#have to post this already or it's never seeing the light of the day with how much i redraw the lines

[harrysfolklore]

misunderstood hero with a heart of gold - mv1

summary: max verstappen has never been one to read books, but everything changes when he comes across a pretty booktuber who describes him better than anyone else did before

word count: 8.2k + social media posts

folkie radio: another one of my babies finally sees the light of day 🥹 this fic is really special and i was lowkey gatekeeping it but i feel ready to share it, plss take care of it <3 i hope you like it

MASTERLIST | MY PATREON

Max Verstappen was bored.

It was late and he was alone in his hotel room. He had a race the following day and he knew better than staying up late. His team was already on his ass for sim racing at ungodly hours of the night when he had a race, but nevertheless, he was bored and not sleepy yet.

He scrolled through his phone, not really paying attention to what popped up on his Instagram feed, Tiktok for you page or Twitter timeline.

After a few minutes, his finger landed on the YouTube app, one that he barely used if he was completely honest, but for some reason he never deleted it.

A bunch of videos showed up on his main page, most of them about F1, gaming, fitness or cats. He scrolled through the thumbnails absentmindedly until one title caught his eye: "Formula 1 Drivers as Romance Book Character Tropes."

Max had no idea how that video ended up in his suggestions page. He wasn't much of a reader—he had only read two books in his entire life, for crying out loud— but curiosity got the better of him. He clicked on the video.

The screen shifted to a bright and lively setup, where a young woman with vibrant energy and a contagious smile greeted her viewers. "Hey everyone! Welcome back to my channel. Today, we have a fun video where I'll be pairing Formula 1 drivers with romance book tropes!"

Max found himself smiling for some reason, he thought she was really engaging and funny — and really pretty—. He leaned back against his pillows, more intrigued by the second.

"As some of you might already know, books are not my only passion, I'm also a huge Formula 1 fan since I was a little kid thanks to my dad, so I thought it would be fun to do a little crossover of my two obsessions."

Max grinned again, finding himself oddly invested in this unexpected combination of romance literature and Formula 1. Or maybe just mesmerized by the pretty girl who was talking on his screen.

"Let's begin with Mercedes," she said, clapping her hands together, "Lewis Hamilton is definitely our 'Charming Prince Charming.' He's got the looks, the talent, and that air of royalty about him."

Max chuckled, thinking it was a fitting description for his rival.

"Now for George Russell," she continued, "I'm going with 'The Boy Next Door Who Grew Up Hot.' I mean, have you seen his glow-up?"

Max chuckled again, nodding in agreement. George had indeed transformed quite a bit since his Williams days.

"Moving on to Ferrari," she continued enthusiastically. Max wondered if that was her favorite team on the grid, "Charles Leclerc is our classic 'Childhood Best Friend You've Always Had a Crush On.' He's got that sweet, familiar charm, but with a spark that makes your heart race every time you see him."

Max raised an eyebrow, surprised by the change in description. He had to admit, it fit Charles quite well.

"And for Carlos Sainz," she paused dramatically, "he's either our 'Older Brother's Best Friend' or the 'Bad Guy Who's Mean to Everyone but His Sweetheart', just think about it, he's got that rugged exterior, but you just know he's a total sweetheart deep down."

Max laughed, realizing she had Carlos pegged perfectly. He watched with growing interest as she continued.

"Now, let's talk about McLaren," she said with a sparkle in her eye. "Lando Norris is our 'Adorkable Comedian Who Steals Your Heart.' He's funny, relatable, and has a way of making you fall for him before you even realize it," Max grinned at the description of his good friend, "And Oscar Piastri... he's 'The Shy Genius.' Quiet, reserved, but incredibly talented and intelligent. He might not be the loudest in the room, but he's someone you'd definitely want on your side."

Max nodded in agreement, thinking of how Oscar had impressed everyone since joining McLaren. She continued pairing each driver with a character trope, she described Daniel as the "Life of the Party with a Sensitive Soul," highlighting his infectious energy and hidden depths. Pierre was dubbed the "Resilient Underdog," emphasizing his ability to bounce back from setbacks. Yuki was described as the "Fiery Spitfire with a Soft Center" and Logan was labeled the "Rookie with Untapped Potential," suggesting a character arc of growth and discovery.

With each driver's description, Max's anticipation grew. He found himself eagerly awaiting his own characterization, both curious and slightly apprehensive about how the pretty girl with an obsession with books and Formula 1 would describe him.

When she finally got to Red Bull, he sat up a little straighter, his interest piqued.

"Now for Sergio Perez," she said, "he's our 'Loyal Wingman Who Deserves His Own Happy Ending.' Always there to support, but with a story of his own waiting to be told."

Max nodded, thinking it was a pretty accurate description of his teammate.

"And finally, saved the best for last," she said, her eyes twinkling, "we have Max Verstappen."

Max held his breath, oddly nervous about how this stranger would categorize him.

"Max is our 'Misunderstood Hero with a Heart of Gold,'" she said with a warm smile. "Often perceived as cold or distant, but actually deeply caring and protective of those close to him. He's the type who shows his love through actions rather than words."

Max felt his cheeks warm significantly. This description caught him completely off guard. It wasn't the usual 'aggressive driver' or 'arrogant champion' narrative he was used to hearing. Instead, it felt... true. Uncomfortably true. He wasn't sure how to feel about being seen so accurately by a stranger.

As the video ended after she said her goodbyes, Max found himself staring at his phone screen, replaying her words in his mind, his thumb hovering over the comment section. He had never left a comment on a YouTube video before, but something about this one compelled him to break that habit.

After a moment's hesitation, he tapped the comment box and began typing, Once he was done, he paused, reading over his words. It felt strange, almost vulnerable, to acknowledge her characterization of him. But there was also something liberating about it. He added a thumbs-up emoji at the end and hit 'Post' before he could second-guess himself.

As Max set his phone down and settled into bed, a small smile played on his lips. He had a important race the following day, but all he wanted to think and dream about was the pretty stranger who had somehow seen through his carefully crafted public persona.

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liked by username1, username2 and 10,725 others

f1gossip “I went to bed early last night. Just listened to the team’s orders, you know?”

Max Verstappen for media day today, however he left a comment on a YouTube video around 2:46 am 😭

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username1 HES SOOOOO

username2 the fact that he left a comment on a BOOKTUBER’S channel MAX VERSTAPPEN YOU DONT EVEN READ BOOKS 😭

username3 he looks so pretty tho

username4 MAX WE ALL SAW YOU

username5 max was actually checking which romance trope is him according to booktubers

username6 HES SO RANDOM

username7 max’s search history: lestappen as fictional couples

liked by username1, username2 and 102,438 others

ynreadsbooks in honor of max verstappen x3 world champion commenting on my latest video (which is insane to say out loud wtf) should i do another f1 themed video?? any suggestions?

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username1 YES QUEEN

username2 that max comment was so random but so real

username3 max verstappen, the man who has read two books in 27 years watching booktubers was not on my bingo card

username4 @/maxverstappen1 you favorite youtuber will do another video about you

username5 BOOKS WITH RACING THEMES

username6 books inspired by f1 circuits would be fun

username7 @/maxverstappen drop a suggestion

maxverstappen1 started following ynreadsbooks

liked by username1, username2 and 15,836 others

f1gossip Max Verstappen was seen outside of a bookshop in Monaco today !

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username1 BABYYYY

username2 max ??? bookshop ????

username3 WHAT SHIFTED

username4 he thought it was jimmyz

username5 HEELPP what is he doing there

username6 hello i work there. he arrived with a list of books in hand that he wanted, he bought around 15 action and fantasy books

↳ username1 FOR REAL???

↳ username2 max said book girl summer

↳ username3 this is so random

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If someone had told Max that this year he would spend his summer break reading, he would've laughed at their faces. Yet here he was, lounging by the pool in his Monaco house, a book in his hands and a smile on his face.

As he turned the page of "The Martian," the latest sci-fi recommendation from YN, Max couldn't help but reflect on how different this summer break was.

Usually, his days off were filled with lavish yacht parties, exclusive clubs, or intense training sessions and hours of sim racing to stay sharp for the second half of the season. But now, he found himself eagerly devouring books and spending hours chatting with YN about plots, characters, and everything in between.

As the weeks passed, Max found himself growing increasingly close to YN, despite never having met her in person. Their text conversations flowed effortlessly, ranging from in-depth discussions about the books they were reading to playful banter about racing and life in general.

Max was surprised by how much he enjoyed her company, even in this digital form. Her wit, intelligence, and genuine interest in his thoughts beyond his racing persona were refreshing. He found himself sharing things he rarely discussed with others, and looking forward to her messages became a highlight of his day.

He also thought she was absolutely gorgeous.

As if on cue, his phone buzzed with a new message from her.

Max chuckled, about to reply when he heard the doorbell. He remembered Lando and Daniel were coming over for dinner. As he got up to let them in, he quickly typed a response, telling her that he would talk to her later.

"Well, well, well," Daniel's voice boomed as Max opened the door. "If it isn't the newly minted bookworm of Formula 1!"

Lando peered around Daniel's shoulder, "I half expected to find you wearing glasses and a sweater vest, mate."

"Very funny, guys. Come in," Max rolled his eyes as he stepped away from the door.

Ever since his friends noticed his brand new habit, they took it upon themselves to tease him whenever they could. As they made their way to the backyard, Daniel spotted the book on the lounger.

"The Martian?" he read, picking it up. "Isn't this a bit advanced for your reading level, Maxy?"

"Ha ha," Max deadpanned, snatching the book back. "It's actually really good. It's about this astronaut who gets stranded on Mars and has to use science and engineering to survive-"

"Whoa, whoa," Lando interrupted, holding up his hands. "Who are you and what have you done with Max Verstappen?"

Daniel draped an arm around Max's shoulders. "I think our boy here is trying to impress a certain bookish YouTuber. What was her name again? YN?"

Max felt his cheeks warm. "It's not like that. We just... talk about books and stuff."

"And stuff," Daniel repeated, wiggling his eyebrows. "Is that what the kids are calling it these days?"

Max rolled his eyes, trying to brush off their teasing. "Seriously, it's not like that. We just have a lot in common."

Daniel and Lando exchanged knowing glances before bursting into laughter.

"Sure, mate," Daniel said, patting Max on the back. "Whatever you say."

They settled by the pool, beers in hand, and started chatting about the upcoming races and their plans for the rest of the summer. Despite the playful ribbing, Max found himself genuinely enjoying their company. He hadn’t realized how much he’d missed his friends.

As the evening wore on, the conversation eventually circled back to Max's books and his little friend on his phone.

"So, Max," Lando started, a mischievous glint in his eye, "have you color-coded your bookshelf yet? Or are you more of a chronological order kind of guy?"

"Nah, mate. I bet he organizes them by how many times YN has mentioned them," Daniel chimed in, "Top shelf is probably her favorites, right Maxy?"

Max felt his cheeks flush, but he couldn't help grinning. "You two are impossible."

"When are you finally going to meet her in person anyway?" Lando said, sipping from his beer.

Max shrugged nonchalantly, trying to hide the slight flutter in his chest. "I don't know. That's not something I've really thought about,"

He lied. In truth, the thought of meeting YN had crossed his mind countless times. The idea of finally seeing the girl who had captivated him with her intelligence, humor, and beauty made his heart race. He'd catch himself daydreaming about her smile, wondering if it was as warm and infectious in person as it seemed in her videos. But he wasn't ready to admit that to his friends just yet.

Lando and Daniel exchanged a look, clearly not buying Max's nonchalant act.

"Oh come on," Lando scoffed, rolling his eyes dramatically. "You expect us to believe that? You've been glued to your phone for weeks, mate."

"I bet he's already planned their first date," Daniel leaned in, "What'll it be, Max? A romantic book reading by candlelight? Or maybe a visit to the library?"

Max felt his cheeks heating up again. "It's not like that, guys. We're just friends."

"Friends who talk every day and have you blushing like a schoolgirl," Lando teased, nudging Max with his elbow.

"I do not blush like a schoolgirl," Max protested, knowing full well that his face was probably bright red by now.

"Sure, sure," Daniel said with a wink. "Just friends. So, have you at least thought about inviting her to a race? You know, show her what you do when you're not reading about Mars?"

"Why would I invite her to a race, that would be weird," Max protested again, "And she already knows what I do, she's a fan of the sport."

"Man, you're so stubborn sometimes," Lando rolled his eyes at him, "If you like this girl, why don't you invite her to a race? It could be a great way to finally meet in person."

"And who said that I liked her," once again, Max's defensive self came through.

Daniel and Lando shared an exasperated look before turning back to Max.

"Come on, mate," Daniel said, his tone gentler now. "It's pretty obvious. We've never seen you this invested in someone before. Not to mention, you're reading books voluntarily for the first time since... well, ever."

"It's written all over your face," Lando said, shaking his head. "You like her, and there's no shame in that. You light up every time your phone buzzes. It's kind of adorable, actually."

Max sighed, running a hand through his hair. He knew his friends were right, but admitting it out loud felt like a big step. "Okay, fine. Maybe I do like her. But it's complicated, you know? We've never even met in person."

"That's exactly why you should invite her to a race," Lando insisted. "It's the perfect opportunity. She gets to see you in your element, and you get to finally meet face-to-face."

"Plus," Daniel added with a mischievous grin, "if things go well, you can always show her your trophy collection. I hear that's a great way to impress the ladies."

Max couldn't help but laugh at that. "You're ridiculous, you know that?"

"Maybe," Daniel shrugged, "but I'm also right. What have you got to lose?"

Max pondered this for a moment. The idea of meeting YN in person both thrilled and terrified him. What if they didn't click in real life the way they did over text? But then again, what if they did?

"I'll think about it," Max finally conceded.

Lando and Daniel exchanged triumphant grins.

"That's our boy," Lando said, patting his back.

After a few more beers and food, Lando and Daniel left.

As the night deepened, Max found himself lying in bed, staring at the ceiling. The conversation with Lando and Daniel kept replaying in his mind. His phone sat on the nightstand, silent but somehow still demanding his attention.

Max's thoughts raced. Should he text YN? Invite her to Zandvoort? The idea made his heart beat faster. He imagined seeing her in person for the first time, wondering if her smile would be as pretty as it was in her videos. But doubt crept in too. What if things were awkward? What if the chemistry they had online didn't translate to real life?

He rolled onto his side, eyeing his phone. The urge to reach out to her was strong, as it always was. Max realized that Lando and Daniel were right - he did like her. A lot. The thought of meeting her filled him with equal parts excitement and nervousness.

Taking a deep breath, Max grabbed his phone. Before he could overthink it, he started typing.

Hey YN, hope I'm not messaging too late. I was wondering if you'd like to come to the Dutch GP at Zandvoort? It's the first race after the summer break, and my home race. Thought it might be fun if you could make it.

He hit send before he could second-guess himself. The wait for her response felt eternal. When his phone finally buzzed, Max's heart leapt.

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liked by maxverstappen1, redbullracing and 286,375 others

ynreadsbooks this week’s video will be delayed for some ~personal reasons ☺️

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username1 GIRL

username2 ARE YOU GOING WHERE I THINK YOU’RE GOING

username3 f1 x books this is literally me

username4 hot girls support max verstappen

username5 ahh if she’s going to the gp i’ll be so happy bc she’s a huge fan

username6 the way roles reversed and now max is his fan 😭

redbullracing We can’t wait 💙

↳ username1 REDBULL???

↳ username2 AHHH THEY PROBABLY INVITED HER

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As Max headed to Zandvoort Circuit for the Dutch Grand Prix, he felt the familiar weight of expectations settling on his shoulders.

The second half of the season loomed ahead, and the pressure to maintain his championship lead was on. He knew the team was counting on him to deliver strong results, especially at his home race where the orange-clad fans would be out in full force.

But amidst the pressure and responsibility, there was another emotion bubbling up inside him - a giddy excitement that he couldn't quite contain.

The thought of finally meeting YN in person after months of texts, calls, and shared book recommendations made his heart race in a way that had nothing to do with driving at a car at a very fast speed.

As he drove to the track, Max found himself smiling at random moments, his mind drifting to imagine what it would be like to see her smile in person, to hear her laugh without the filter of a phone call.

Max realized that for the first time in a long while, he was looking forward to a race weekend for reasons that extended beyond the track.

Unfortunately, his busy schedule kept them from meeting right away. Media commitments, team briefings, and practice sessions consumed his time, leaving him feeling frustrated and guilty for not being able to see her sooner. He sent her a quick message apologizing for the delay, promising they'd meet after qualifying.

As he made his way to the garage, a familiar voice called out behind him.

"Oi, Max! Ready for the big day?"

Max turned to see Daniel jogging up to him, his trademark grin in place.

"Yeah, should be a good quali," Max replied, trying to sound nonchalant.

Daniel raised an eyebrow. "I wasn't talking about qualifying, mate. Your special guest arrives today, right?"

