much as Max hated to admit it, Charles was pretty much Aleta's favourite one of her inherited uncles. Max's dislike was purely because he was a Ferrari driver - at least Daniel was still in the Red Bull family.

"It was good, I promised her I'd take her for ice cream later," you told him.

"Well, tell her Uncle Charlie loves her and is very proud of her. Oh, and tell her we'll have to go for one of our special lunches when I get back," he said. You smiled to yourself. You had so many brilliant people around you who loved you and your children and who filled their lives with happiness and positivity.

"Is Ruben there or is he out?" he asked. Recently, it had been a war between Max and Charles to see which team your son would support. Currently, Ruben just went along with whatever Max said, but he had been following more in Aleta's footsteps with being a Ferrari girl.

"He's at daycare,"

"Well then tell him we'll go for a boys day out also when I get back. I'll even let him touch the steering wheel of the Spider," he said. Yes, Max took him driving, but Uncle Charlie's Ferrari was his favourite. "You spoil them, Charles," you laughed.

"Of course I do, they are my precious niece and nephew, they deserve to be spoiled," he scoffed, as if you didn't think your children deserved to be spoiled. "They are spoiled enough at home," you said, not wanting your children to become prima donnas.

"I'm sure a day out with their favourite Uncle isn't any harm," Charles said, and you could hear people bickering in the background. "Not a chance you are their favourite, Charles," you heard what sounded like Daniel yell. "Come on, Uncle Carlito is their favourite," Carlos argued.

"Where the hell are you all?" you asked, knowing that they weren't all always together.

"We're waiting for the interviewer to get here," Charles explained, the battle of the Uncles continuing in the background. "Max wants the phone back, so I'll let you go. See you soon, Y/N, tell the kids I love them!" he said, as Max wrestled the phone away from him.

"Listen, liefde, I'm going to have to go. Charles has started a full blown civil war in here," he laughed and you could hear the arguments ensuing. "Ruben may get to touch the wheel of your Ferrari, but Aleta gets to drive my tractor when she's at mine," Daniel argued. You always wondered where he took her when she was in Australia.

"Sorry, she what?" Max asked over the noise, and you thought it would be best to let him go.

"Max, I will talk to you later," you laughed, putting the phone down. You smirked to yourself as you thought about how much better off you actually were without Scott. If you didn't have Max, Aleta and Ruben wouldn't be growing up with that many people who love them and treasure them.

You wouldn't change your entire family (even all of the self proclaimed favourite uncles) for the world, and Scott leaving was a blessing in disguise.

—

"Leta, what flavour do you want?" You asked as you stood at the counter of your favourite ice-cream place in Monaco. "Can I get a chocolate sundae?" she asked, batting her thick eye lashes at you. "Just because you've done so well," you agreed as she clapped in excitement.

Holding her hand was Ruben, who was a literal spitting image of Max. Aleta obviously looked more like you, but Ruben was Max's son. He was so much like him as well, even if he was only young.

You ordered the ice cream and took a seat in one of the booths. "So, Leta, tell me about what you did today," you said.

"I did some colouring, and they have the coolest sandpit!" she gushed, her eyes lighting up at how good of a time she had had. "Did you make any friends?"

"Bella's Daddy really likes racing cars, and I told her about my Daddy's job and she said it was really cool!" she said, and something about Bella felt really good to you inside. "Me and Bella played in the sandpit," she said, and you already knew she had found a friend.

"I've got the chocolate sundae?" the waitress said, and Aleta excitedly put her hand up and the girl placed the sundae in front of her. There was no chance she was going to finish it herself, so you were ready and waiting for your turn.

"And a vanilla milkshake?" she asked, and Ruben just started smiling at her. She placed it down and he started sucking at the straw. "Leta, smile for Daddy," you said, taking your phone out of your pocket and snapping a picture of your daughter with her mammoth of a sundae in front of her.

You also snapped a picture of Ruben slurping away at his milkshake and sent them to Max. 'Waiting for the sugar rush... You're going to have a tough night,' he replied.

