#her own life!!!!! no matter how you feel about it they had that one like about her and lando! there is some form of jumbled emotional

[theonottsbxtch]

MY PEACE | MV1

an: this was a request from a lovely first time requester ( @pinkinternetstarlight )i had so much fun with this except i probably went about this differently than was expected maybe? i don’t know but i hope everyone enjoys it

wc: 1.9k

THE MONACO SKYLINE GLITTERED outside the floor-to-ceiling windows of Max’s apartment, but the man inside couldn’t see it. Not really. He was slumped on the sofa, his head buried in his hands, elbows resting on his knees, still dressed in the sweat-soaked polo and race trousers he hadn’t bothered to peel off since getting home. The hollow thrum of the media circus still echoed in his ears—reporters’ voices, headlines dissecting every moment of his race, every mistake, every edge of aggression they couldn’t wait to sharpen into a weapon.

The living room was dim, the only light a faint glow from the kitchen where she stood, stacking plates from his barely-touched dinner into the dishwasher. He hadn’t asked her to come over; he never had to. She just… knew. She always knew.

She moved with quiet purpose, tying her hair back with a loose band, sleeves rolled up as she made her way around his space—tidying up the chaos he left in his wake. To anyone else, it might have seemed like she was cleaning for the sake of it, but he recognised it for what it was: her way of looking after him, of making sure that when the noise of the world threatened to cave him in, the corners of his life she touched felt a little less sharp.

He glanced up when she wandered back into the room, her bare feet soft against the wooden floor, carrying a folded blanket. She sat beside him without a word, the way she always did, close enough that her shoulder brushed his. Without asking, she unfolded the blanket and draped it over his lap, tucking it in just so.

His breath hitched—he didn’t mean it to, but there it was, like a crack in a dam he spent his whole life patching up. He turned his head slightly, enough to catch the faint scent of her perfume, and for the first time all day, the ache behind his ribs quietened.

“You don’t have to do this,” he murmured, his voice hoarse.

She turned to him, one corner of her mouth lifting in a small, knowing smile. “I know I don’t.”

He let his head fall back, tipping to the side until it came to rest against her lap. His body felt too heavy to hold up anymore, but here—here was lightness. Her fingers slid through his hair, slow and deliberate, untangling the knots the day had left behind.

The monster inside him, the one he kept chained under the weight of the world’s expectations, fell silent.

“Dinner’s in the fridge for tomorrow,” she said softly. “And I’ll stay the night if you want.”

He shut his eyes. He wanted to say he didn’t deserve this—didn’t deserve her—but the words wouldn’t come. All he managed was a nod, and when she leaned back against the cushions, her hands still in his hair, he let himself breathe.

The silence between them stretched on, but it wasn’t heavy. It was soft, the kind that let him loosen the grip on his thoughts, if only a little. He stared at the darkened skyline, the city lights casting faint patterns on the walls, and tried not to get lost in his head. But it was a losing battle. It always was.

The thought crept in before he could stop it. You don’t deserve this. You don’t deserve her.

The words sounded like his own, but the voice behind them wasn’t. It was his father’s, sharp and clipped, laced with that same cold disdain that had haunted his childhood. His dad had always seen her as a weakness, a threat to his focus and discipline. How many times had he warned Max about letting anyone get too close? About “wasting energy” on things that didn’t matter?

And yet, here she was, the only person who’d stayed. The only one who’d made it through the wreckage of his life without turning away.

Her hand was still in his hair, her fingers slow and soothing, but he could feel the faint shift of her breathing as she glanced at the clock on the wall.

���Max,” she said softly, her voice cutting through the noise in his head. “You’ve got a flight tomorrow morning. You should shower and get some sleep.”

He opened his eyes, the weight of the day still pressing down on him, and turned to look at her. “I’ll sleep on the plane,” he mumbled, though he didn’t move.

“Shower first,” she said, firm but kind. “You’ll feel better.”

He didn’t argue. He never could, not with her. With a quiet sigh, he sat up, the blanket slipping to the floor, and dragged himself to his feet. The thought of standing under hot water—letting it wash away the grease and grime and whatever else the day had left on him—wasn’t as bad as he let on.

By the time he stepped into the shower, he could hear her moving about in the kitchen again. He let the water beat against his skin, his hands braced against the tiled wall as the heat loosened the tension in his shoulders. Still, his mind wouldn’t stop replaying the same loop: his dad’s voice, the doubt, the sense of never being enough.