Max felt his cheeks warm. "How did you even remember that?"

"Please," Daniel scoffed. "It's all you've been talking about for weeks. So, have you met her yet?"

"No, my schedule's been packed. We're supposed to meet after quali."

"Ah, saving the best for last, eh?" Daniel's grin widened, "Smart move. Nothing like the adrenaline of a good qualifying session to make a great first impression."

"Or to completely mess it up," Max muttered.

"Hey, none of that," Daniel clapped him on the shoulder. "You'll be fine. Just be yourself. She already likes you for who you are, remember?"

Max nodded, feeling a bit reassured. "Thanks, Dan."

With a deep breath, Max headed into the garage, Daniel's words echoing in his mind.

Qualifying went smoothly, with Max securing a front row start to the delight of the Dutch fans. The cheers of the home crowd were deafening as he climbed out of the car, but his mind was elsewhere.

After the post-qualifying interviews, Max sent YN a quick text letting her know that he was free now and she let him know that she was around the hospitality area.

As he walked towards there, Max spotted YN standing near one of the motorhomes, looking around with wide eyes. She hadn't seen him yet, and for a moment, Max just watched her, taking in the sight of the girl who had been on his mind for months now.

She was even more gorgeous in person than he had imagined.

Her eyes sparkled with excitement as she took in the bustling paddock around her. The way the sunlight caught her hair, the gentle curve of her smile as she observed everything with wonder - it all took Max's breath away.

He noticed little details he couldn't have seen through a screen: the way her eyes sparkled, the subtle freckles across her nose, the graceful way she moved as she looked around.

Taking a deep breath, Max walked over, his heart pounding. "YN?"

She turned, her face lighting up with a radiant smile that made Max's breath catch. "Max! Finally!"

They moved toward each other, and without hesitation, Max pulled her into a hug. The embrace felt natural, as if they'd done this a hundred times before. He was aware of how perfectly she fit in his arms, the subtle scent of her perfume, and the warmth of her body against his.

"It's so good to finally meet you," he murmured into her hair. "I'm so sorry it took so long, this weekend's been crazy."

She pulled back slightly, looking up at him with understanding in her eyes. "It's okay, Max. That qualifying was amazing! I've never experienced anything like it."

"I'm glad you enjoyed it. Come on, let me show you around."

He took her hand and he was struck by how natural it felt. Her fingers intertwined with his perfectly, and a warm sensation spread from their joined hands throughout his body.

They strolled through the paddock, Max pointing out the various team motorhomes, the garages, and the media center. YN was all wide-eyed fascination, asking questions and soaking in every detail. As they walked, Max found himself relaxing more and more, his previous nerves about their chemistry being gone fading away.

As they rounded a corner, they nearly bumped into Lando Norris. Who couldn't help but smirk at the sight of their hands intertwined.

"You guys met already!" he cheerfully said, "You must be YN."

Her cheeks flushed, clearly surprised that Max had mentioned her to his friends. Max felt a warmth spread through his chest at her reaction.

"Yeah, this is YN," Max said, unable to keep the smile off his face, "Meet Lando, the perpetual pain in my ass."

"Nice to finally meet the girl who's got Max reading," YN laughed, and Lando extended his hand, "Quite the accomplishment."

"Nice to meet you too, Lando," YN said, shaking his hand. "I've enjoyed watching you race, I'm a big fan. Congrats on the pole position."

"Cheers," Lando replied, then turned to Max with a mischievous glint in his eye. "So, has he bored you with car talk yet, or has he actually remembered how to discuss books?"

Max rolled his eyes good-naturedly. "Shouldn't you be preparing for tomorrow, Lando?"

"Alright, alright, I can take a hint," Lando chuckled. "Enjoy your tour, lovebirds!"

As Lando walked away, Max felt a mix of embarrassment and pleasure. He glanced at YN, relieved to see her smiling.

"Sorry about him," Max said, shaking his head with a chuckle. "Lando has a way of making everything awkward."

YN laughed softly, her eyes twinkling. "It's fine. He seems like fun."

They continued their walk, finally making their way to the rooftop terrace of the Red Bull hospitality area. The view was stunning, offering a panoramic look at the circuit and the sea of orange-clad fans below.

"This is incredible," YN said, leaning against the railing and taking it all in. "Thank you for showing me around, Max."

"Of course," Max said, standing beside her. "I'm really glad you could come."

They stood there for a moment, enjoying the view and each other's company. Max felt a sense of contentment wash over him, the stress of the weekend melting away in her presence.

"Max," YN said softly, turning to face him. "I know this weekend is important for you, and I don't want to be a distraction. But I'm really happy to be here and to finally meet you."

"You're not a distraction," Max replied, reaching out to take her hand again. "You're the best part of this weekend, honestly."

They shared a smile, Max was well aware of the butterflies that fluttered on his stomach and the high school girl blush his friends teased him about, but he didn't care. He felt happy with the pretty girl who had been his source of comfort for months, finally face to face.

"You know," YN said softly, "when I made that video calling you a misunderstood hero with a heart of gold, I never imagined I'd get to see it firsthand. But being here, seeing how you are with your team, with the fans… I was right about you, Max Verstappen."

Max felt a warmth spread through his chest at her words. He had always been guarded about his public image, but hearing her perspective meant more than he could ever imagine.

"I'm glad you think so," he said softly, his voice filled with sincerity. "You know, that video... it changed things for me. Not just because it led to us talking, but because it made me reflect on a lot of things."

"Who would've thought," YN said with a smile, "When I recorded that video, I never thought you would ever see it, let alone have an impact on you and let alone lead us to talking and me being here."

"Everything happens for a reason, right?"

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liked by maxverstappen1, danielricciardo and 301,257 others

ynreadsbooks best experience ever. thank you, thank you, THANK YOU 🥺💙

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username1 OMFGGGG

username2 no one deserved this more than her for real

username3 SHE MET MAX TOO?? DESERVED

redbullracing Come back soon! 😉

username4 red bull finally inviting people who actually love the sport

username5 GIRL WE NEED A VLOGGGG

username6 omg how did this happen spiiiill

↳ ynreadsbooks let's say i got invited by the world champion

↳ username1 WTF

↳ username2 so MAX invited her not redbull help he really did become a fan after that video

danielricciardo Hope to see you around soon, love ! 👀

↳ username3 how do i sign up for this

username7 THAT PIC OF MAX IS SO BOYFRIEND CODED

maxversteppen1 Thank you so much for coming and making this day special ☺️

↳ username1 OMG MAX

↳ username2 i'd be screaming if i was her

liked by charles_leclerc, ynreadsbooks and 1,028,479 others

maxverstappen1 Enjoyed every moment in Zandvoort with this amazing atmosphere and the best company 🧡

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username1 KIIING

username2 how can a man be so babygirl

username3 all smiles even tho he finished p2

danielricciardo 🦁🦁

landonorris Simply lovely

↳ username1 menace

username4 bro who got you smiling like that

ynreadsbooks ❤️

↳ username2 biggest max girlie

↳ username3 WE NEED THAT VLOG

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When it came time for YN to leave the Netherlands, Max insisted on driving her to the airport himself. The car ride was filled with comfortable silence and soft conversation, both of them trying to stretch out their remaining time together.

Despite their short time together, Max found himself completely smitten, captivated by YN's intelligence, humor, and the way her eyes lit up when she talked about books or reacted to the thrill of the race.

He didn't want to admit it to himself, but he was head over heels for her.

As they stood in the departure terminal, Max felt an overwhelming urge to kiss her. He hesitated, his heart racing, but ultimately settled for a long, warm hug, breathing in her scent and committing it to memory. As he watched her walk through security, he already found himself missing her presence.

Now, a week later, Max was in Monza for the Italian Grand Prix. The day had been busy with media commitments and team meetings. Finally back in the quiet of his motorhome, Max flopped onto the couch, feeling drained but content. Without thinking, he reached for his phone and hit the FaceTime button next to YN's name.

Her smiling face appeared on the screen, and Max felt an immediate surge of warmth.

"Hey, you," she said, her voice soft and welcoming even through the phone's speakers.

"Hey," Max replied, unable to keep the grin off his face. "How's your day been?"

"Oh, you know, the usual. Editing videos, reading, missing the excitement of the paddock," YN teased. "How about you? Surviving the media circus?"

"Barely," Max groaned dramatically, "I swear, if I have to answer one more question about RedBull and their big mess, I might go mad."

YN laughed, the sound making Max's heart skip a beat. "Poor Max. Whatever shall we do to take your mind off your beloved team?"

"Well," Max said, shifting to get more comfortable, "I've been reading that new sci-fi book you recommended. 'The Martian-like Odyssey to Titan,' or whatever it's called."

"'Project Hail Mary,'" she corrected, "And? What do you think so far?"

"It's incredible!" Max's eyes lit up, "I mean, the science is fascinating, and the way the main character problem-solves is just... I don't know, it reminds me a bit of what we do in racing, you know? Constantly adapting, finding solutions on the fly."

"That's exactly why I thought you'd like it! The way Andy Weir writes about scientific problem-solving is so engaging."

They dove into an animated discussion about the book, Max marveling at how easily conversation flowed between them, how YN's passion for books was infectious. As they talked, a thought that had been brewing in Max's mind for days suddenly surfaced.

"YN," Max said, his voice softer than before. "There's actually something I've been wanting to ask you."

"Oh? What is it, Max?" she tilted her head, curiosity evident in her expression.

Max took a deep breath, suddenly feeling like he was about to qualify for a crucial race. "Well, I was wondering... have you ever been to Monaco?"

"No, actually, I haven't," YN's eyebrows raised in surprise, "It's always been on my travel wish list, though. Why do you ask?"

Max felt his heart rate pick up. He'd rehearsed this moment in his head countless times over the past few days, but now that it was here, he found himself fumbling for words.

"Well, you see, I have a two-week break coming up before the Baku GP, and I was thinking... maybe... if you're free, of course, and if you'd like to... you could come visit me in Monaco?"

The words tumbled out faster than he intended, and Max felt a blush creeping up his neck. He watched YN's face carefully, trying to gauge her reaction. His mind raced with possibilities - what if she said no? What if this was too forward?

YN's eyes widened, and for a moment, she seemed at a loss for words. "Oh, Max, that's... wow. That's really sweet of you to offer."

Max, sensing a hint of hesitation, quickly added, "You could stay at my place. I have plenty of room, and it would be great to have you around. Plus I have two adorable cats that I'm sure you'd love."

YN's expression softened, a mix of excitement and uncertainty in her eyes. "That sounds amazing, Max. But… are you sure? I wouldn't want to impose on your personal space or your time off."

Truth was, Max wanted to spent every free moment he had with her, but he wasn't sure how to let her know without sounding too forward or like a creep, so he just pressed on.

"You wouldn't be imposing at all, I promise. I really want us to spend more time together, away from the craziness of the race weekends. And I'd love to show you around Monaco."

He watched as YN bit her lip, considering his offer. The silence stretched for a moment, and Max found himself holding his breath.

"If you're not comfortable staying at my place," he added quickly, "I could book you a hotel room, or there are some great Airbnbs with amazing views of the harbor. Whatever makes you feel most at ease. I just… I really want to see you again."

As he spoke, Max realized just how true his words were. The thought of having YN in his space, sharing meals, exploring the city together - it filled him with a warmth he couldn't quite describe. It was more than just attraction; there was a comfort in her presence that he craved.

YN smiled, a warm look in her eyes. "You really mean that, don't you?"

"I do. Look, I know it might seem like a big ask, but I just... I can't stop thinking about how much fun we have together. And Monaco is beautiful this time of year. We could go for drives along the coast, have dinner at some amazing restaurants, or just relax by the pool if you prefer. No pressure, just... us. And well, the cats."

Max held his breath, waiting for her response. The thought of having YN in Monaco, of being able to spend uninterrupted time with her away from the pressures of the race weekend, made his heart soar. He imagined showing her his favorite spots in the city, maybe taking her out on his boat, or just lounging by the pool and talking for hours.

"Alright, Verstappen, you've convinced me. But I have one condition."

"Name it." Max grinned, relief and excitement washing over him.

"If I'm staying at your place, you have to let me cook my infamous waffles for breakfast. They're a secret family recipe, and I guarantee they'll be the best you've ever tasted."

"Deal," Max's smile widened, a burst of joy exploding in his chest. "But I warn you, I take my waffles very seriously. They better live up to the hype."

"Oh, they will. And I can't wait to meet the cats."

As they continued to chat and make plans for YN's visit, Max felt a warmth spreading through his chest. The prospect of having YN in his home, of waking up and knowing she was just in the next room, of being able to spend lazy mornings together over homemade waffles - it all seemed almost too good to be true.

He found himself imagining what it would be like to have her there. Would she curl up on his couch with a book? Would they watch the sunset from his terrace? Would he finally get the courage to kiss her?

The thought made his heart race. He remembered the moment at the airport when he had wanted so badly to kiss her goodbye. This time, he promised himself, he wouldn't let the opportunity pass by.

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The day of YN's arrival in Monaco had finally come, and Max felt like a giddy teenager preparing for his first date.

In the days leading up to YN's visit, Max had found himself unusually preoccupied with preparations. He wanted everything to be perfect for YN's stay. He'd bought new sheets for the guest bedroom, making sure they were the softest he could find. He'd stocked the fridge with an array of foods, unsure of her preferences but making sure to have options. He'd even gone so far as to buy a small collection of books he thought she might enjoy, arranging them carefully on the nightstand in her room.

The morning of her arrival, Max woke up early, his stomach a knot of excitement and nerves. He double-checked everything one last time - fresh towels in the bathroom, extra toiletries in case she forgot anything, a vase of fresh flowers on the kitchen counter to brighten up the space. He felt almost silly with how much effort he was putting in, but he couldn't help himself. He wanted everything to be perfect for the girl he was smitten with.

As the time to leave for the airport approached, Max found himself pacing, checking his watch every few minutes. He'd planned the route to the airport meticulously, factoring in potential traffic to make sure he'd be there in plenty of time. Just as he was about to grab his keys and head out, the doorbell rang.

Confused, Max paused. He wasn't expecting anyone - he'd made sure to clear his schedule completely for YN's visit. Frowning slightly, he opened the door to find Lando standing there, a wide grin on his face.

"Lando? What are you doing here?" Max asked, glancing at his watch.

"What, can't a mate drop by for a visit?" Lando replied, trying to peer past Max into the apartment. "Thought we could hang out, maybe play some FIFA."

Max shifted awkwardly, blocking the doorway. "Lando, mate, I'm actually just about to head out. I can't hang out right now."

"Oh, come on," Lando's grin faltered slightly, "Just for a bit? We haven't had a proper catch-up in ages."

"I'm sorry, I really can't," Max insisted, glancing at his watch nervously. "I have to pick up a friend from the airport."

Lando's eyes narrowed suspiciously, a mischievous glint appearing. "A friend, huh? Is it that your book dream girl? You're flying her out over here?"

Max felt his face heat up, a blush creeping up his neck. He tried to deny it, but his reaction gave him away.

"It is! Oh man, this is brilliant," Lando's eyes widened in delight, "Max Verstappen, blushing like a schoolboy over a girl."

"Shut up," Max grumbled, but there was no real annoyance in his voice. He couldn't help but smile.

"So, YN is finally gracing Monaco with her presence," Lando teased. "No wonder you've been so distracted lately. When do I get to hang out with her?"

"You don't," Max rolled his eyes, "Now if you'll excuse me, I need to go."

"Alright, alright," Lando stepped aside, still grinning. "But I want details later, yeah? And tell YN I said hi."

Max waved him off, hurrying to his car. Despite Lando's teasing, he couldn't wipe the smile off his face. The excitement was bubbling up inside him again as he drove to the airport.

As he parked and made his way to the arrivals area, Max felt his nerves almost making him want to throw up. He found himself fidgeting, alternating between pacing and sitting, his eyes glued to the arrivals board.

Finally, he saw that YN's flight had landed. His heart rate picked up as he watched the doors, scanning the crowd for her familiar face. And then, suddenly, there she was.

YN emerged from the arrivals gate, looking a bit tired from the journey but still radiant. Her eyes scanned the crowd, and when they landed on Max, her face lit up with a brilliant smile.

Max felt his breath catch in his throat. He raised his hand in a small wave, a grin spreading across his face as he walked towards her.

"Hey, Max," she said as she reached him, her voice warm and slightly breathless.

"Hey," he replied, suddenly feeling shy. "How was your flight?"

Without thinking, he pulled her into a hug. As he wrapped his arms around her, breathing in the scent of her hair, he felt a sense of rightness wash over him. It was as if all the pieces were falling into place.

"It was good, just long," she hugged him back tightly. "I'm so glad to be here though."

As they pulled apart, Max found himself reluctant to let go completely. He kept one hand on her back as he reached for her suitcase with the other. "Here, let me get that for you."

"Always the gentleman," YN teased, but her smile was soft and appreciative.