'It's nothing I can't handle ;)' you replied, sighing as you saw all of the ice cream and chocolate sauce around Aleta's mouth. As predicted, she was finished around half way through her sundae and you took it off her and cleared it. It was amazing, and you were surprised she had as much as she did.

"Uncle Charlie told me to tell you that he is so proud of you after today and that he loves the both of you," you said, and both of them smiled at the mention of the Monganesque. "He also said you can go for a special lunch when he gets back," you said to Aleta.

"And you can go in the Ferrari," you said to Ruben.

"Ferrari!" he squealed, and that was one of his favourite pastimes.

"Uncle Danny and Uncle Carlito also say hi," you said, and the kids both smiled. You really wondered who they'd say if you told them to pick a favourite.

You took your children home, putting Ruben down for a short nap before dinner since he was tired. Aleta had gone to her room to play for a bit and have some time to herself.

You opened your phone to some texts from Max, and it made you smile as he always did. 'Hey liefde. Was just thinking about you and how brilliant you are. I truly don't know how you manage to be so incredible at everything. Our kids are the luckiest in the world, and I am the luckiest man to have you by my side. I love you and I miss you so so so much. I'll call you later x'.

It was the little things like this that made you love him even more every day. He was perfect in every way, and you missed him so much when he wasn't around.

After dinner, you asked the kids to wait on the couch while you spoke to Max yourself for a bit. "Hey, darling,"

"Hello my love," he said, and you could tell he was tired by the flatness in his voice, but he was happy nonetheless. "How did the civil war end?" you asked.

"Basically, Charles, Daniel and Carlos were all arguing, then Checo decided to stir the pot and get involved. We had to end it by saying that I am their favourite, and Charles even tried to dispute that, but it has been settled. For now," he laughed.

"How's your day been?"

"It's been tiring, and the argument didn't help, but I'm talking to you so it's all good," he said, and you wondered if he could get anymore perfect. "I have been missing you loads today," he pouted, changing the call to a FaceTime.

"What, you don't miss me normally?" you teased, watching as he cringed at himself.

"Of course I do, but I've missed waking up next to you more this week," he said, lying back on his hotel room bed. "Do you want to see the babies?" you asked, and his smile lit up as he zealously nodded.

"Guys, say hi to Daddy," you said, sitting in between Aleta and Ruben.

"Hi Daddy!" Aleta smiled, waving at the camera as Max waved back to them. "Did you see my ice-cream?" she asked.

"I did, and I heard that you were very brave on your first day,"

"I was," she triumphantly stated with all the confidence in the world. "Me and Bella played in the sand pit," she smiled, and you could tell she was buzzing to go back the next day.

"Who's Bella?" Max asked.

"Bella is my new friend. Her Daddy like racing cars and I told her about you and she said you were really cool," she gushed, her voice dripping with admiration for her Dad.

"Well that's good. Are you excited for tomorrow?"

"Yeah," she said as Ruben just stared off into the distance.

"Sweetheart, why don't you go and get your book and start reading before we go to bed?" you said, seeing how both of the children were tired. "I'll let you guys go and I'll talk to you tomorrow," Max said, not really wanting to put the phone down.

"Max, can I call you back in half an hour?" you asked, also not wanting him to go just yet. Max nodded and sat there, waiting for you come back.

After tucking Ruben in, you listened to Aleta read for ten minutes before kissing her goodnight and going back to your bedroom. The phone didn't even ring before Max picked up, his tired face filling the screen.

"What have you got on tomorrow?" you asked, completely forgetting the entire F1 weekend schedule. "Just FP1 and FP2, so nothing too major. I'm going to have lunch with the team as well so we can have a debrief and relax before qualis and everything,"

"That'll be nice," you yawned, rapidly blinking to try and wake yourself up a bit.

"You need to go to bed, liefde," he said, knowing you were pretty much run off your feet with how long your days were. You got the kids ready, dropped them where they needed to be, worked for the day, picked them up and spent the night entertaining them. Then, you were falling asleep as soon as Aleta's light went out.

"I think I will," you agreed.