As they walked towards the exit, Max found himself stealing glances at her, still hardly believing she was really here. "So, um, I thought we could grab some lunch if you're hungry? Or if you're tired, we can head straight to my place so you can rest."

YN considered for a moment. "Lunch sounds great, actually. I'm starving, and I'm too excited to sleep just yet. I want to see Monaco."

Max chuckled, feeling a warmth spread through his chest at her enthusiasm. "Lunch it is then. I know just the place – it has a great view of the harbor."

As they made their way to Max's car, chatting easily about YN's flight and Max's plans for her visit, Max felt a sense of contentment he hadn't experienced in a long time. The nervousness from earlier had melted away, replaced by pure happiness.

Loading YN's suitcase into the trunk, Max caught her eye and smiled. "I'm really glad you're here, YN."

She returned his smile, her eyes sparkling. "Me too, Max. Me too."

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ynreadsbooks roomates for the week 🥺

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username1 AWEEE

username2 those are cute kittens

username3 those look like max verstappen's cats

username4 JIMMY AND SASSY VERSTAPPEN??

↳ username1 how CRAZY would it be

danielricciardo Don't hesitate to shout if he's much trouble

↳ username2 HOLD ON??

↳ ynreadsbooks he's just fine don't worry 😅

↳ username3 IS SHE REALLY WITH MAX??

↳ maxverstappen1 I'm not trouble...

↳ username1 OMFGGG

↳ username4 THIS PLOT TWIST

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Three days had passed since YN's arrival in Monaco, and Max couldn't remember a time when he'd been happier.

True to her word, YN had cooked her infamous waffles for breakfast on the second morning of her stay. As Max had taken his first bite, his eyes had widened in surprise and delight. The waffles were light and crispy on the outside, yet fluffy on the inside, with a perfect balance of sweetness and a hint of vanilla. He'd declared them the best he'd ever tasted, earning a proud smile from her.

The days that followed had been filled with laughter, conversation, and exploration. They'd spent hours by Max's pool, talking about everything and nothing. YN would often bring a book, reading aloud passages that she found particularly interesting or amusing, while Max listened, content to hear her voice and watch the way her eyes lit up when she spoke about something she loved.

They'd explored Monaco together, with Max showing YN his favorite spots and discovering new ones together. He'd taken her to the Monte Carlo Casino, where they'd marveled at the architecture and people-watched. They'd strolled through the streets of Monaco-Ville, the old town, where YN had been enchanted by the colorful buildings. They'd even spent an afternoon at the Oceanographic Museum, where YN's enthusiasm for learning had been infectious, and Max had found himself just as excited as she was about the marine life exhibits.

Throughout it all, Max felt himself falling deeper for her. It wasn't just her beauty or her intelligence that captivated him, but the way she saw the world. Her curiosity, her kindness, her ability to find joy in the smallest things - it all made Max see his surroundings through new eyes. He found himself noticing details he'd never paid attention to before, appreciating moments he might have otherwise overlooked.

What struck Max most was how easy and right it all felt. There was no pressure, no awkwardness. Being with YN was as natural as breathing. They could talk for hours without running out of things to say, but they were also comfortable in silence, simply enjoying each other's presence.

As they returned from another long day of exploring the city, both Max and YN retreated to their respective rooms to change into more comfortable clothing. Max opted for a soft t-shirt and sweatpants, relishing the feeling of being relaxed and at ease in his own home.

When he emerged from his room, he found YN already settled on his couch, her legs tucked under her, a book in her hands and one of his cats curling beside her. She was wearing one the t-shirt she picked the night she arrived when she realized she forgot to pack pajamas. It was too big for her frame but Max felt like melting knowing she was wearing his shirt.

The sight made Max's heart skip a beat. There was something so intimate and domestic about the scene - YN looking completely at home in his space, in his clothes, absorbed in a book as if she'd always been there.

Max couldn't help but smile, a warmth spreading through his chest. He found himself wanting this view in his life every day - coming home to find YN there, comfortable and content. The thought both thrilled and terrified him. He'd never felt this way about anyone before, never wanted to intertwine his life so completely with another person's.

YN looked up from her book, catching Max's gaze. Her lips curved into a soft smile. "Hey. Want to join me?"

Without hesitation, Max crossed the room. Instead of sitting next to her, he surprised both of them by lying down on the couch and resting his head in her lap. He looked up at her, his eyes vulnerable. "Would you read to me?"

YN's expression softened, her eyes twinkling with affection. "Of course," she said, her free hand moving to gently run her fingers through his hair.

Max closed his eyes, reveling in the sensation. He felt her shift slightly, getting comfortable, and then her voice filled the air, soft and melodious as she began to read.

Max's lips curved into a smile. "Emma," he murmured. "I remember you mentioning it was one of your favorites."

YN paused her reading, looking down at him with surprise and pleasure. "You remembered that?"

"Of course," Max opened his eyes, meeting her gaze. "I remember everything you tell me."

A huge grin appeared in YN's face, and she bent down to press a soft kiss to Max's forehead. The gesture was so natural, so tender, that it made Max's heart flutter.

As she continued to read, her fingers still combing through his hair, Max found himself only half-listening to the words. Instead, he was acutely aware of every point of contact between them - the warmth of her lap under his head, the gentle touch of her fingers, the soft cadence of her voice washing over him.

In that moment, Max realized with startling clarity that this was what he wanted for the rest of his life. Not just the glamour of racing or the thrill of victory, but this - quiet moments of intimacy, the comfort of being with someone who understood him, who made him want to be better.

He reached up, gently taking YN's free hand in his own, intertwining their fingers. She paused in her reading, looking down at him with a question in her eyes.

"YN," Max said softly, his voice filled with emotion. "I'm really glad you're here."

She squeezed his hand, her smile radiant. "So am I, Max. So am I."

As she resumed reading, her voice mixing with the soft sound of the Mediterranean breeze outside, Max closed his eyes again, a sense of peace settling over him. Whatever the future held, he knew that this moment, this feeling, was something he'd cherish forever.

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ynreadsbooks monaco you're the dream 🤍

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username1 GIRL

username2 THIS ESCALATED QUICKLY

username3 how do you go from max randomly commenting one of your videos to this

username4 girl we can tell that's max dw 😭😭

username5 YOU OWE US A TWO HOUR STORYTIME VIDEO

username6 anything you want to tell us best friend?

username7 she just had a book and a dream fr

landonorris Has he bored you yet?

↳ username1 IM DYING

↳ username2 she really masterminded her way into the f1 circle

↳ ynreadsbooks he's nice, makes good smoothies 😉

↳ maxverstappen1 Good to know that ❤️

↳ landonorris I'm disgusted

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As the final day of YN's stay in Monaco dawned, Max found himself feeling so many bittersweet emotions. The past week had been nothing short of magical, and the thought of it coming to an end left a hollow feeling in his chest. She hadn't even left yet, and already he missed her.

For their final day, Max had decided to take YN out on his yacht. He wanted their last hours together to be special, just the two of them away from the bustling streets of Monaco. As they prepared for the day, packing a picnic and gathering sunscreen and towels, Max couldn't help but reflect on the past week.

Daniel and Lando had teased him mercilessly about his sudden disappearance from their usual hangouts. They'd made jokes about Max being "whipped" and how he'd fallen hard for his "YouTube dream girl." But Max didn't care. He was too happy, too caught up in the bubble of joy that surrounded him and YN.

As they boarded the yacht, the Mediterranean stretching out before them in shades of turquoise, Max felt a pang in his chest. This perfect week was coming to an end, and he wasn't sure he was ready to face reality again.

Once they were out on the open water. YN leaned over the railing, a look of wonder on her face.

"This is incredible, Max," she said, turning to him with a dazzling smile. "I can't believe I'm here, experiencing all of this."

Max moved to stand beside her, their shoulders brushing. "I'm going to miss you," he said softly, "This week has been… I don't even have words for it."

"I'm going to miss you too, Max. So much. But you know I have to go back home. I have videos to make for my channel, work stuff to catch up on…"

Max nodded, understanding but not liking it. "Maybe you could make a video about 'A Week with an F1 Driver'? I'm sure your subscribers would love that."

YN laughed, playfully shoving his shoulder. "Oh yes, I'm sure that would go over well. 'Day 3: Watched Max eat his bodyweight in pasta. Day 5: Learned that F1 drivers are actually big babies when they lose at Mario Kart.'"

"I am not a baby!" Max gasped in mock offense. "I'm just… competitive."

"Uh-huh, sure," she teased, her eyes twinkling. "Is that why you pouted for an hour after I beat you?"

"I did not pout," Max protested, but he was grinning.

"You know, it's still surreal to me that a random video I published got us here. If someone had told me a year ago that I'd be spending a week in Monaco with Max Verstappen, I would have laughed in their face."

Max reached out, caressing her cheek softly. "I'm glad you made that video," he said softly. "I'm glad I stumbled across it. I can't imagine not knowing you now."

As they stood together on the boat, the gentle rocking of the waves mirroring the tumultuous emotions within them, Max found his gaze drawn to YN's lips. They were slightly parted, soft and inviting. His heart raced as he lifted his eyes to meet hers, a silent question in his gaze.

YN's eyes, warm and full of affection, met his. A small, knowing smile played at the corners of her mouth, and in that moment, it was all the permission Max needed.

With a gentle tug, he pulled her closer, one hand coming to rest on the small of her back while the other cupped her cheek. Time seemed to slow as he leaned in, their breaths mingling in the space between them. And then, finally, their lips met.

The kiss was tender at first, a soft exploration. But as YN's arms wrapped around his neck, her fingers threading through his hair, it deepened into something more passionate. Max poured all of his pent-up emotions into the kiss - his joy, his longing, his hope for what they could be.

When they finally parted, YN's eyes were sparkling. "You know," she said, a playful tone to her voice, "I've been waiting for you to do that all week."

Max couldn't help but laugh, a mixture of relief and happiness bubbling up inside him. "Really? All week, huh?"

"Mmhmm," she nodded, her smile widening. "I was starting to think I'd have to make the first move myself."

"Well," Max said, his voice low and teasing, "allow me to make up for lost time."

With that, he pulled her in for another kiss. This one was different from the first - more confident, more passionate. His hands roamed her back, pulling her flush against him as her fingers tangled in his hair. The world around them faded away until there was nothing but the two of them, the taste of salt on their lips, and the warmth of the setting sun on their skin.

When they broke apart this time, both were slightly dazed. Max rested his forehead against YN's, unwilling to put any distance between them.

"I really like you," he said softly, his voice thick with emotion. "More than I've ever liked anyone before. This week with you… it's been incredible. I don't want it to end."

YN's hand came up to cup his cheek, her thumb gently stroking his skin. "I really like you too, Max," she replied, her voice equally soft. "These past few days have been like a dream."

Max pulled back slightly, just enough to meet her eyes. "I know you have to go back, but… I want to make this work. Us, I mean. If that's something you want too."

"I do want that. Very much. It might not be easy with our schedules and the distance, but I think you're worth it."

"We'll figure it out," he said, determination clear in his voice. "I'll come visit you when I can, and you can come to some of my races. We'll make time for video calls, and I'll text you so much you'll get sick of me."

YN laughed, the sound like music to Max's ears. "I don't think I could ever get sick of you," she said, her eyes twinkling. "But I'm holding you to that promise about the races. I expect VIP treatment, Mr. Verstappen."

Max grinned, pulling her close again. "For you? Always," he murmured, before capturing her lips in another kiss.

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The month following YN's stay in Monaco had been blissful happiness for both YN and Max. Their parting at the airport had been bittersweet, filled with lingering kisses and tight embraces. They had spent a good hour cuddling in Max's car in the airport parking lot, neither wanting to let go.

"I'm going to miss you so much," YN had whispered, her face buried in the crook of Max's neck.

Max had tightened his arms around her, breathing in her scent. "I'll miss you too. But we'll see each other soon, I promise."

When they finally managed to separate, their goodbye kiss had been passionate and filled with promise. As Max watched her disappear into the airport, he already felt a piece of his heart leaving with her.

In the weeks that followed, they took every opportunity to be together. Max would fly to YN's home during his breaks between races, often arriving exhausted but immediately revitalized by her presence.

Their reunions were always intense, filled with desperate kisses and roaming hands as they made up for lost time. But it was the quiet moments that Max treasured most - waking up with YN in his arms, her sleepy smile the first thing he saw; cooking breakfast together, stealing kisses between flipping pancakes; or simply sitting in comfortable silence, each lost in their own tasks but finding comfort in the other's presence.

Now, as they walked hand in hand through the paddock in Austin for the USA Grand Prix, Max felt a sense of pride and joy unlike anything he'd experienced before. Having YN by his side at a race weekend, this time as more than just a friend, felt right in a way he couldn't fully express.

"This is incredible, Max," YN breathed, squeezing his hand. "I don't think I'll ever get used to it."

Max grinned, his heart swelling with affection. He loved seeing the paddock through her eyes, rediscovering the magic that he sometimes took for granted.

"Wait until you see the track," he said, pulling her closer. "And the sound when all the cars start up… there's nothing like it."

They paused for a moment, watching as a group of mechanics wheeled a set of tires past them. Max took the opportunity to really look at his girl. She was radiant in the sunlight, her hair catching the light and her eyes sparkling with excitement. He couldn't resist leaning in to place a soft kiss on her cheek.

YN turned to him, a playful smile on her lips. "What was that for?"

"Do I need a reason to kiss my girl?" Max replied, his voice low and teasing.

She laughed, the sound music to his ears. "I suppose not. But maybe save some for later? We are in public, after all."

"You're killing me," Max groaned dramatically. "How am I supposed to focus on racing when you look like that?"

"Oh, I'm sure you'll manage," YN teased, patting his chest. "After all, I hear you're quite good at this driving thing."

Their playful banter was interrupted by a familiar voice calling out. "Oi, Verstappen! Finally decided to grace us with your presence?"

Max turned to see Daniel approaching, his trademark grin in place. Lando was close behind, an equally mischievous look on his face.

"Hey guys," Max greeted, unconsciously pulling YN closer. "You remember YN, right?"

"Ah yes," Daniel's grin widened. "Nice to see you again, love."

"It's great to see you too, Daniel," she smiled warmly. "And you, Lando."

Lando's eyes darted between Max and YN, a knowing smirk playing on his lips. "So, Max, finally managed to seal the deal, huh?"

Max felt his cheeks heat up, but before he could respond, YN jumped in.

"Oh, he did more than that," she said, her tone light but with a hint of something that made Max's pulse quicken. "He's been quite… impressive."

Daniel let out a low whistle while Lando burst into laughter. Max couldn't help but join in, marveling at how effortlessly YN fit into his world.

As they chatted, Max couldn't keep his hands off YN. He found himself constantly touching her - a hand on the small of her back, playing with her fingers, rubbing her arm softly. Each touch was like a spark, reminding him of their passionate reunions over the past month.

He thought back to their last meeting, just a week ago. He had flown to her place straight after he was done with some meetings in Monaco, exhausted but desperate to see her. The moment he stepped through her door, all fatigue had vanished. They had barely made it to the bedroom, leaving a trail of clothes in their wake. The memory of her skin against his, the taste of her lips, the sound of her gasps and moans… it was enough to make him want to whisk her away to his motorhome right now.

Max was pulled from his thoughts by the approach of another familiar face. Charles Leclerc was walking towards them, his trademark charming smile in place.

"Max! Good to see you, man," Charles said, clapping Max on the shoulder before turning his attention to YN. "And who might this lovely lady be?"

Without hesitation, the words tumbled from Max's lips: "This is YN, my girlfriend."

He felt the girl stiffen slightly beside him, and for a moment, panic flared in his chest. Had he overstepped? They hadn't explicitly discussed labels yet. But when he glanced at YN, she was smiling warmly at Charles, her hand still firmly in Max's.

"It's a pleasure to meet you, Charles," YN said, shaking his hand.

Charles raised an eyebrow at Max, a hint of surprise in his expression. "The pleasure is all mine. I hope you're enjoying your time in the paddock."

After exchanging a few more pleasantries, they parted ways. Max led YN towards his driver's room. Once inside the relative privacy of the small space, YN turned to him, a playful glint in her eye.

"Girlfriend, huh?" she said, her tone light but with an undercurrent of something Max couldn't quite identify.

Max felt a flutter of nervousness in his stomach. "I… yeah. I mean, if that's okay? I know we haven't really talked about it, but…"

YN stepped closer, her fingers playing with the collar of his shirt. "It's more than okay, Max. I was just surprised. We've been in this beautiful bubble, and hearing you say it out loud… it made it feel real in a way it hasn't before."

Max let out a breath he didn't realize he'd been holding. His hands found their way to YN's waist, pulling her closer. "It is real," he said softly. "I've never felt this way about anyone before. Feels like you're everything."

Her eyes softened, her hand coming up to cup his cheek. "You're everything to me too, Max. I love you."

The words hung in the air between them for a moment, both realizing it was the first time either had said it. Then Max surged forward, capturing YN's lips in a kiss that was equal parts tender and passionate.

When they broke apart. Max rested his forehead against YN's, his eyes closed as he savored the moment.

"I love you too," he whispered. "God, YN, I love you so much."

YN's answering smile was radiant and she pulled him in for another kiss.

"So," he said, his voice husky, "ready to watch your boyfriend win a race?"

YN laughed, the sound filling the small space and Max's heart. "Always," she replied. "My misunderstood hero with a heart of gold."

[tmwcs]

PART ONE

Warnings: Nothing unusual to report…not yet. Just references from the last two fairy tales posted in Masterlist. This includes the teaser posted two days ago. If you’ve read the teaser, skip through until you see the red text. That’s where the additional part of the story continues.

“Young girl in the local area is the second to disappear without a trace. Authorities are on high alert and encourage all women to remain at home and avoid traveling alone.”

You click on the abrupt notification–the article details the two young women who vanished within the last six months. The first girl disappeared while traveling and visiting her grandmother’s house and another was on her way to a job interview at the local library, but never made it. The strange occurrences had everyone panicking and adhering to the extreme measures to avoid their daughters from being the next to abruptly disappear.

“Y/N, take the car and drop your sister off at her friend’s house.” your mother urges. Your younger sister was around the same age as the young girls who had disappeared, so it became understandable why her safety was paramount. Of course you weren’t excluded from concern, however, being that you were older and already on your way to finishing up your college education, it’s presumed that you were in the clear. At least that’s what the authorities stated in their public announcements.

“Take her, make sure you watch her enter the house before you drive off. Then come right back here, understand?” your mother’s strict orders were firm and left no room for argument. “Fine.” you answered quietly. Running errands and dropping off your younger sibling always came with the same warnings and specific instructions–nothing out of the ordinary.

The drive wasn’t terribly far–around twenty minutes. Sometimes you wonder why your family decided to reside in the suburbs–so far from the city. Wouldn’t it have been better had they considered moving closer? Considering that both your parents place of employment and your younger sister’s school, it would be so much more convenient had they found a neighborhood much closer.

“I feel so sorry for that girl–you know?”

Her voice interrupts your thoughts as you delicately come to a stop at the red light. “Are you talking about the one that just disappeared?”

“Yeah. She was so pretty too, just like the first one.” her voice was soft and tender, and just like those girls, your precious younger sibling couldn’t be excluded from the list of potential victims. No wonder your parents were always so concerned over her staying late for after school activities. With her traditional beauty and delicate frame, she was every kidnapper's dream.

Pulling up the driveway, you followed your mother’s instructions as ordered. Checking your phone, you send a text out to notify your parents that you both made it at the sleepover, when your sister's phone screen abruptly is placed in front of you, followed by a small giggle.

“What is that?” you sharply questioned, a slight annoyance accompanies your tone. “Isn’t it cute? I took it earlier today.”

Being the prankster that she was, it was no surprise that you became a pawn in your sister’s line of mischievous acts. “So uncool. Erase that.”

“Oh come on! I took it because you looked so pretty. You know, everyone always says the same thing–even in high school. Remember all those times you napped during the lunch hour? Everyone always said that you looked so pretty whenever you slept. Guess that’s why they always called you that name, huh?”

You let out a tiring sigh. “Yeah, I guess so.” it was true–the nickname stuck with you even all through college when your friends carried the name over. They would always ask you in jest why you slept so often, and you wish you had an answer for them, but you never could come up with one. You don't know why–all your life you just felt so tired. Your pondering thoughts are interrupted once more when you hear your sister thanking you for the ride.

“Alright, Sleeping Beauty! Thanks for dropping me off! Love you!”

………

The twenty minute drive back seemed much longer than before. Perhaps you’re just tired—all the assignments and study sessions were probably getting to you. You pull up and notice the other car gone. Did your parents go out?

You walk in and took the precautionary measures to lock the door behind. A small note is left propped on the dinner table, addressed to you:

‘Y/N, dinner is in the oven. Your dad and I went out to see some old friends—we will be back later. Love, mom.’

Well, there are worse things than to have an entire house all to yourself. The peaceful and quiet atmosphere was a pleasant contrast from the cyclic ruckus you grew to block out. For once, it was nice to not walk around with headphones and enjoy the stale sound of silence. Yet, it would appear you spoke too soon—your phone rings. Noticing the number, you answer half heartedly “hey girl.”

Your best friend answers with a myriad of giggles and knavery tone. “Guess what?”

“What?”

“We have a few transfer students that came in and all of them are going to be at Jess’s party tonight. You coming?”

You sigh. “No, don’t think I will. I’m tired.”

“You’re always tired!” Your best friend berates in disappointment. “Come on! At least look at the photo I just sent! They’re gorgeous!”

You spare a half glance at the photo and saw a group of young men posing for a photo. “I can’t—I still have to finish some things and I really am so tired.”

“Fine! You’re no fun but I still love you.” She giggles as she bids you goodbye. The last bit of her words replayed in echoes as you eeee taken back to a time in high school where she said the very same thing before…

‘…You’re no fun, but I still love you.’

You’re quite certain your friend recalls the events that occurred afterwards, when she left you at the theater after you denied her invitation to skip out on class and to attend a social gathering. You had rejected her offer and remained in the projection room to nap for an hour before your next class began. That was when you had the strangest dream. Remnants of that moment came back like pieces of a puzzle when you recalled that time —the dream was vivid and felt so real. A figure walking up and presenting a beautiful red rose—doing so delicately as to not wake you. It was as if you err watching a grainy film as you witnessed the happenings—from him laying the flower in your hand, stroking your hair, and kissing your forehead. The strangest bit was when you awoke for your next class, a rose was within your grasp. Yet, the projection room remained locked from the inside, leaving no margin for entry to anyone from the outside. Yet, still…no matter how many times you brushed it off, each moment you come back to that memory it just made you feel like something…something was—

*ring ring*

Your phone rings and you view the screen. You didn’t recognize the number so you ignored the call. The caller didn’t leave a voice message either, probably a scam call. You’ve been getting a lot of them lately.

Other than the two phone calls, your night was rather peaceful. You ate a light dinner and figured it would be best to start your reading materials before it gets too late. Washing the dishes, you scrubbed your plate in soapy water. The surface read covered by foamy bubbles, leaving the bottom elusive. A sharp prick stings the tip of your index finger, causing you to quickly retract your hand from the depths of the warm water. “What the hell?!”

You run the faucet on and rinse the wound under the fluid motion of the lukewarm stream and notice a single red dot. You drained the sink and didn’t notice any broken glass or dishes—what did you poke your finger on?

As the last remnants of soap and bubble spiral down the drain, your eyes caught on to something foreign from the steel background. Was that a…

“…a thorn?”

Your mind was boggled by the existence of a single rose thorn inside the sink. Strange. You held the thorn in hand and studied it for a second before your phone rang once more. It was your mother.

“Hello?”

“Y/N, I’m just checking in. Did you eat?”

“Yeah.”

You remain somewhat calm as you ponder about the thorn while hearing your mother rant about locking all the doors and windows. “Yeah, got it. Hey mom—“

You quickly catch her before she starts to say her goodbye. “Did you get roses or something?”

“Oh yes—for our friends. I went to the store and grabbed a small bouquet, why?”

You rolled your eyes out of relief and suddenly found the entire situation comical. “Nothing. I just saw a rose thorn in the sink.”

“Oh yes, I had rinsed them in the sink and put them in a vase. Be Careful when washing dishes.”

“Yeeeeah.” Your tone was sarcastic but she didn’t seem to catch on. Instead, she bid you farewell and you both hang up.

Placing the phone down, you felt a wave of fatigue hit you abruptly. Normally you felt tired and lethargic, but never have you felt extremely exhausted so suddenly. Your eyesight became dizzy—your body starts to feel weak. “What the hell…is…”

You couldn’t understand where this sudden sensation of fatigue came from. It’s as overwhelming and nearly took over your entire body—to the point where you found it hard to stand. It was as if you were punched by the sandman. You stumble your way up the stairs—leaning against the bannister on your way up.

Tired…so tired…too tired.

Marching up, you finally reached your bedroom and plopped yourself atop your bed. The mixture of cool and warm temperatures overwhelm you as the texture of the linen absorbs your body heat—the cotton fabric comforting you. Drifting off, you only lasted seconds upon laying down when everything suddenly goes to black.

So sleepy…

Taglist: @strxwbloody • @nshmrarki • @aquariushiiiii • @addictedtohobi • @nuriicata • @lilyuwon • @aanniikkaa •

[muiitoloko]

Hi, first of anything I love and ate up every single thing you wrote. That said I NEED a story where Sev is about to be a dad, they are both in the last week of pregnancy just waiting for the moment the little girl (why do we all see him as a baby girl dad tho?) and he's just reflexive on how his life is right now after suffering so much and thinking he would die alone. If you want to add the birth and baby birth that's even better 💔 thanks.

Title: The Twin Stars in Snape's World

Summary: Severus's world shifts entirely with the birth of his daughters, filling the shadows of his past with light and love that he never thought he’d experience.

Pairing: Severus Snape × Fem! Reader

Warnings: None

Author's Notes: It’s not exactly what you asked for, but I was already working on a third chapter for my fanfic Daddy Snape's Dilemma, and your request totally nudged me to finish it up and post it! Hope you enjoy it as much as I did writing it!

First, Second and Third part here.

Also read on Ao3

The final week of your pregnancy arrived, and Severus Snape was, without a doubt, more nervous than you had ever seen him. Over the past months, his protectiveness had gradually intensified, but now, as you neared the end, it had reached an almost comical extreme. He refused to let you out of his sight, shadowing your every move with the intensity of a hawk, his tall, lean figure looming close no matter where you went.

At Hogwarts, his vigilance took on a new form. Snape had all but bullied Dumbledore into hiring a temporary teacher to cover your Ancient Runes classes. You could tell Dumbledore found the whole thing rather amusing, indulging Snape’s demands with a patient, almost fatherly tolerance. As for Snape, there was no humor in it—his determination was fueled by what seemed to be genuine, bone-deep fear.

Instead of teaching, you were relegated to a bedroom at the back of the Potions classroom, with Snape popping in between his own lessons to check on you. You had never seen him so anxious, his usual stoic facade cracking more with each passing day. He would pace outside your quarters, shoulders tense, the dark circles under his eyes deepening. Despite his best efforts to hide it, he was deeply stressed, behaving as if he were the one about to give birth.

You noticed that this worry manifested in another unexpected way: the matter of naming your daughters. Every day he would bring you lists, scrolls of parchment filled with options he had painstakingly compiled, poring over the names with the same scrutiny he’d apply to brewing a delicate, dangerous potion. Each name had to be perfect, meaningful, and worthy.

He had presented you with everything from mythological names to obscure, poetic words he’d found in ancient texts. You, however, had a different approach. “Severus,” you said one evening as he handed you yet another list, his expression serious, “I know you want to have everything planned, but… we’ll know their names when we see them. Don’t you think?”

Snape’s gaze turned sharp, his dark eyes narrowing slightly as if the suggestion was almost sacrilegious. “And what if we don’t?” he retorted, his voice low and pointed. “What if we look at them and realize we’ve failed to give them names that reflect who they are meant to be?”

You bit back a smile, reaching out to touch his hand, feeling the tension radiate from his slender, calloused fingers. “Severus, we won’t fail them just because we haven’t decided on names yet. They’re our daughters—they’ll be extraordinary no matter what we call them.”

He sighed, his shoulders relaxing a fraction as he looked down at you, the intensity in his gaze softening. “I’m merely trying to… prepare. It is my responsibility as their father to see to it that they have everything they need—even a name that will protect them from the start.”

His protectiveness tugged at your heart, and you squeezed his hand. “You’re already giving them everything they need, Severus. They’ll have you.”

Snape’s expression shifted, a rare vulnerability flickering across his angular face, though he quickly hid it. “Yes, well…” he muttered, glancing away. “I still believe we should at least shortlist a few options.”

Over the next few days, you managed to narrow down the lists together, though every time you thought you’d settled on something, he’d return with yet another alternative he deemed equally worthy. It became almost endearing, watching him struggle with his need for control over something as uncontrollable as birth.

You chuckled one evening, teasing him, “You do realize, Severus, that the girls might decide their names for us? They could arrive and look nothing like any of these.”

His frown deepened, though a hint of amusement flickered in his dark eyes. “They will look like you,” he replied, his voice almost possessive, as though that was an immutable fact. “And if they resemble you, then any name I choose will be worthy.”

In the quiet moments, you could see past his impatience, his need for everything to be just so. He was terrified. The great, imposing Severus Snape, who had faced dangers most wizards could scarcely imagine, was terrified of this unknown journey. And though he hid it behind his meticulous planning, his anxiety was evident in every line he wrote, every name he researched.

One night, as he sat beside you, poring over yet another scroll, you couldn’t help but place your hand over his, stilling his movements. “Severus,” you said softly, your voice gentle, “it’s all right to be scared.”

He didn’t pull his hand away, but he didn’t meet your eyes, his jaw tight. “I am not afraid,” he replied, though his tone lacked conviction. His voice was softer, almost strained. “I simply… cannot afford any mistakes. Not with them. Not with you.”

You placed a hand on your belly, feeling a gentle kick as if one of the babies could sense his unease. You guided his hand to the spot, letting him feel the movement.

“They’re already telling us they’re fine,” you whispered, smiling as his eyes softened, a faint blush creeping up his pale cheeks. “And you’re going to be an incredible father.”

For a brief moment, the tension melted from his face, replaced by a rare, unguarded expression. He watched you, his hand lingering on your belly, his thumb tracing small, soothing circles over the spot where he’d felt the kick.

“Two girls,” he murmured, almost to himself, his voice filled with a strange mixture of awe and dread. “I don’t know if I’m prepared for this.”

You leaned forward, pressing a soft kiss to his cheek, your heart swelling with love for this man who had, against all odds, become so much more than you’d ever dreamed possible. “You’ll be ready, Severus,” you assured him, your voice full of conviction. “They’re already lucky to have you.”

In that moment, as he held you close, his face buried in your shoulder, you knew that no matter what names were chosen, no matter how unprepared he felt, your daughters would be loved beyond measure. And for Severus, that was the truest magic of all.

Snape sat at his desk, his gaze flickering over the rows of students carefully attempting the day’s potion. A faint curl of distaste tugged at his lips as he caught sight of Potter, who, as usual, seemed perilously close to ruining his cauldron’s contents. Snape had already reprimanded him once that morning, his words slicing through the dungeon air with the sharpness he reserved for the boy. Yet now, as he sat in silence, the other students barely daring to breathe, his attention drifted elsewhere, pulled toward thoughts far removed from the dungeons of Hogwarts.

Just behind him, a faint rustle and creak filtered through the door to your shared quarters. The faint sounds of movement as you stirred from sleep. A warmth crept into his chest, breaking through the stoic shell he maintained with such precision.

As his gaze returned to the students before him, he felt the familiar, bittersweet pang of Lily’s memory—his first love, and his greatest regret. For so long, her shadow had been his constant companion, filling him with a cold, unrelenting ache. Protecting her son had become his purpose, his penance. And after her death, he had accepted that this mission would likely be the only meaning his life would ever have. There had been a time when he thought he might die carrying it out—perhaps even hoped for it.

But then you had entered his life.

A sigh escaped his lips, almost inaudible beneath the simmering of potions and the scratch of quills. The world had shifted when you came into it, and now, with the prospect of your daughters’ arrival in only three days, he felt that shift more acutely than ever. A sense of purpose, something wholly separate from his debt to Lily, had taken root within him.

You had given him a reason to live that went beyond atonement. The life growing within you, two delicate lives entwined with his own, felt like a redemption he had never believed possible. For the first time, he could imagine a future not defined by sacrifice and solitude, but by something richer, something gentler.

Snape’s hand tightened briefly around the edge of his desk, and he watched his students, their heads bent over their cauldrons, oblivious to his thoughts. He had spent years mastering his emotions, transforming them into weapons, shields, armor against the outside world. But now, he realized that he could no longer afford to wield that armor so thoughtlessly.

These children, his daughters—they would be born into a world fractured by war, a world where he had a role to play in the coming darkness. Yet for them, he could not allow himself the luxury of despair or surrender. For the first time, he couldn’t imagine simply fading away into the shadows after Voldemort’s defeat. It was no longer an option to leave this life without knowing that his daughters would grow up strong, safe, and surrounded by the kind of love he had never known.

As the thought took root, Snape’s jaw tightened, a new resolve settling over him like a cloak. He would survive this war. He would survive, not because of some duty to the past, but because of a responsibility to the future—to his family. He would see his daughters grow up; he would teach them, protect them, stand by their side as they learned about the world and perhaps even found their own places in it.