"Are you sure it's not too much?" he asked. He had offered to get you a nanny or a maid to assist with some of the things that took up most of your time, like taking the kids to school. But, you wanted to do it yourself and spend those extra minutes with them.

"It's all part of parenthood, Maxie," you told him, slipping into your pajamas. "I love you, and I miss you," you said, battling to keep your eyes open.

"I miss you too, my love. Have a good sleep and I'll talk to you tomorrow,"

"Go and smash it in FP1 and 2, but I know you will," you said, putting the phone down. You pretty much fell asleep as soon as the phone was set down on the bedside table.

—

"There's no point in me going if Dad isn't going to be there," Aleta said as you tried to persuade her to get into her dress for the dance at school. Normally, she loved going to all of the events that school offered, but tonight was different.

Tonight was the Father Daughter dance, and Max was away. His flight was late that night, and her couldn't get home in time. He had profusely apologised to Aleta and promised to make it up to her, but it wasn't the same.

You had exhausted every option of people to go with her, since all of her uncles were away as well and everyone else was busy. In the end, you had to go with her just so she had someone. "You'll have me," you meekly smiled, trying to cheer her up a bit.

"I know, but it's not the same," she trailed off, trying not to hurt your feelings. She was grateful that you were going with her, but it wasn't the same as having Max there. Ruben had gone home with one of his friends and was staying over so that he was out of the house.

You had given Aleta a fully girls night in while you got ready, and she did really enjoy herself. You made her her favourite dinner, and bought her favourite snacks. You even made chocolate covered strawberries while she was at school.

Then, you curled her hair and did her makeup like she had wanted you to do, and helped pick a dress and accessories to wear. You then got dolled up, probably more than you should have for a school event, but Aleta had insisted that you went full glam.

"I know, but we're going to go and have the best time we can," you bargained, looking at how pretty she looked and it would be a shame to not go out. "OK, I'm going to text Bella and see what time she's getting there," she said, picking her phone off her bed.

"We'll go in ten, alright?" you said. She nodded as you closed the door and retreated to your bedroom to get your shoes from the wardrobe. As you buckled the clasps on your ankles, you phone started vibrating on the table.

There was no need to check, you knew who it was. "Hey, darling," you said, picking the phone up and putting it on speaker. "Hey, liefde. How's Leta?" he asked, and you could hear the guilt in his tone.

"She's alright, she doesn't want to go without you, but Mom will have to do," you half-heartedly chuckled, slipping the next heel onto your foot. "I feel so bad," he groaned, and you knew he did. He had told you every time you had spoken in the past week that he felt awful.

"I know, Max. She understands you have to work," you said, even though Aleta had complained to you multiple times about how she didn't like Max's job. "Tell her I'm sorry," he mumbled.

"I will. I've got to go now, Max. I'll send you pictures later," you said, dropping your phone into your bag and walking down to Aleta's room as your heels clicked on the floor. "You ready to go, sweetheart?" you asked knocking on the door.

"Yeah," she came out, her bag over her shoulder. You swiped the car keys out of the safe, since Max had told you to take whichever car you wanted since he felt bad. As you drove, you could tell Aleta was imagining Max in your place, but you didn't mind.

Pulling into the school car park, you opened the door for her. "You look stunning, Leta," you complimented, watching as she smiled at your comment. "Shall we?" you asked, extending an arm out to her. She took it as the pair of you walked through the doors.

Since you were a bit early, you let Aleta go off and find Bella as you spotted her Dad (Andrea) at a table. You felt very out of place among all of the Fathers in suits, but you were glad to be there. "Hi, Y/N," he said as you took a seat next to him.

"Hey," you said, watching as Aleta and Bella danced together on the dancefloor, laughing at each other. "Max away?" he asked. He already knew the answer, because he was already planning on asking if Aleta wanted to dance to make her feel better, but he wouldn't have to.

"Yeah, he wishes he could be here but the devil never rests, and neither does Max Verstappen," you joked, spotting even more parents flooding through the door with their kids. "What time does he fly back?" Andrea asked.

"It was at 2, so he should be on the plane already," you told him, gazing around the hall. The school had made it look very nice, with glittery lights and vibrant decorations. "You sure his flight isn't earlier?" Andrea queried, eyes flitting towards the door.

"No, it shouldn't be," you said, following his gaze. Nothing happened, though. "Is it alright for me to dance with Aleta later?" Andrea asked, smile faltering slightly.

"Yeah, I think she'd appreciate that," you nodded.

"How did you two meet?"

"I was working with him when he was on media duties and that kind of stuff. We started talking more when Aleta's father broke up with me," you explained. Everyone (including Aleta) knew that Max wasn't her real father, but it wasn't a big deal. "And he was there for me from day one, and things sparked from there,"

"Well you're very lucky," he smirked, and you felt like something was up.

"I really am,"

"You think he'd fly across the world in the most cramped seat economy class has to offer for you?" you looked at him, eyebrows wrinkled in confusion. It wasn't the normal type of question that someone would ask you. "Yeah, he would," you hesitantly agreed.

"I think you'd be right about that," Andrea smiled, nodding towards the door. Behind a flurry of Dads with their daughters, walked in a blonde man with that glint in his smile that you had fallen oh so in love with.

You sprung from your seat and jogged through the dancefloor, flinging your arms around his neck. "You're here," you whispered, as if you were verifying that he was real and not some figment of your imagination.

"I just couldn't miss it," he whispered back.

—

"Max, we're only going to be able to set off at seven," Max's pilot told him. That just wasn't going to work for him, unfortunately. "I have to be there at seven," he replied, checking his watch. He had gotten at the airport for seven am so that he could board his plane as soon as possible.

But, today was very busy for some reason and the air wasn't clear until seven. "Wait here," Max said, stomping through the airport to the check-in desk. "Hi, sorry, do you have any seats on any flight going to Nice Côte d'Azur Airport from now to nine?" he asked the lady.

"We've got an economy class seat on a plane that sets off at eight?" she said, checking the system for the flights they had. "Yeah, that's perfect," he replied. Max paid for the seat and went back to the lounge to collect his luggage.

"Whenever you can, can you get the plane to Nice?" he asked, knowing he'd need the plane at home for the next race. "Of course, enjoy your flight," the man smiled, letting Max go.

Max steam rolled his way through the airport and boarded the plane. He found his seat, and he was less than impressed. It was a middle seat with two strangers on either side and there was nowhere near enough leg room for him. But, if it meant getting back to you and Aleta in time, it was worth it.

He spent the next nine hours, fidgeting about in discomfort, counting down the seconds until he could get off the plane and get a taxi home.

After nearly ten hours of traveling, Max wandered through the door to an empty penthouse. After a refreshing shower, he dressed himself in one of his suits and made sure he looked fit for his daughter's first school dance.

Checking the time, he realised he'd be dead on time if he set off instantly, and that was exactly what he did.

Once he arrived, he strolled through the doors, and he spotted some parents not-so-secretly ogling him as they clearly knew who he was. He had texted Andrea and told him he'd be there so that he could distract you when he pulled into the car park.

Now, Andrea had set it up so that you were watching as he walked through. You sprung from your seat and jogged over to him. His eyes were stuck on you as you came to him.

He had seen you in dresses before, but there was just something about the way the loose fabric hung off your hips that made him crazy. Then again, you could have been wearing a trash bag and he would have thought you looked amazing.

"You're here," you whispered into his ear, and he was so glad to be holding you again and he was just happy to talk to you in person again.

"I just couldn't miss it," he whispered back, closing his eyes and embracing the moment. "You go sit with Andrea, I'll go get Aleta," you clapped, not able to wait for her reaction.

Max did as he was told and sat with Andrea, thanking him for going along with the plan that was very hastily set out. But, when he saw you and Aleta in the corner, he stood and waited for his girls to come over.

"Hey Bella," you smiled at the dark haired girl. As you suspected, the girls had become fast friends and had stayed that way ever since. It was safe to say they were best friends for ever.

"Hey, Y/N," she sweetly greeted. Recently, she had practically lived at your house and she was a joy to have around.

"Leta, I've got you something at the table," you said, barely able to contain the surprise. "OK," she said, and you could tell she was skeptical at your giddiness.