For once, the prospect of living beyond the war held something other than pain. A faint vision of two young girls, with bright eyes and curious minds, drifted through his mind. His daughters, growing up, asking questions about the stars, about potions, perhaps even about love. And you—by his side, guiding them with the warmth he could only hope to echo.

The shrill sound of a student’s cauldron hissing sharply brought him back to the present. He narrowed his eyes at the offending student, who paled under his glare and quickly adjusted the heat, stammering an apology. Snape stood up abruptly, his dark eyes narrowing as he prepared to address the room. But before he could say a word, a loud crash echoed through the dungeons as the door to his quarters burst open.

He whipped around, dark eyes narrowing, but whatever sharp retort had been on his lips vanished as he took in the sight before him.

There you stood, gripping the doorway, your face flushed, one hand braced against your lower back and the other cradling your rounded belly. The look on your face was equal parts determination and alarm, but it was the words that followed that sent his heart racing.

“It’s happening,” you gasped, your voice shaky but clear.

For a moment, Snape stood frozen, your words echoing in his mind, the meaning of them almost surreal. Happening? He glanced down, his mind racing. Surely not—

His thoughts halted abruptly as Ron Weasley’s voice, loud and tactless, filled the silence. “Why’s she peeing herself in front of everyone?”

Hermione’s horrified gasp quickly followed, and she smacked him on the arm, whispering furiously, “She’s not peeing herself, Ron! Her water’s broken! She’s giving birth!”

That was all it took to snap Snape out of his stunned stupor. The babies were coming—now. Much earlier than planned. His eyes widened, and he lunged from behind his desk, moving to your side in an instant, his usual composure nowhere in sight.

“Merlin,” he muttered under his breath, one hand hovering awkwardly near you, unsure whether to support you or hold back in case he only made things worse. “You… you’re sure?” he stammered, though he immediately realized how absurd that question was.

You managed a small, pained laugh. “Quite sure, Severus.”

His mind raced as he attempted to regain his bearings. The portkey to St. Mungo’s—they’d had it prepared weeks ago, but it had seemed more like an overcautious precaution at the time. Now, with the urgency of the situation hitting him, he felt his calm shatter.

He shot a look around the classroom, and his gaze landed on the nearest student—Hermione Granger, who was watching with wide eyes, clearly understanding the seriousness of the situation. “Miss Granger,” he barked, his voice laced with barely concealed panic, “fetch Professor McGonagall. Tell her to cover this class immediately.”

Hermione jumped to her feet, nodding fervently as she dashed from the room, her own nervous energy amplifying the urgency. Meanwhile, Snape turned back to you, his heart racing as he tried to mask his worry.

“Severus,” you breathed, clutching his arm. “The portkey—”

He nodded quickly, releasing a breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding. “Yes, of course.” His hand moved to his robes, fingers fumbling as he retrieved the small, inconspicuous glass vial enchanted to transport you both directly to St. Mungo’s.

He held the vial up to you, and you grabbed it, your other hand gripping his arm tightly as the room around you vanished in a whirl of colors. The bustling noise of Hogwarts faded, replaced by the sterile quiet of the St. Mungo’s ward as you both landed in the reception area, nearly stumbling from the sudden shift in location.

A Healer rushed toward you both, her eyes widening as she took in the scene. “Mrs. Snape—oh my, it’s early!” she exclaimed, gesturing to an available stretcher as she signaled to her colleagues. “Let’s get you to a delivery room.”

Snape’s hands hovered near you, his face a mixture of worry and focus as he helped you onto the stretcher. As the Healers moved you down the hallway, he kept pace beside you, his long strides easily matching their quick pace. He reached out to take your hand, gripping it tightly as you squeezed back, the intensity of the contractions beginning to set in.

“You’re doing fine,” he murmured, his deep voice steadier than he felt. “Just breathe.”

A faint smile crossed your face despite the pain. “Severus Snape, giving breathing advice. Now I’ve seen everything.”

He quirked an eyebrow, though his expression softened. “Mock me all you like, but keep breathing.”

The Healers moved efficiently, ushering you into the delivery room and setting you up as Snape hovered close, his dark gaze flicking anxiously between you and the medical staff. He could feel the old fear surfacing—the fear of the unknown, the helplessness of standing by while others took over. But your hand in his grounded him, your presence reminding him that he was exactly where he needed to be.

A Healer turned to him, her expression calm and reassuring. “It may take a few hours, Professor. These things are rarely quick, and with twins…”

Snape’s jaw tightened, but he nodded, settling into a chair beside you, his hand never leaving yours.

Hours passed, though they felt like mere minutes to him. He was acutely aware of every moment—the sound of your breathing, the tightening of your grip during contractions, the reassuring words from the Healers. He remained silent, his face a mask of concentration, his own discomfort forgotten in his focus on you.

The hours stretched, each contraction increasing the tension in the room. Severus remained by your side, his hand firmly gripping yours, his dark eyes watching every move the Healers made with suspicion. But the moment the lead Healer suggested you get up and walk to help progress the labor, his calm snapped.

“Walk?” His voice, usually controlled and low, rose sharply, filled with uncharacteristic alarm. “You expect her to walk in this state? Are you out of your minds?”

The Healer, a kindly-looking witch with graying hair, gave Severus a reassuring smile, accustomed to nervous fathers. “Professor Snape,” she began gently, “encouraging movement can help speed things along. It’s quite common, especially with twins.”

Severus’s mouth opened and closed a few times, his face paling even more. “Common?” he echoed incredulously, his gaze darting from you to the Healer. “My wife is in labor, Madam, with twins, and you want her to walk about like she’s merely out for a stroll?”

Despite the contractions, you couldn’t help but chuckle at his outburst. “Severus,” you managed between breaths, reaching out to squeeze his hand. “It’s fine. I can walk a little.”

He looked at you, his dark eyes wide with concern, clearly torn. The thought of you enduring even the smallest discomfort was driving him nearly mad. “If—if you’re certain…” he muttered, though his grip on your arm was firm as he helped you out of bed, as if preparing to catch you at the slightest misstep.

The Healer guided you both down the hall for a short, careful walk, Severus muttering under his breath with every step, shooting fierce looks at any Healer who dared suggest you keep moving. When you paused, wincing as another contraction hit, he practically growled at the Healer. “If there’s any risk to my wife or our daughters…” He let the threat linger, his face a mask of furious protectiveness.

Finally, you were able to return to the bed, and though the labor continued slowly, Severus remained at your side, holding your hand and murmuring soft reassurances. His fingers trembled slightly as he brushed back your hair, the love and worry in his gaze evident even as he tried to keep his composure.

It was nearly dawn when the sound of footsteps echoed down the hall, followed by a cheerful voice that could only belong to Albus Dumbledore. The headmaster entered, his arms laden with trinkets, including tiny stuffed owls, a miniature cauldron, and a set of rattles that jingled softly. He looked as though he had raided the entire children’s section of Diagon Alley.

“Severus, my boy!” he called warmly, his blue eyes twinkling as he approached. “I heard there was a new arrival or two on the way. Ah, and Minerva!” He turned, gesturing as Professor McGonagall entered, a faintly amused smile on her face as she took in Severus’s tense form by your bedside.

Dumbledore began to hand out trinkets, placing the little toys on the table near your bed, each accompanied by a soft hum and a lemon drop he popped into his mouth with relish. “The finest wares from Diagon Alley,” he declared, his tone bright. “Only the best for the future Misses Snape!”

Minerva moved closer to you, her expression softening as she reached for your hand. “How are you holding up, dear?” she asked, her Scottish accent laced with warmth. “Severus here has kept us all quite informed on your progress. I daresay I’ve never seen him in such a state.”

“Nor has anyone else, I assure you,” you replied, managing a tired smile. Severus shot Minerva a look that could have melted cauldrons, though his hand never left yours.

Dumbledore continued to rummage through his collection, holding up a small toy wand that emitted a shower of harmless sparks. “I thought this might suit,” he said with a wink. “We must start their magical education early.”

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, the Healers gave the signal. Severus held your hand tightly, his face a mix of awe and terror as the final stage of labor began. You saw a single tear slip down his usually composed face, his grip tightening as he whispered, “You’re incredible. I— I am so proud of you.”

The Healers wheeled you down a quiet, dimly lit corridor, Severus’s tall, shadowy form looming beside you, never letting you out of his sight. His dark eyes, usually hardened and calculating, were softened with a mixture of awe and profound vulnerability as he took in every detail of the room being prepared for the birth of your daughters.

The faint echoes of magical murmurs from the Healers filled the room as they adjusted the equipment and spells needed. Severus moved to your side, his long, slender fingers brushing against your hand with a tentative gentleness. You could feel his nervous energy, the intense worry that he tried so desperately to mask beneath his stoic exterior.

As the contractions intensified, he bent down, his pale, angular face close to yours, his hair falling forward to shield his expression. His deep voice, usually sharp and guarded, softened as he whispered, “I’m here. You’re not alone, amore.”

The Healers instructed him to step back slightly, readying themselves for the delivery. Though he complied, his piercing gaze never left you, as if he were willing every ounce of his strength to help you through this moment.

Moments later, the room filled with a powerful, almost sacred silence as the first cry rang out—a thin, wailing sound that sent a tremor through Severus. One of the Healers approached, cradling a tiny, wriggling form swaddled in soft white fabric, and extended her towards Severus. His expression froze, and for a split second, he seemed almost paralyzed by fear.

The Healer’s voice was gentle. “Would you like to hold your daughter, Professor Snape?”

He nodded, though his hands trembled as he reached out. Carefully, she placed the baby in his arms, her tiny face peeking out from the blanket, her features so delicate and small they seemed otherworldly. Severus looked down at her, his dark eyes filled with a mixture of wonder and disbelief. His usually cold demeanor melted away, replaced by an intense, overwhelming tenderness that softened every line of his face.

“She’s…” His voice faltered, thick with emotion. His eyes glistened, and he swallowed hard, blinking back tears as he took in every detail—the soft curve of her cheeks, her tiny fingers curling into fists, her miniature nose. She was perfect, and in that moment, he realized he would do anything to protect her. He bent his head, his deep voice a reverent whisper. “You’re perfect.”

Just as Severus seemed to settle into the awe of holding his daughter, your voice cut through, strained yet filled with strength as the next contraction began. He looked up, his dark gaze flickering between you and the tiny life cradled in his arms, torn between staying with his newborn daughter and being by your side.

“Severus,” you managed, breathless, a smile breaking through the exhaustion, “go on… be there for her.”

He nodded, his gaze lingering on you for a beat, his expression raw with admiration, before he gently passed the baby to a nearby Healer, ensuring she would be safe. He crossed the room quickly, his dark robes sweeping behind him as he returned to your side, his long fingers slipping back into yours. You felt his grip, firm and unyielding, grounding you, as he whispered encouragements, his voice unsteady yet filled with pride.

Minutes later, a second cry filled the room, high and clear, and you saw Severus’s shoulders tremble with relief and elation. One of the Healers brought over the second newborn, a twin as delicate and perfect as her sister, and Severus stared at her, his heart swelling in his chest.

“She’s beautiful,” he murmured, almost to himself, his voice choked with a depth of feeling he rarely revealed. He took her into his arms, his slender fingers cradling her small head, his thumb gently tracing her cheek. His usually cold, intimidating face softened into something unrecognizable, a fierce love that lit his dark eyes with an intensity that left you breathless.

As he held her, the first Healer approached, bringing the other twin over to you, her tiny face nestled in the blanket. Your heart filled as you looked down at her, at the small, precious life you had brought into the world. In that moment, the room felt full of magic, not the kind that could be taught or brewed, but the kind that was born out of love, pure and unconditional.

Severus looked over at you, his expression softened beyond recognition, his piercing gaze filled with an almost painful tenderness as he watched you holding your daughter. For once, his stoic mask was gone, replaced by the vulnerability of a man who had finally found something worth living—and dying—for.

“They have your eyes,” you whispered, noting the dark lashes and tiny features, a hint of his unmistakable presence in them already.

He nodded, speechless, his voice catching as he tried to speak. When he finally found his words, they were barely above a whisper, his voice thick with emotion. “They’ll have your spirit… your kindness. And they’ll know they are loved.” His gaze met yours, a profound, unspoken promise shimmering in his eyes.

He reached out, his long fingers gently touching your cheek, and for the first time, you saw the walls he had so carefully built around his heart crumble, replaced by the love he had tried so hard to hide. Here, in this room, with his daughters in his arms and you by his side, Severus Snape had found his redemption. And it was more beautiful than he could have ever imagined.

[spade-riddles]

taylorklosscomeout138 asked:

"The Prophecy (Track 10) + This Love (Track 11). 11/10 November 10?"

Did you... just say... 11/10????????? What if I told you I have had an ongoing theory for at least 4 months now that 11/10 is the date of the Taylor and Travis public breakup..........

There is literally so much evidence I have never been able to compile it all into one post, all my research is just sitting in my discord server I have to go through it.

I was literally just talking about how Exile played on 11/01 could be foreshadowing the break up on 11/10 because they are the same date just mirrored-

This theory of mine all started from Taylor's interview Nov 11th 2021 where she said "Can I hint at something 3 years in advance? Can I even plan things out that far? I think I'm gonna try to do it"

Because exactly 3 years since that day, is Nov 10th 2024.

We know Travis was already in the plans by then based on pre-existing evidence, especially the fact that Travis attended Karlie's house party in Miami Florida just 6 months after that interview on May 6th 2022.

But seriously when I tell you there is SO much evidence for 11/10 it's not even funny.

For instance the first time Taylor and Travis were truly confirmed "together" was when we got the pictures of them driving a getaway car down a DEAD END STREET.

Nov 11th 2021 was the same night Red TV released. "Loving him was like driving a new Maserati down a dead end street"

We got the mashup of Red/Maroon "Him" to Her foreshadowing.

We got the same message again with Rep outfit change from red to golden on 10/18 Karlie's fake wedding anniversary, and that night she sung "I once believed love would be burning red, but it's GOLDEN."

And she was quite literally in the Kelvin Temperature DAYLIGHT dress tonight as she sung Maroon. (Search it up if you don't know)

Taylor has played Clean 1 week prior to BOTH of the last 2 public breakups in the timeline. From when she played Clean Oct 27th to when I am theorizing is the breakup Nov 10th is exactly a Fortnight apart.

This is just scratching the surface I can absoutely dig up the rest of my evidence if wanted but I just had to share this in light of seeing yet ANOTHER 11/10 reference. Let me know what you think!!

[dizzyduck44]

Do we need to talk about driving standards?

I don’t really want to do this post because I’m about to slate drivers I like, but after today I think we need to discuss one of the issues that doesn’t seem to be being talked about. Driving standards and in particular certain drivers.

(I’m going to try really hard to keep this on track and not have it bleed into the FIA regs rant that is coming).

Today we saw a full race quali and a full race in a day, at times in horrendous and dangerous weather. Some people rose and some I now question WTF are you even doing?

In a race that claims a DNS, a crash on the formation lap, a start procedure infringement that has never happened before, a DSQ and a top 3 that all benefited from a red flag (more on that later) , plus we have no idea if and when the race classification will be finalised as out of 15 finishers, half have to go and see the stewards after the race, maybe we have to accept something went very very wrong here.

Let’s be clear I was the first one to say on Saturday that we need to remember we have 3 rookies and Lance Stroll on the grid and to ask them to run in that weather was asking for trouble and unfair. I really wish I’d be able to style that out as a joke, but after what we have seen today, I can’t.

Let’s get into it. There were 5 red flags in Qualifying as Colapinto, Stroll, Sainz, Albon and then Alonso all high fived the wall at speed. Dooming poor mechanics at the end of triple header, who had already been at the track since 4.30 to massive rebuild jobs.

Was it too dangerous to run? Well Lando in the McLaren (that would later prove to be as much use in rain as a paper boat in a gale force wind) kept improving, so I guess there was something in the track. George and the two RBs found something as well. Car or confidence, your decide.

So on the way to the grid Yuki gets fined TWICE for speeding in the pit lane. On a good day that would be a talking point, today not even mentioned.

We roll round to the race start. Alex’s car can’t be fixed. I struggle to understand why Williams gave up a P7 starting position but that’s another post. Off we go and 3 corners in, Lance is in the gravel 😒 Your mechanics have killed themselves to get you on the starting grid and you can’t even make it to the start? No words.

I’m not gonna lie as soon as I saw Lance stuck I assumed we were going for a second formation lap. I’m old enough to remember abandoned starts were different to aborted starts. When the lights changed Lando and George didn’t hesitate to go for the second lap. I know this is unusual but do we not clarify this with drivers regularly? Well obviously not as some cars moved and others stayed still. What are they talking about in driver meetings?

So we finally get the race under way and people are sort of holding it together. We have a couple of bumps, a few off road adventures and a spin or two but generally all within the realms of a wet race.