You led her through the crowd and kept her behind you so she couldn't see. When you got there, you stepped to the side to reveal Max, and the huge smile on her face said it all.

If you could pause time and take a picture of the elation on hers and Max's face, you would have.

"Dad!" she happily squealed, turning a few heads as she ran up to Max, leaping into his arms. "You're actually here," she cried, burying her face into his neck.

"I wouldn't miss this for the world," he told her, holding his daughter tightly. Putting Aleta down, you saw how her eyes were slightly glassy.

"Oh sweetheart, don't cry," Max quietly consoled so people didn't hear. "I'm just so happy you're here," she smiled, hugging him again and taking in the scent of her dad - the smell of comfort.

"Well I must say all three of you are looking gorgeous tonight," he said to you, Bella and Aleta. Reaching into his pocket, Max produced three pastel coloured roses.

The blue one was handed to Bella, and she beamed at Max. "Thank you, Max," she smiled.

"Not a problem, Bells,"

Tucking the purple flower behind Aleta's ear, she couldn't stop smiling. Giving her a soft kiss on the cheek, he whispered something to her and she started giggling profusely and blushing.

One of the few slow songs of the night came on, and Andrea offered his arm out to Bella, which she took and they strolled away. "I'll be one second, Leta," Max said, and she waited and nodded.

"You look breathtaking, liefde," he complimented, placing the pink flower behind your ear, "And you look unbelievably handsome tonight," you said back, stealing a quick kiss on the lips.

"Really guys? Here?" Aleta joked, earning hearty chuckles from all of you.

"May I have this dance, my lady?" Max poshly asked, extending an arm out to Aleta. "You may, good sir," she responded, and you lost them to the crowd.

"You look incredible, schatje." Max smiled at his beautiful girl.

"Thanks Dad," she responded, still not fully believing that he was actually there, dancing with her.

You stayed in your seat, watching as two of your three favourite people laughed and smiled at the fun they were having. Aleta currently had her feet on top of Max's and was gripping onto him for dear life to stop herself from falling over.

You wished you had Ruben here to make it a full set, but tonight was about Aleta, and you were happy to sit and watch.

As the night drew on, Bella danced with Max for a bit, and Aleta had a go with Andrea and you had declared yourself as photographer for the night. You didn't just take pictures of Aleta, Bella, Max and Andrea, you offered to take pictures of the other Dads and daughters around.

By the end of the night, your camera roll was nearly full of pictures of smiling pairs, dancing or pulling silly faces at the camera. You were stood in the corner, snapping some shots of everyone for the school website.

"I wondered where you'd gone," a voice beside you said, leaning against the wall next to you.

"I was just getting some more pictures," you said, glancing at Max beside you. As the colourful lights hit his face, it made his eyes stand out - they were nearly glowing. To say he'd just spent the whole day traveling, he looked as good as ever.

Turning and catching him off guard, you captured the perfect still image of him, leaning against the wall as the strobe lights flashed. It was the perfect lighting for him, and it encapsulated most of the things you loved about him.

"Do you want to dance?" he asked, nodding over to the slightly empty dance floor. Most people had sat down for a bit and were having a drink or nibbling on snacks. "Thank you, but this isn't the place. Tonight is all about Leta," you smiled, and he respected the rejection.

For the final dance of the night, the pairings filtered back onto the dance floor as you sat and watched. As people took their places, you couldn't see Max and Aleta anywhere. You had spotted Bella and Andrea, but your two were nowhere to be seen.

Out of nowhere, Aleta appeared through the middle of the crowd, holding her hand out to you. "Where's your Dad?" you asked, eyes darting around the room to try and locate Max.

As if on cue, Max appeared next to you and took a seat. "This one is for you, liefde," he said, motioning for you to go with Aleta.

"But tonight is about you two," you dismissed.

"If it wasn't for you, then I wouldn't be here, and you look too pretty to not have at least one dance," Aleta complimented, and there was no resisting her sweet words. You took to the dance floor with your daughter, waltzing around the place like a couple out of a Disney movie.

Finally, the music ended and everyone retreated from the dance floor, collecting their belongings and making their way out of the doors. "Mom, can I go home with Bella?" Aleta asked, latching onto your arm. "Did Andrea say you can?"

"Yeah, I did. She can borrow some of Bella's stuff," Andrea chipped in from behind you.

"Then yes, you can," you said to Aleta, quickly smirking at Max. For the first time in ages, you were going to get the house all to yourselves. You said your goodbyes to Andrea, Bella and Leta, before hopping into your seperate cars and speeding home.

Max got there first, and you found him stood in the kitchen, still in his suit as the speaker in the corner played some soft, oldies music. "Is now the right time for a dance, my love?" he asked, looking you up and down. "I'd say it is, yeah,"

He pulled you close, and you rested your head on his chest. Max peppered some kisses on the top of your head as you swayed to the music. "I thought you'd be all danced out," you laughed, looking up at him.

"I'll always save a dance for you, my darling ," he mumbled, losing his train of thought as he looked at you. His hand squeezed your waist, tugging you impossibly closer to him. "Did I tell you how gorgeous you look?" he mumbled into your hair.

"Did I tell you how handsome you look?" you replied as the song came to close. You both carried on swaying in silence for a short while, slowly manoeuvring towards the hallway that lead to your bedroom. "What do you say we try out for number three?" he said, glancing over to the door.

"I like the sound of the process, but not the outcome," you said. That was probably the weirdest way to say you didn't want another child, but Max got what you meant. "Come on, just one more. Besides, I was number 33,"

"Exactly, you're not Daniel. I just don't want to push another child out, to be blunt about it," you told him, and you could see the slight amount of sadness behind his eyes. He just wanted to hold a baby again and drive down the road of being a new parent one more time.

"I'm sorry," you said, holding a hand to his cheek. You knew he wanted one more child, but you were content with Aleta and Ruben. "Don't be, I get it," he smiled, trying to hide his disappointment from you. It was your body and completely your choice, but it didn't mean he wasn't slightly dejected.

"I am happy with our two angels already," he said, leaning down and pressing a kiss to your lips. "But I still think the process sounds fun," he smirked, causing you to turn red. Max gently pulled you with him to your room, and you certainly enjoyed the night by yourselves.

—

You were in the kitchen, making lunch for everyone when the buzzing from the intercom sounded out. Washing your hands of the tomato juices that you were cutting, you pressed the button. "Hey, Y/N, it's me," you heard the voice of Charles sounded through.

"Come on up," you unlocked the door to let him in, and he appeared from the elevator a few minutes later. "Where is everyone?" he asked, looking around.

"Aleta is with Bella, they've just gotten back from getting themselves some ice cream. Max and Ruben are still getting ready," you said. "You want a coffee or something?"

"No, but thanks. Do you need any help?" he offered.

"No, you can sit down," you said, and Charles took a seat at the island in the middle of the kitchen. "How's a caesar salad sounding for lunch?"

"Sounds great," he said, his head turning to see Max and Ruben emerging from the hall. Max had been trying to fit Ruben into one of his old race suits so that he would feel extra special during their boys day out.

"Look at you, future world champ!" Charles exclaimed. Thankfully, Ruben had taken a great interest in racing and had started karting when he was five and was getting really good. He had been taking part in some competitions recently, and he was handling himself well.

Max had his Red Bull suit on, and Charles stuck out like a sore thumb with his scarlet of the Scuderia. "I'll take lunch through to the girls, help yourselves," you smiled to the boys, plating up a portion of salad and some buttered baguette for the girls.

You got back to see all three of then tucking in happily, enjoying what you had made. "You guys going now?" you said, taking away the dirty dishes.

"Liefde, sit down, I'll do it," Max said, snatching the plates of you and gently nudging you towards his seat. "You guys go, you should be taking advantage of all the track time you can get," you told them, watching as Ruben sprung from his chair and grabbed Charles' hand, dragging him towards the elevator. "Let's go, Uncle Charlie!"