Until, Nico Hulkenberg gets stuck. Now Nico is an experienced driver. 200+ races. Now me, sat in a chair at home, knows that if a Marshall touches your car off the circuit you are out of the race. Why then when he saw 4 Marshall’s push him back on did he continue? And then line up in the pit lane at the red flag as if nothing had happened? It begs belief.

Then Colapinto. My heart broke for the Williams mechanics, to see the one car they had already fixed back in pieces. Ultimately in that weather you don’t push your luck on fresh tyres. I assume this is something you learn in karting. However that lack of judgement ultimately decided the race as the red flag gave the three podium sitters a free pitstop under a red flag.

To crown it all off we restarted the race in the most questionable conditions of the day and almost immediately Lando told us they couldn’t really see the car in front (if you are going to get that close to George’s rear end, take him on a date first!). Ollie Bearman showed us (a number of times) drivers were struggling to see the track. The camera couldn’t even see cars. Well it’s ok, cos we about to get a safety car, as yet again Carlos decides to visit the wall. Oh and has to go and see the stewards about driving dangerously!

Now at this point three of the drivers that caused red flags in quali have now caused issues in the race be it flags, safety cars or an aborted start. Three of the same 5. Let that sink in. Had it been 3 different drivers we could forget it, but three in both sessions? WTF were they doing? I’m shocked, annoyed and amused in equal measures. How? Twenty best drivers in the world so we are told.

And Oscar’s name got mentioned way too many times for comfort over this weekend. Spinning, off the track, causing a collision.

Don’t get me wrong we saw some awesome driving today. Max and Esteban in particular stand out, brilliant if lucky. Lando’s over take on George, and Liam defending Checo were what we like to see in the bravery department. Lewis decided to be himself for 10 laps and it was awesome. Finally a special word for Fernando. Clearly in pain but out of respect for the mechanics who had worked so hard to get two cars back on the grid for the race, determined to finish the race.

However it’s difficult to forget that we saw some questionable stuff today. Can it all be blamed on the conditions? Well I always argue that if you want to be an F1 Champion you have to be able to drive in all conditions. I think from now on I will be side eyeing a few drivers in that respect. Which is really hard as I like a lot of the drivers who I have mentioned in this post.

[pines4thetwin]

As promised, here's that fusion post for the three people that asked for it (drops it and runs).

Ford thinks of himself and Stan as one, an extension of each other, and lowkey hates that its not true nor possible.

And Mabel really shouldn't have shown him Steven Universe because now he's obsessing over the concept of fusions and his desire to be one with stan.

Now lets say this is Pre-Weird and everything is still tense between them and they aren't exactly talking but despite that ford still wants to be close and he knows stan does too.

He can see it in the broken resigned looks Stan keeps throwing his way. And listen, Ford isn't the best at communication but he can fix this. He may still be angry and self righteous and an asshole but he can fix them.

So now he spends an even more absurd amount of time in the lab trying to making it his reality and entirely disregards his base needs to the point even dipper is concerned.

He has a journal dedicated to this idea where he keeps all his notes and theories on how to make it possible. Would he have to alter their DNA for it to work or could it be possible for them as they are?

While doing the tests and research for his fixation he remembers a dimension he briefly travelled to back when he was younger and fresh through the portal. One where this concept, his desire, his fantasy, his wish was real. A dimension where it was was their culture, their way of life. And while he did think it was interesting then, he was young and angry and raw with unrestrained hurt. Too emotional to stop and study the practice the way he should have.

He beats himself up over it now. If only he had been thinking more logically him and stan could be one already. They wouldn't have to be so... apart.

He doesn't have time to dwell on his shortcomings though. He has to figure this out. He doesn't know exactly why but he feels like he's running out of time. Like he has to do this now or he'll never have the chance again.

Eventually he has his prototype and it functions well... enough. He just has one more trial to run. Except Stan comes down to check on him. 'Worried ford isn't taking care of himself properly.' or something like that.

And honestly, Stan in his space is the last thing he expects because they have an unspoken agreement. Stan roams above and Ford stays down here. And when they cross paths they both look the other way.

But stan is here and yes Ford is annoyed at first but this also means he doesn't have to go seek stan out.

"I told you to stay- wait actually this is perfect. We'll do it now," Ford fiddles with his device, turning it on and he really isn't thinking right anymore. He know the device works and that's all that matters.

"Do what now? Stanford, what is that," And Stan is kinda terrified because Ford looks... well he looks kinda like how he did decades ago when he had sent that postcard and Stan had come running because well, its Ford.

Ford looks insane, primal and unhinged, like he hasn't seen the light of day in weeks. And Dipper had told Stan, had been worried but Stan brushed it off because Ford locking himself in the lab and avoiding everybody, avoiding him wasn't a new development.

But now Stan’s worried because that wild-eyed look is directed at him again and the cowardly little animal in him is screaming at him to run.

It’s like Ford knows what he's thinking because before Stan has a chance to decide if he's going to shut down or entertain that scared little animal, Ford is grasping at him and pulling him deeper into the dingy little basement.

Stan trips and he fully expects his back to hit the floor but fords got and arm wrapped low on his back that keeps him from falling fully. And stan's hand is also tangled in fords sweater so even if Ford had let him fall, well they would have gone down together.

But then he catches sight of that thing again and it looks vaguely like a gun and why did he have to get saddled with the insane twin? He doesn't even have time to flinch because a bright light floods his vision and he blanks.

For a second, Stan's mind goes black and there's a strange humming in his ears. But then he hears a laugh he hasn't heard in forever. Soft and joyous and for a moment stan smiles. It's Ford's laugh.

Because he and Stan become one. And everything is warm and bright and as it should be. For a moment everything is right. It feels like coming home.

His-Their eyes open and Ford's confused? No, Stans confused.

"Sixer? Lee?" Their voice says, soft and bewildered. They look around, searching for each other. Stan? Ford? Where did they go? They look down and their vision swims. Four hands, five fingers? Six? It all blurs together.

Is this me, they think as one. Finally as one. Four hands run up the sides of their one body then stretch out for their wide eyes to view. Ford can feel his giddiness rising unbidden. And a whisper from Stan, rising to meet Ford. Uncertain but matching nonetheless.

Finally

Finally together... Finally fixed... Finally right.

They spin slowly, as if that will give them a better view of what they are now, and they catch their reflection in some dim glass. Ford wants to smile but their face drops, eyes horrified.

"What did you do," Stan says, voice a cutting accusation. Nausea erupts in their stomach. And that isn't right. Why isn't it right?

Something is wrong. Everything is so very wrong. Ford's head hurts. Or is it Stans. He doesn't know. They can't tell.

"I fixed it. I fixed us," Ford says and it isn't right either. Why is it still so wrong? Stan is angry. But why is he angry? Why aren't they happy? They're together. After all this time they're finally together again.

Ford can feel Stan pulling away. It's like their mind is splitting in two. Hot searing pain shoots through their head, four eyes closing when the world starts to spin.

Ford grasps ahold of stan and refuses to let go. He can't let Stan ruin this, ruin them. He will not let Stan destroy everything he's worked towards again. They've been apart for so long- too long but not anymore. Besides, this is for them. Stan will just have to understand. They are one now. Broken and wrong but one nonetheless.

"Let me go," They yell, tugging apart furiously. Their shape shifts and distorts but doesn't split. Ford won't let them. They snap back together painfully, stumbling on two bulky legs, one that branches into two feet. Wrong.

"No! This is what we wanted right," their voice bellows, loud and angry and wrong. So very wrong. "For us to be together. Always together."

They grip at their hair as if trying to pull themselves back apart. Stan.

"Not like this. I never asked for this." they shout back, voice sharp and hurt and why aren't they happy now. They should be happy. This is right. This is how they are meant to be.

Even as the anger and hurt courses through their entire being, Ford knows he wouldn't want to be any other way. Stan's angry and scared but at least they're one. They're shattered and hurting but even then some small part burns in them, it's a tiny little ember but it's both of them and it says yes.

Another set of hands reach for the ones in their hair, pulling them out and restraining them. Betrayal spikes, scorching and increasing rapidly even after years of dormancy. Ford.

"Stop being so ungrateful! You're always so-." angry tears spill from their eyes. Decades of hurt and anger and resentment spill forth to mix into a sense numbing cocktail but most of all they feel alone. So very alone. Them.

They grapple and struggle and Ford's device glints from the corner of their eyes. Ford can feel Stan's intent before their body even moves. Being one now, it's like their minds have melded which means Stan knows the device's purpose. And he intends to separate them.

"NO!" Ford bellows, voice priggish and angry, hurt tinting the singular word so strongly that their body stalls. Why would stan- Why doesn't he want them to be together?

"Grunkle Stan?" Their head whips to the left, eyes locking with a confused and tired Mabel’s. Their focus splits, body jerking in an awkward aborted movement as Stan tries to move forward and Ford holds him back.

“Pumpkin grab that- Mabel don't-” And why can they never agree on anything. When did everything go so wrong? 

Flashes of being in this very lab, so long ago- but no, it was before that even.

Mabel stares at them, scared and confused and stan has never wanted her to look at him like that ever. But Ford doesn't register it because for a moment, one split second, Stan stops fighting him. 

They don't hesitate to rush forward, very much intent on destroying their creation before it has a chance to be used against them. To hurt them.

Two small hands wrap around it before they can get ahold of it. Mabel clutches it to her chest, watching them with something too close to fear. They freeze in place, hands raising in surrender.

"Sweetie," Falls from their lips, pleading. For what though, they aren't quite sure. Because their mind, it should be one yet it isn't. It's at odds, fragmented by a fear and necessity that clash so strongly it could tear universes apart.

“Press the green- Don't you dare-” They speak at once, words and thoughts overlapping. Large hands cover their mouth, two others gripping uselessly at wrist that refuse to budge, because regardless of whatever insanity that has plagued Fords mind to make them act this way, Stan will not let their voice- their words even hint at a threat towards Mabel.

Mabel's head bobs, looking from them down to the thing in her hands, unsure of what to do. Stan nods, eyes pleading.

Ford lashes out, angry and hurt and thrashing like a wild dog. 'Stanley please no. Why don't you want us to be-' Stan is retreating, silent and distant. 'Lee. LEE!'

Everything goes dark.

Ford rises slowly, head spinning and ears ringing. He has the worst headache he has ever experienced. He stares at his hands, splayed on the floor. Two hands, six fingers. Wrong.

His head whips up and his gaze finds Stan's crumpled form across from him on the floor. Stan's glaring at him, thick angry tears spilling down red cheeks.

No. No!

His head turns slowly and his eyes fall on Mabel. Mabel who is standing with his prototype in shaky hands looking between a separated Ford and Stan. He... failed. And now they're...

Apart.

Broken.

Wrong.

[fandomtherapy44]

Trick or Treat Dean x reader Oneshot! Pt2

Pairing: Dean x reader

Warnings: SMUT, language

Summary: Y/n and Dean finally get to have a treat.

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cafekitsune

WC: 2,401

AN/ So this is like a second part to my Congrats you're a Dad fic with Dean, but you don't have to read that to fully understand this one. This was supposed to be posted on Halloween, but life got in the way, so let's just pretend that it is okay! Also, if you like Buffy the Vampire Slayer, I have a Spike x reader with smut if you're interested!

I blink my eyes open to sunlight peeking through our curtains and shining on our feet. The air is cold and crisp due it being October, and I want just to ignore the world and cuddle myself deeper in the heap of blankets we have on our bed. But sadly, the world demands our attention, well, more like our daughter needs it. I knew Bella would be awake soon her being now seven and having all the energy in the world, man I never thought I would be jealous of my kid. And my boyfriend the father of our daughter Dean Winchester is just softly snoring away. 

And I couldn't blame him he has been working a lot for us, both of us were to just afford a bigger place. I softly kiss his nose get out of my bed and grab my robe. I walk to the kitchen to get breakfast ready. I start the coffee and get the pancake mix out I’ve been making new spooky designs for Bella every day, its a pain in the ass to do it but worth it to see her face light up every morning plus it’s a lot easier to get her up for school. I start to make the food pour my coffee turn on a hype playlist on my phone to try to wake myself up.

“Hey, baby,” Dean said in his early gruff morning voice coming into the kitchen and wrapping his arms around me from the back.

“Good morning sleep well?” I responded loving the feeling his arms brought an extra warming to my body.

“Yeah, I did, what is that a witch?” He asked referring to the monstrous creation I have in the pan, no pun needed.

“No, I was going for candy corn.” I slumped my shoulders pout and I could feel his body chuckle at that.

“Aww sweetheart you know Bella loves anything you make for her.” He comforted me.

“But it’s supposed to be-” Before I could get in one of my little overthinking rants Dean started kissing my neck.

“Dean, what are you doing? You know Bella has to be up in fifteen minutes.” I sighed trying not to get swept up in his presence. Which is impossible.

“I am trying to remind you that no matter what you are an amazing mother to our little girl and that you deserve a little treat.” He breathes in my scent and reaches forward to turn off the stove. He starts to kiss my neck and finds my pulse and sucks down on it like he was a vampire.

“Mhh Dean.” I moaned.

“All for you.” Then his hand slips through my robe and to my shorts.

“I love these on you so easy to…” His fingers find their way to my panties and lightly tease my slit. The fingers getting slick on them almost embarrassingly.

“To go in.” I start to move with him and grind up on him a little like a dance. I can feel him getting hard. He moves his shaft against me.

“You…are…playing…with…fire…buddy.” I stated with bated breath.

“Always have.” He then slips in.

“Ah fuck Dean!” Fingers start to pump in gently.

“That’s it just let go.” I'm already close, it’s been a while since we could have a fun time.

“Mommy?” Shit! Fuck!

Dean quickly removes his fingers and goes to wash his hands while I try to compose myself.

“Good morning Princess, did you sleep well?” I asked as I placed her pancakes on the table kissed her head and tried to forget the last ten minutes.

“Uh-huh! Good morning Mr.Dean!” She exclaimed excitedly eating her pancakes with glee.

“Good morning Pumkin!” He adored her back with her nickname. We still have not told her that he was her Dad we really want her to get comfortable and she is.

“Mommy we still have to get my costume.” Our little seven-year-old demanded.

I laugh, and so does Dean, and we sit down, too. “Well, how about this: How does Mr.Dean take you to get one, huh?” Her little eyes light up like Christmas lights.

“Really! Yay! Thank you, Mr.Dean.” She runs to hug him and then to get ready.

He turns to me with a little panic running through him. “I’m going take her? Not that I don’t want to it’s just it will be like a real bonding thing do you think she’s ready or me?” My heart leaps with joy at his shyness and happiness.

“You are ready, plus if you’re going to stay around there is going to be a lot of bonding experiences.” Before I know it he pulls me to his lap.

“Hey I am here to stay and I’m going to rock the socks off of this bonding experience.” He gave me his signature smile and I leaned in to kiss him. We start to drift into what we were doing before and I pull away.

“Mhh baby you're giving me blue balls here.” He gripped my hips.

“Sorry, but we both have work and you still have to drop off Bells at school, maybe later okay?” I get up to get ready. “I lo-” I stop myself. “I hope you have a good day.” I smile and ignore the almost confession I committed. 

It’s Halloween and I’m rushing to get ready in my costume. 

“Babe you almost ready Bella is pulling on my-” he stops dead in his tracks seeing me.

“Wow just wow.” Scanning me up and down in my Poison Ivy costume he was Batman and Bella was Robin.

“You just trying to torture me aren’t you?” He asked in a low sexy voice getting his hands on me.

“Maybe?” I innocently asked knowing what I was doing.

“Oh, are you really trying to play coy right now?” He gripped harder on my hips.

“Why don’t you find out Mr. Wayne?” I whispered and nipped his earlobe.

“I am going to have you all tied up with your own-” He gets interrupted by our adorable daughter.

“Batman! There are criminals out stealing candy we must stop them!” She pronounced it like a real superhero.

“We are coming, Robin!” He called out. He turns back to me.“We just got blocked again by our own kid what is this world coming to?” He practically whined.

“Sorry, Mr.Wayne.” I kiss his cheek grab my cape and leave with blue balls… again.

We walk hand and hand while watching Bella run down the sidewalk shouting “Criminals beware!” Yes, it is the cutest thing ever. Between the orange twinkle lights and fake monsters on the lawns, little kids running around having fun, and the man I am starting to love it felt like a dream. A dream I never thought I would get.

“Hey, Ivy what's passing through that pretty head of yours?” My Batman asked. I hug his arm tightly.

“Just I think this is the best Halloween Bella and I have ever had.” I kissed his shoulder.

He squeezes my hand in agreement. “Me too, but there was this one year where I got to fight this animatronic that is a horror movie icon!-” He sees my face of confusion and just stops. “Yeah, me too.” 

We get home after an hour of Bella yelling about criminals and yes people did look at us a little weirdly. We walk up and Sam and Eileen are waiting on our porch. “Hey guys, sorry but we weren't expecting you.” I hug them both. 