"Thanks for lunch, Y/N. You'll have to come round for dinner at mine sometime soon!" he collared as the elevator doors dinged close. "You should go and catch up with him before he talks Charles into something," you laughed.

"Good idea, I'll see you later," he said, kissing you and scampering off after Ruben and Charles.

—

"I told you I'd beat you," Charles stuck his tongue out at Ruben as your son hopped out of his kart, looking utterly dejected. "But you're a karting champion, I'm not," he sulked. taking his helmet.

"Oh you will be, I know you will," Charles reassured.

"Do you want to go again? 5 laps, first one across the line wins?" Charles asked him as Max pulled up. "Charles I swear to god the next time you push me off the track will be your last!" he huffed, clambering out of the kart and hobbling over to the group.

"All is fair in love and racing, Max," Charles giggled childishly with Ruben. "Come on, we're going for 5 more laps," Charles said, running off to get back in his kart. Max just sighed and shook his head. When Charles was around the kids, he was just a big kid himself.

Max decided he was going to race this one, and he wasn't going to show the Monganesque any mercy. Max, Charles and Ruben lined up on the start line, ready to race like their lives depended on it. "On your marks," Max started.

"Get set!" Charles added.

"Go!" Ruben finished, everyone zooming off the line in record time. They veered around the bends, hurtling down the straights. Ruben had the edge into the first turn, Max and Charles going side by side. Max held on for dear life as his kart shuddered on the slight touch with Charles, nearly sending him flying. He could see the smirk on Charles' lips as they drove.

Ruben was a good few seconds in front of them, thinking he would have an easy win. Out of the corner of his eye, Max just saw a bright red streak careening off to the side. Briefly turning back, he saw Charles sat at a stiff halt, trying to back up from the tyre barrier. Max laughed to himself, not even contemplating stopping to help his friend.

Max was quickly catching up to Ruben as Charles positioned himself at the finish line, wanting to see a clear winner. For laps, your boys were pretty much side by side, drifting around the corners. As they crossed the line for one final lap, Charles was clapping and cheering. "Go on Ruben! Take him out!" Charles shouted, even if they probably couldn't hear him.

Down the final straight, it was father and son racing next to each other in their karts, both of them so desperate to win. Charles probably needed a photo finish to actually determine a winner, but he was pretty sure he had an idea. But, even if he did have a photo finish, he would have chosen anyway. As they both hopped out of the karts, they raced back to Charles, both needing to know who had won.

"You are the champion of the world, Mini Verstappen!" Charles happily grinned after a few seconds of perfectly calculated silence. Enough to build suspense, but not so much that it seemed like he was doing something dodgy. A huge, beaming smile spread across Ruben's face while he let out squeals of joy. Charles hoisted him up onto his shoulders nearly dropping him in the process.

"I'm going to be like you and Daddy one day, Uncle Charlie," Ruben said, Max looking up at him with pride filling his eyes.

"And who are you going to drive for?" Max asked, expecting him to say Ferrari just to annoy him.

"McLaren! Like Lando!" He said, Max and Charles both scoffing. Max would honestly rather he drove for Ferrari.

"Not a chance," Charles said as Ruben plucked his cap off his head.

"I'm going to be champion of the world," he said to himself, almost like a promise. Both of the men heard him, knowing he would one day. One day, it would be his turn in the sun just like Max and Charles. "You sure are, Ruben. You sure are," Max nodded as he spotted you pulling into the car park.

Charles and Max were going for drinks after karting, and you had agreed to pick Ruben up beforehand. When he spotted you, he wriggled off Charles' shoulders and ran over to you, jumping into your arms.

"You're getting heavy mister," you said, your muscles aching under the weight of him.

"You're not as strong as Uncle Charlie then," he said as you kissed him all over his face. Somehow, the race suit made him look even more like Max.

"Your Mom is a lot stronger than me, Rubes," Charles smiled, before waving you goodbye as they drove off for drinks.

A/N - I'm sorry this has taken so long, it has been finished for a short while but I was on holiday! There may or may not be one more part in the works if you want to see that. It'll be here a lot quicker than this one was I swear! Also, I would love some of your suggestions - I am open to anything!

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