“Actually I was,” Dean responded to my surprise.

“You were?”

“I was thinking while Bella has a super fun sleepover with her Uncle and Aunt we can have our own “super fun sleepover”.” I got what he was putting down and I loved the idea. I bend down to Bella.

“Sweetie would you want to-” 

“Yes, Mommy! Love you goodnight!” She hugs me quickly and runs to her uncle. I signed thank you to Eileen and she signed back you're welcome and have fun.

“Dean you planned this?” I put my arms around his neck.

“Well what I said earlier is true you do deserve a treat.” 

“Well, Mr.Wayne show me to your bedroom.” He picks me up bridal style and takes me to our bedroom.

SMUT 18+ Below cut....

He brings me in and places me on the bed. The room is dark, and a candle is burning, giving off the scent of chocolate and sweet berries in the air.

“Oh, you don’t know how long I've been waiting baby.” He starts to kiss down my neck. Paying special attention to my sweet spot.

“Why don’t you show me?” I raised my eyebrow being bratty. I knew what I was doing and I was good at it. That’s how we met in the first place I may have “accidentally” bent down in front of him at the diner.

“Oh, I will.” He gropes all down on me like he’s never touched a woman before. His fingers linger and drag down my most sensitive areas. Knowing what he was doing.

“Babe? Babe!” I giggled. “We have time now slow down I want to enjoy my Batman.” I spread my hands down his chest. Felling his toned muscles through his costume hell he probably could be Batman. They tensed under my fingers.

“I know it’s just that I miss my Ivy in bed waiting for me.” He nibbles on my neck. Sucking hickies in the deep nape of my neck.

“Me too but we have all night and tomorrow morning so I’m thinking maybe five rounds?” I pronounce confidently. Letting him really get into it. He was now licking those sore spots.

His eyes light up. “You really think we can do five?”

I pull him down by his cape. “You're right let’s do ten,” I smirk. Like I said it has been a while.

“Oh, I like what you're thinking!”

I slowly pull off my costume to reveal my green matching sexy lingerie. I run my hands over my body to tease him.

“Oh my, I think I’m the luckiest man in the world.”

“That you are Mr.Winchester.” He climbs on top of me and we start to make out. His tongue slips to meet mine and we start a beautiful rhythm. Like we had a hundred times before.

“Mhh Dean.” His hand goes to my pussy. Fingers go straight in. Really, sloshing in.

“So wet already huh?” The fingers pump in but then move more quickly. My body reacted and involuntarily jumped up. His hand steadied me on my hip. It was so sexy that my body shook from excitement.

“Yes yes!” He makes rings around my walls. He makes patterns in me. Rubbing up and down before I know it I’m cuming.

“Shit, I guess it has been a while.” I chuckle. “You're turn Bats.”

I push him to the bed and get on top of him.

“You want slow or fast?” 

“Slow.” 

I pull his pants down and bend to pull his underwear down with my teeth and his shaft springs forward. I start with tiny kitten licks and go up and down mainly focusing on the head. My tongue circled the top like a lollipop. The flavor being sweet and salty. 

“Mhh that’s it Baby you're doing great.” He sighs in deep pleasure.

At that compliant my pussy gets wet again I guess I have a praise kink.

I then suck deeply. And bop my head up and down making sure to get all of it. I then add my hand to it. And I pump the parts I can.

“Ah fuck!” I can tell he’s getting close. I don’t pull off and he comes in my mouth.

“I will never get tired of that.” He smiles happily.

“Thank you, now should we get to the main event of the evening?” I raise my eyebrows up and down.

“Yes, we should.” He goes to pull off the rest of the costume but I stop him. “Wait I've always wanted to do it with Batman.”

“Oh you dirty girl, okay your wish is my command.” He pulls me to him and slides up his shaft to meet my slit.

“Okay, are you ready?” I nod yes.

He slips in very easily.

“Oh that is…”

“Amazing” I finish.

He starts to move at a careful but intentional pace his strokes in me making music with my body. His shaft was hard as a rock making it juts up like it was a ship hitting the shore but in the best way possible. He held me up in a way I would feel every thrust.

“Ohh Dean…” I groaned out. He is fucking sex on legs littery and physically.

“Y/n… fuck…so…good!” He could feel my walls clench around his dick hard he kept pounding and sweat started to pour from both of us making the slick a lot more slideable. 

I grab the sheets in a tight grip to remind myself I wasn’t in heaven even though I felt was pretty close. One of his hands goes up to my nipple to rub it in small circles. His thumb moves over the texture of it and my whole body is in full on stimulation. I moved up my hand to his bicep and his skin was hot. We were both meeting each other in the middle of the thrusts. We were both getting close.

“Dean..” I was breathless.

“Yeah I gotcha Baby okay ready.” I nod yes.

He slows down his thrusts to make sure we can fully chase and enjoy the high. His hand that was on my chest goes to my clit. He makes tiny pets at it.

“Three…Two…One!” Both our bodies exploded together.

He pulls out and flops down next to me in exhaustion. 

“Baby we needed that.” he pulled me in under his arm.

“Definitely, so ready for the next round.” I reached up and brought his face to meet mine.

“Ohh give me like thirty minutes to recuperate I’m not twenty anymore.” I smile at that and give him a sweet kiss truly appreciating that he is here and getting older. Because with his old job, he could of very easily of ended at twenty.

“Dean thank you for my treat best one I’ve ever gotten.” I cuddle in deeper and think “I am so in love with Dean Winchester.”

Thank you for reading! And remember to vote! Also, if you like Buffy the Vampire Slayer, I have a Spike x reader with smut if you're interested!

[punksalmon]

"it's the date night cologne," buck repeats

[whiteredrose13]

AAAAAA, OKAY-- @persephone-s-moon I could not find their updated refs for the life of me, so, woe, busted old concept art be upon ye. (Excuse the wonky proportions, these were done on my phone.)

Shortest rundown I can manage:

Did someone order a tragic throuple with time-travel/reincarnation shenanigans and a side of hurt/comfort/fluff?

Candavata Bhatia: Elven queen, from the kingdom of Sona, and the baddest bitch to ever live. In order to prove herself worthy of holding the crown over her sisters, she needed to channel one of the gods. So, not only did she channel one, she called upon Bijalee, the embodiment of lightning and storms--and the most difficult one to channel due to her wild and hazardous nature. She has been the only person to do so, aside from the First Queen. This earned her the titles of Storm Bringer and Lightning Tamer. She and Qamar are married and have been best friends since childhood. Can you tell I love her?

(Side note: Editing this on my laptop and holy ashy tone, Batman. Hoping it's just my screen because my girl does NOT look like this, I promise--)

Qamar Abn awaa: Werejackal prince, devout cleric of Layl, goddess of the night and medicine, and the definition of the "I'm a healer, but--" meme. He managed to show both great power and promise from an early age when, during a political visit to the Sona royal court, he used his knowledge of anatomy to turn one of Candavata's would-be assassins inside out. This is where he and Candi's marriage was arranged. He is of a generally very sunny disposition, which often makes people underestimate him, as they assume he's useless in serious situations--but, when shit hits the fan, he's the one you want to be next to. (I started designing him when I did not understand how to map out locs or braids. Qamar, my prince, I am so sorry, I swear I will do right by you and fix whatever monstrosity I gave you.)

Vincenzo Virago: Vampire duke. The intersection of an emotionally constipated killing machine and massive nerd failure. He's head over heels for both Candi and Qamar, but he doesn't feel like he can tell them, due to the fact that he views himself as unlovable, both wanting and growing jealous of them. (He is completely oblivious to the fact that they are also in love with him.) He's terrified of turning into his father, but it seems like everything he does only turns him further down that path. He's a warlord. He's a wet cat. He needs therapy.

It's a stable, constant dynamic. You never see one without the other. Where Qamar goes, Candi is right beside him, and Vince is right behind them. Whenever something goes wrong, usually they're at the center of it, all having different roles in the trouble. Candi, the planner, Qamar, the keen lookout, and Vince, the instigator. He keeps the two of them grounded, on their toes, and they do what they can to keep him away from his father. Even after they graduate and take their places in their respective castes, they stay in touch.

The story itself begins at the worst part of their relationship.

At this point, Candavata and Qamar have been married and are tending to their responsibilities as king and queen of their joined empire. Though they try to stay in touch with Vincenzo, it's difficult--and Vince doesn't make it easy, either. Over the years, he becomes withdrawn. He stops answering their letters, he refuses to see them when they come in person, every time. After a while, they stop trying. Not because they don't love him, they do, but there's only so much you can do when a person doesn't want (or doesn't think they deserve) help.

Vincenzo, after years of sitting with the jealousy and battling his father's horrendous treatment, broke. He didn't just spiral, he nose-dived, doubling down on every bit of gossip and rumor, until he's changed and warped into something even he can't recognize. He shuts out Candi and Qamar. Maybe he doesn't want to taint them, maybe he thinks this is how it was meant to go, maybe he can't stand their gentle hands or the pitying look in their eyes. Maybe he just wants the excuse. Whatever it is, Vincenzo becomes a monster, with blood on his hands.

In the end, Candi and Qamar had to be the ones to put him down.

Which is where we get into the time/reincarnation fuckery.

Because, when the pain fades and Vincenzo opens his eyes, expecting to see whatever eternal damnation looks like, he sees his university bedroom. Littered with textbooks and letters from Candi and Qamar, and his graduation robes hanging on the back of the door.

He's got a second chance to go back and unfuck everything, but only time will tell if he'll succeed or end up exactly where he was before.

Something, something, breaking cycles and being open with your loved ones, allowing yourself to be loved by others and yourself, and sometimes men are at their best covered in blood and a little bit pathetic.

(Oh, and, you want a really fun fact? Vince isn't the only one who remembers the original timeline.)

[aroanthy]

being gay and aromantic is wild because people will accuse you of hating gay people because you (checks notes) wish people would be a little more critical of romance as a patriarchal structure. the thing is that rgu literally does this, it examines and interrogates how romance is a patriarchal structure. every time i talk about aromanticism in rgu people get very upset about that, as though aromanticism impedes queerness— i did not realise we were still doing exclusionism so bare faced. every time i talk about aromanticism, people get upset. im not even talking about it in relation to the show, instead making a general throwaway post about the weight that people afford anything that deals in Romance, and i get told that rgu is a romance and i should cry about it. like. what? rgu made me realise i was aromantic. i was already gay and that gave me the final piece of the puzzle.

to be gay and aromantic does not mean you Just Have Friends (? what does this even mean, let’s unpack this statement at a later date): to be gay and aromantic means myriad things for myriad people. it means queer sex, it means queer connections that aren’t defined as ‘romantic’, it means queer attraction, it means queer understanding. nothing about this devalues romantic queerness, though i must say that every time i post about aromanticism someone has to qualify my words with a statement about how romance is cool too. and sure, it is, but you can maybe understand how that’s exhausting when you actually want a meaningful conversation about your identity. anyway aromantic people i love you aromantic people and gay people i love you gay people (i am both. godbless goodnight)

[a-drama-addict]

Finally made the Chloe ref sheet I've been thinking about for a year

[seafoam-taide]

i have so many images and concepts in me. and. they wont. come out

[dogearedheart]

8i've been thinking about the last asks i got today. and i think it's better for me to take a step back from this account. i know the anon didn't mean anything by it, but i still feel like i am being a negative presence on here and weirding people out with who i am is nothing i want. so, i am not deleting or anything. i am just gonna be less present with sharing personal things or leaving tags. I'll probably be more active on my second account where i don't have that many followers :)

[cafecitowriter]

Good news: I actually just put down 1.1K in a WIP that I haven't touched in over three years!

Bad news: this big epiphany scene i just wrote actually just made the plot sooo much more deep and i am not a plot girly (NB) on a good day

[unproduciblesmackdown]

an approach of "everyone inherently deserving to have autonomous choices" as juxtaposed with, fundamentally opposed to even, "a select few entitled to limit others' ability to do so, making themselves more able to choose what happens to other people, enforced through power"

also the way "direct interpersonal exposure to an abusive party is sure like how other interactions in relation to power differentials / no principled approach that everything isn't a hierarchical competition actually, like taking up space, communicating; ft. double standards in favor of the winners" wherein it's like, it's not even just like "being in the haunted house of living with an abuser is like a Metaphor for existing amongst broader power disparities / w/selectively applied (by others) increased vulnerability / at the whims of w/e authority" like, more like a Model. it's the same principle and the same system and the same bullshit, just more confined / a smaller isolated unit of [nuclear household] or [romantic partnership] or w/e interpersonal specific social grouping. been training to recognize "wow just like [a reality of such experiences]" all my life actually

the difference of the possibilities of You Can Choose This versus limitations of arguing to the existing power structure to possibly acknowledge that you Have to [pursue certain option] b/c it's the only way, Objectively, so if only they can be shown this they would allow it....despite this situation not requiring "or you could've just been able to choose to do that freely in the first place" & by extension not requiring [threat to that power structure]

the pressure to [hey. don't unionize] like, the numbers always being against the few at the top, so it's required to have these iterations where other people can prop up this world of Gotta Have Power At Others' Expense by supporting people playing by the rules and keeping others in line; being someone who helps / supports the overall system of oppressive power structure and can enjoy wielding the granted power / being supported/insulated at others' expense / having a sense of entitled authority themselves. while people can be mad at those who are in the same boat / aren't actually wielding that structural power and scapegoat anyone like, well this is why we'll never get treated better by [group / individual in power], you're ruining it / responsible for those choices/actions of those in power....which doesn't challenge that empowered party's ability to choose those actions that are affecting everyone

versus support in the face of vulnerability to that, being what allows people to make choices for themselves / exist more freely. rejecting the idea of "well [person] fucked up so now i won't deign to reward / Not punish everyone after all" as being [person]'s fault; like "well if we all only acted perfectly Deservingly / in just the right way, those in power would have to go 'oh okay everyone can be treated as inherently deserving now :)'" is the answer, when even then, b/c of the power structure putting them In Charge anyways, at most, they simply Could do that and Could graciously rescind that power. and if they don't, oh well, you didn't all do it right after all, assign blame amongst yourselves to stay in continual competition and avoid recognizing that actual improvement requires a different approach where you have to support each other instead of criticizing / blaming / competiting and just hoping there's always someone else to get the brunt of the most negative attention / harmful treatment

thinking of queerness as an expanse of possibility and autonomous choices. versus the limitations of "patriarchal society atomized into nuclear family units" concept of sexuality & gender, Cishet Ideals. existing outside those ideals as being a matter of what people Can do. versus what they Have to do. arguing that the guiding light, the defining principle here should be recognition of people who Have to be gay, for example, as what doesn't really challenge the power structure that requires & reinforces homophobia. while "what if it doesn't matter if people are objectively proven & universally recognized as Having to be gay. what if people Can all choose to do some gay shit regardless, without these choices being limited by their vulnerability to harm, such that Everyone is pushed into [patriarchal nuclear family unit ideals] life." even if you argued everyone ever is straight, actually, the problem is in whether you can define what that means and enforce it on everyone. people who Are straight are harmed and made more vulnerable by patriarchy & the imposition of [your only source of social support is within the isolated nuclear family unit]; Cishet Ideals are also an impossible standard that can also be used to blame anyone, including people who could would consider themselves cishet, for their inevitable failure to live up to them as the reason that [isolation & domination sucks actually] is hurting them. like how cis people also never live up to supposed Cis Gender ideals and are subject to trying to better earn, & objectively prove, their quality as a member of their gender, thus worth, & be under constant scrutiny re: gender & able to be blamed for failing to live up to the ideals. while, of course, the fractalized iterations of power structures means cis people still get to be gender cops at the expense of anyone more vulnerable

language as an art & science, necessarily always evolving & in flux, rather than prescriptive & static. the way that Static Prescriptive approach may be marginally associated with "well this helps Coordinate; streamline; reduce confusion" but Uncertainty is also possibility. Allistic Social Ideals seeming to be about [minimize confusion, streamline, coordinate] in the best light, but also being affected by ableism, and this approach being used to Other people, as enemy &/or lower on the social hierarchy, to be diminished/harmed either way. this being able to be used against any individuals or groups that can thusly be [othered]; ableism also affects everyone: the logic that we don't think we should all support each other / respect autonomy, we're instead all subject to an eternal Meritous test to prove who has the Capacity to Deserve to have more power than some others. ableism also needing to be understood in juxtaposition with / the context of racism; vice versa. the "you Can't" in applied authoritative power being not just [i won't allow it] but [i won't allow it b/c you are literally incapable anyways]....in every power disparity, the empowered supposedly deserve it on a merit that grants them Superior Abilities. e.g. patriarchy requires ableism, women Cannot do the things that men get to do, in their bones & minds & souls they must be shopping; the same logics play out like they do in ableism, patriarchy is only bolstered by "oh well you're good at Other things that I'm not good at :)" which conveniently means in ways still exploited to support those who already have more power while you stay more disposable; acknowledgment of those who "overcome" being disabled, or a woman, to do the thing abled people or men can do, which just means All of you should try harder and then you'd all be equal to us, it's your own fault :) and/or simply taking ideas, recognition, credit from them. even "gotta colonize & subjugate the world, which is good actually b/c it's for jesus" is like, legitimately oh you're welcome for now having The Capacity to go to heaven: but also to justify violence & oppression based on who's Inherently more evil from this christian evangelist perspective, which happens to deserve death or exploitation (work & suffering good for your inner christianness. you're welcome)

white man's burden, how Easy women have it, can't believe 5 cents of my taxpayer money might've gone to a disabled person somewhere to barely live on b/c "see how even Institutionally Recognized As Legitimately(tm) 'Disabled' people are treated?" has to be a threat for all / not display what it could be like to actually support anyone's genuine wellbeing, including their having the support to have more expansive choices in their life, vs just barely hovering over the constant threat of dangerous increased vulnerability....

that those in power will very readily consider themselves Constantly Besieged, Wronged, Threatened By Any & Everyone; versus those actually negatively affected by being low enough on some hierarchy to be harmed & denied autonomy by others with more power being the ones who have to struggle to even stop blaming themselves or at least people who Aren't the ones with that power, who are more likely to cling to "well, it's my fault, and i Can earn my way out of this" narratives....which actually would be a situation in which one theoretically Does have more autonomy; thus more palatable than believing that anything's truly out of your hands / there isn't so simple a solution here / [other person; people] are/were never going to actually start affording you respect as a person

back to the expanse of possibility of language, subjective & in flux & developed by the mutual Effort to (more) successfully communicate....thinking about being autistic and someone talking about how the demands in Trying to be understood verbally means innovating and developing Language thusly. an art and a science. creative and experimentally backed. (also math/science as approaches are also creative / Not the antithesis of art, thanks). thinking of how sure nt (another socially constructed Ideal that doesn't exist to describe reality but to demand everyone just try to stop failing to have earned better / congrats on bringing it upon yourself, you're responsible for my feelings & actions) people might generally approach communication like "??? idk i don't have to regularly have a conscious approach, so i don't. i just Am Normal" versus when your communicative approach, for any various reasons, is Not considered normal, thus not considered ideal, so you Do have to interact with people consciously, Translate for their benefit as best you can. thinking of the idea of Poetry as a work understood to require a third space between two parties: it's not colloquial, the poet is using language in this noncolloquial context to communicate a concept, perchance create a link to an effect they can't invoke with a preexisting word for it, while the reader/listener is understood to likewise have an active role, be consciously trying to not just "correctly" receive the meaning, but explore the possibilities of various, even ongoing, interpretation, in conversation with the poet's efforts and the reality of them as being another person, and also perhaps allowing for the spontaneous mutual discovery of possible meaning for the third space / conversation between speaking and interpretating. (versus artist as authorititative vanguard, communicating something static & definitive that others can only Fail to interpret correctly, which is just like them. lol) like, what's not Poetic, in that sense, about two people bringing mutual conscious effort, flexible interpretation / room for possibility, interest in getting it right not to bolster ego but to have had a more successfully constructive interaction. which could even include the ability to interpret someone's lack of communication in expected ways; their choice not to engage thusly; as anything other than a threat or slight to your supposed entitlement to just that. like i deserve phonecalls over emails or speaking over nonspeaking or even the Guaranteed opportunity to communicate w/anyone when & how i want to, i'm simply being so good faith curious i swear........anyways, i'm not that into reading poems, absolutely not into making them, not in this "literal" sense anyways, but again what's not poetic about just trying to communicate via this Translation all the time. the way i can latch on to phrasings from prose written by people who also write poems, and/or just sure appreciate like the entirety of some essay of theirs, the approach, its execution. anger is a type of geography. when something is ignored, it can do what it likes, sometimes.

everyone always on twitter trying to outrun some [every other day's qrt trend of "what opinion has everyone hate you" tangled meme that is sure like "and apparently you're about to acquiesce" in context but also that everyone Loves to air, actually, hence it being in constant, inescapable distribution] (i don't see it b/c successful curation ig lol). everyone trying to feel like they're more worthy vanguard authoritative Radically Non Cishet than others constantly just going off of vibes, which is to say, probably just going like "but have we considered being more biphobic" or some more tried & true similar [this is the same old shit & the Cishet Ideals are supported by it] takes that are like, "any Unleashed Edgy Freethinking standup comedian man saying shit you'd hear in a mall food court from some rando's uncle" like, we have heard of this actually, but sure you're so brave for suggesting maybe the transgenders have gotten a bit too powerful, except you're saying it in a [but this is totally queer analysis] way....queer analysis Linguistics being like, undoubtedly the favorite [i am become flynn rider swords tangled twitter meme] avenue. this like language revanchism like "this word must be returned to this specific usage" but a) it's never returning it to a way that it actually existed and b) is the prescriptive ossification of our limited preexisting language to discuss queerness, guided by the idea that it'd be bad if it was Too Inclusive, actually the principle we want to operate on here. is indulging in the level of power trip feeling of like tormenting a peer in middle school really your most serious focus and genuine efforts in supporting people's ability to exist as they are

how did the "asexuals can't be queer" stint work out for everyone? the fact that all the arguments also backed every other form of bigotry and abusive logic aside: what were the results, exactly? stuart cishet was thwarted from nefariously entering a queer space & ruining it for all, b/c he no longer had the option to cross the drawbridge by saying he was asexual, right, that was a close one. anyone amused by being like "they hate to see a meboss winning" just limited to not even arguing about "uhh but you're As Good As straight" (a crucial, supportive tool in our history, right) but rather just like....deciding it's about asexuals being cringe or something, and who could easily move on not by actually operating on better principles than "cishet ideals of controlling people's sexuality is: Don't Have Sex, right? which is also the whole of what asexuality describes or entails?" or "what's gained by focusing on making this as exclusive as possible anyways. nonrhetorically. what do you gain or facilitate. what do you lose or preclude." but just like "haha well i've moved on anyways"

your choices re: your sexuality and gender as ones you Can make. with expansive possibility borne of the support as a person that you should get merely by virtue of existing. versus "but i Have to exist like this" as an appeal to the established power structure to perhaps elect to allow Some truly legitimate gays to suffer a little less effects of homophobia. who can in turn be like "ugh, bisexuals CAN seem straight to everyone. so they're ruining it for us truer more legitimately gay people." see: it's still homophobia's fault. see: your sameness is in Wanting something else, being able to Choose something else without fear of the violent enforcement of the demands & requirements of Cishet Ideals. someone who's never had sex / dating deemed Gay Enough isn't "as good as straight." see: it's not that everyone thinks you Can't do gay shit, it's that everyone Knows you can, and that's exactly the problem, violence is required to try to force otherwise, to limit the only option for any support in life to the happy nuclear family existence (for those who deserve even that, versus mere support to someone else's nuclear household). it's not a Problem when people center transness on what you want to do, that you are able to choose to do it, support, a better life than you would have otherwise. or even to say it should be so easy that, yes, someone can Just Say that they're trans. versus the idea that the only legitimate trans people are miserable, wish they were cis, and are going through processes legitimized & controlled by "but are you really trans. do you really deserve it" roadblocks & resistance & required cis approval, and their difficulties & unnecessary infliced pain & vulnerability in doing so? is really the fault of some theoretical teen who wants to say they aren't cis b/c they just feel like it. damn them.

queerness (see: logic of ableism in all these matters) being Suffering, what you're Limited to being by demands outside your control so please recognize this, what you Have to do (you just might be more cishet otherwise, like surely all the bisexuals or transgenders want to be. damn them), a difficult and exclusive experience that is the fault of those in the group themselves: does not challenge the [cishet ideals] including [enforcers of cishet ideals get to choose which gays to begrudgingly recognize, perhaps conditionally / temporarily, to prove to everyone else they might be Worthy too, if they tried harder to deserve it / scrutinized more people in their group for not playing by the rules and appeasing those in power enough]

while, of course, people can think they're the bravest smartest ones / the most suffering more than jesus hated ones for this. biphobia / transphobia being evergreen, while asserting that it's actually being cis gold star gays that's the most oppressed life. accepting the limits of [what Externalized Activities, like defined sexual interactions or gender presentation, are encoded into legal arguments for policing queer people] as indeed what should thus be the boundaries of defining existence outside cishet ideals, and what supports that. the hot trends over the years, i remember circa 2010 "the transes On Here are way out of line expecting way too much. they have to remember they're weird and it's sooo hard (and weird) for us." the blog i unfollowed for accepting a submission about "can't stand trans guys who hate to be misgendered but won't try to seem less feminine." the twitter i unfollowed for rt'ing a take about "can't stand bi ppl who hate to experience biphobia but won't try to seem less straight." the epic trend of "Really respecting trans people means talking over them to tell them they're now equivalent to cis people so stop talking about your experiences otherwise," i can't even trust that nobody ever Didn't take that to its logical conclusion of "straight trans people are as good as cishet." the asexuality exclusion bullshit. eternal "the most legitimate nonbinary people seem androgynous" points that would, in fact, require nonbinary to be defined by, and limit themselves according to, the gender binary & its ideals. trying to cut off the LG from the BT, as has always gone on, including just with the linguistic making shit up like evergreen Flynn Rider Edgy Meme argument about how everyone's trying to steal the word Lesbian from you to just be used Illegitimately, with bonus fallback on the fact of patriarchy. less common but i've sure also seen arguing about Gay being used too willynilly as well and arguing The Rules / pretending that there's never been an overlap with gay men, (cis or trans) women, bisexuals; apparently believing that it also would likewise be Better trying to narrow definitions into something more exclusive when all our language is to create possibilities out of what was logistically unspeakable before. when we've Perfectly Stratified all the vocab and are just standing around, what's the next step that's now more possible because of those efforts? having the LG doesn't enforce the gender binary, unless you're trying to recreate your own version of it, as people in fact always are. "um it's simple. people who are the Truest members get to decide who else are the Gay Women and Gay Men." who gets to draw these lines for everyone else, and why do they get to do it. what would be achieved by embracing Purity concretely, eternally affixed in place; versus fuzziness & expecting flux & future possibilities, where even seeming contradictions just mean there's even more here than you thought. do you Want to be queer and Get to make those choices, or not. what if You are the only True Gay in the world, everyone else is cishet and just pretending and saying they're also gay? you'd still only gain everything by that being possible. if you were the only Real Person and can't know anyone else's interiority is only an illusion: you can only lose everything by acting like you're the only real person. that's how some people already operate as individuals vs everyone else, or a member of the Truest People group vs those beneath them who are ruining paradise. you operate on those principles of being entitled to dehumanize others, you have the power to exploit that

[you can't define Woman in a way that doesn't exclude some women / include things/people that decidedly aren't women] applies for us too b/c The Gender Binary Isn't Real. it's also of course used to serve patriarchy, ableism, racism, all of it. like how we can understand / analyze Everything as political. white supremacy everywhere, all the time. ableism in all of it. every interaction or behavior existing in a medium of Power Relations. how do you define woman. why would your definition get to be imposed on anyone else. would you demand there be a "take the racist ableist misogynist gender binary, but give it a lil Gay spin" situation. is being a woman in required physical traits. in required presentation. required experiences. what's served by being mad at "i'm not a woman but i'm in community with them b/c i have [xyz] traits; [abc] presentation; &/or [qrs] experiences" and using language applied to a group considered Women b/c language tends to assume a strictly defined, Real gender binary. what's served by going "hmm, that's a problem. make this More strictly defined and binary" in response instead of focusing on the connections there and solidarity through [this is all iterations / fractalized areas of the same shit, who has the power to exploit & compound others' vulnerability] [power control abuse]. are you a woman b/c that's how you want to identify? b/c [reasons you don't have to explain, b/c on principle your choices for yourself are respected, no one has the authority to thwart this]? are you a lesbian likewise b/c of your wants & choices? great. the idea our language has ever actually supported clear lines even between gender, a binary that requires Cishet Ideals & all that that demands....? inaccurate, aligned w/bigotry, nonconstructive, unserious.

the twitter i follow of a group who supports incarcerated lgtbq+ people, and how the other year they voted to include cishet ppl w/hiv or aids. the goofs & gags like "queering our marriage b/c i have more flexibility" like yknow, i agree with the least measures that increase support / choices for any women as in fact legitimately contributing to The Queer Agenda more than people trying to make the terms masc & femme into [thee gender binary. but gayer] remix, or complaining about fellow queers who are totally ruining it for everyone else, The Establishment totally would've graciously & benevolently deigned to allow our autonomy (with a "but you're on thin ice" and ability to revoke that at any time, but whatever) until This jerk who's totally as good as cishet Made them choose otherwise for the 9000 zillionth time!!! well i'm going to go laugh at language people are developing to better describe their experiences, realities, wants, & values, b/c i'm obviously more Normal & Deserving than those weirdos. and to keep stuart cishet at bay, this is a huge threat actually so you're welcome that i focus on going "but COULD a cishet person just PRETEND to identify thus" like, yes. yes, they always could. what of it, if everyone could?

tl;dr idk things like "accepting the limitations that you might possibly only be Allowed anything if you can prove you Haaaave to / prove that nobody could possibly miserably force themself through otherwise (you can't)." "accepting the limitations of: wielded authority would always be benevolent & supportive, or even not wielded at all, if not for those among you ruining it for everyone else." that of course it's like "being queer is supposedly miserable so who would choose it? but also we have to prevent people from even having the choice" b/c they Know people would & do make those choices, and you have to enforce [marriage & patriarchy & nuclear family] life even w/cishet people, the power disparity requires constant maintaining & deflection of scrutiny / responsibility focused back on those in power. what would happen if every straight person in the world could just say they're gay. or every cis person could just say they're nonbinary now. great. say tomorrow they miraculously all do: great. the cishet ideals gender binary aren't Real. it's supposed to be so conflated with reality & unquestionable that the term "cishet" isn't supposed to exist; "stop Forcing Labels on me. hypocritical much" / "i don't know what a cisgender is but i know it shouldn't be allowed around children" style. what would happen if everyone could "claim" to be queer. epic. if everyone said they're nonbinary & now the gender binary doesn't exist. hell yes.

"everyone can just say some shit" is always true, you can always question their intentions / meaning, but when you can't prove the interiority of another person, making things Contingent on that only serves to make it impossible: like someone having to prove they're Meritously Good Enough as a person, inherently, and what's withheld / prevented by those in power b/c of it, rather than what we think everyone inherently deserves As a person, and what's provided / made possible by other people as peers b/c of it. what do people Actually Do. what do they Get to do. actions manifest externally, and affect others outside of the self. how have the possibilities & autonomy in our lives, anyone's lives at all, been supported / improved by unserious stances focused on arguing relative authority by people going "watch this. the haters" and getting up on the cross or in the middle of the swords with some linguistic arguing that doesn't think about what supports anyone or challenges existing norms & ideals or reflects reality rather than going "this is my idea of the vibe and some people agree or could be convinced." we've existed before modern terms that classify groups, and we'll have more, different terms to describe experiences and ideas going forward, which is: good. the divisions are already Not Real, how interested are you exactly in your language being like "but i think we could just have different divisions. a different Gender Binary. cishet people Have to be cishet? i'm sure that's real & fine, so: we Have to be Not cishet"

anyways april being autism acceptance month And national poetry month (u.s.)

[ghost-in-the-stalls]

WIP Folder Game

I was tagged by @sagemoderocklee <3

Rules: Make a new post with the names of all the files in your WIP folder, regardless of how non-descriptive or ridiculous. Let people send you an ask with the title that most intrigues them, and then post a little snippet or tell them something about it! Then tag as many people as you have WIPs.

Oof okay here we go. These are literally just named by what the document is called lol you'll see that many of them do not have proper titles unless they've already started being posted to ao3

Also, do outline-onlys count? I'm adding them

Naruto:

[REDACTED ZINE PIECE]

North Star (posted)

Holy Fool Colored Blue/My Sweetest Downfall (technically posted)

I Come With Knives (posted)

It's Disco, Baby! (posted)

Not God, Not Us, But Something Else (posted)

lemon-wedges art fic

tarot story

AFTG:

angstober days 1 2 3

blair witch au

Dawn Won't End the Night (posted)

musician au

Haikyuu!!:

Big Brother Daichi Feel Good Story

daichi fightchi

Jujustu Kaisen:

The Sound We Make Inbetween

yuuta pre zero scene

Ouran High School Host Club:

kyouya horror exercise

kyouya possession

Devilman:

rewrite

I'm..... not ever comfortable tagging people but I'm ESPECIALLY not gonna be able to tag as many people as I have wips lmao sorry.

I'll tag @bananahwormz @nightingaleflow and @uriekukistan (if you guys want to/haven't been tagged already, ofc <3) Everyone else I can think to tag has already been tagged :')