When he finally emerged, towel slung around his waist, the smell of something warm and sweet drifted through the apartment. He found her in the bedroom, already curled up against the pillows, a mug of hot chocolate in her hands. On the bedside table sat another mug—tea, the way she always made it for him, a perfect balance of strong and soothing.

She didn’t look up as he walked in, her nose buried in a book, the soft glow of the bedside lamp making the room feel impossibly safe.

He took the mug and sat on the other side of the bed, cradling it in his hands as the steam curled up around his face. For a while, they didn’t speak. She kept reading, and he let himself lean back against the headboard, the warmth of the tea spreading through him.

It wasn’t until he was ready—until the words that had been choking him all day finally loosened—that he spoke.

“They hate me,” he said quietly, his voice barely more than a rasp.

She looked up from her book, closing it without a hint of impatience, and turned her full attention to him. “Who?”

“Everyone,” he said. “The media. The fans. Hell, even Checo, sometimes.” He laughed bitterly. “They don’t even know me, but they’ve already decided I’m the villain. And the worst part is… I think they’re right.”

Her brows knitted together, and she set her mug down on the table. “Max,” she said, her voice steady, her gaze unflinching, “you’re not a villain.”

He shook his head, staring into his tea. “I don’t know how you can say that. You’ve seen it—how I am on the track, how I am off it. I push people away, I—” He stopped, the words catching in his throat.

“You’re human,” she said simply. “You’re not perfect, but no one is. And everything they say about you? That’s noise. It’s not who you are.”

His hands tightened around the mug, and he looked at her, his expression raw, like he was seeing her for the first time.

“You don’t have to stay, you know,” he said, his voice breaking. “You could’ve left a long time ago. Sometimes I think you should’ve.”

She held his gaze, her eyes calm but fierce. “And sometimes I think you forget that I get to make my own choices,” she said softly. “I’m here because I want to be, Max. Not because I feel sorry for you. Not because you owe me anything. Just because you’re you.”

The weight in his chest shifted, just a fraction, but enough. He didn’t know how to respond to that—not yet—but when she picked up her book again, leaning against his shoulder as if nothing had changed, he let himself close his eyes and breathe.

For tonight, it was enough.

The tea was long forgotten on the bedside table, the room quiet save for the faint rustle of her turning a page and the soft hum of the city beyond the windows. Max shifted under the duvet, his body still heavy with exhaustion, but the ache behind his ribs had eased, just enough to let him breathe.

She lay beside him, her book propped against her knees, the light from the lamp catching the soft curve of her face. He watched her out of the corner of his eye, trying to ignore the pang of something sharp and unfamiliar blooming in his chest. It wasn’t the first time he’d felt it, but tonight it seemed impossible to ignore.

He adjusted his pillow and turned on his side, facing her. “You’re going to read all night, aren’t you?” he asked, his voice low, teasing.

She glanced at him, a small smile tugging at her lips. “Not if you need to sleep.”

“I always need sleep is what you say, no?.”

She laughed softly, her head tipping to the side as she closed her book, slipping it onto the nightstand. “Alright, I’m done.” She reached over and turned off the lamp, plunging the room into comfortable darkness.

He shifted closer instinctively, the warmth of her presence drawing him in. They’d done this a hundred times before—falling asleep in the same bed, his arm slung over her waist or her head tucked against his chest—but tonight felt different. The space between them was charged with something unspoken, a tension he didn’t have the courage to name.

She settled into the pillows, her back facing him, and he hesitated for a moment before closing the distance. His arm slid around her waist, pulling her closer, and she melted into him without a second thought.

“Goodnight, Max,” she murmured, her voice soft and drowsy.

He rested his chin lightly against the top of her head, inhaling the familiar scent of her shampoo. “Goodnight,” he said, though his mind was far from quiet.

The weight of the day, the weight of everything, seemed to dissipate as he held her. She didn’t demand anything of him, didn’t ask him to explain himself or prove that he was more than what the world saw. She just… was. And somehow, that was enough to quiet the storm inside him.

His eyes fluttered shut, the warmth of her body lulling him into something close to peace. And before he could stop himself, the words slipped out, barely more than a whisper, lost to the dark.

“I love you.”

She didn’t stir. Didn’t react.

For a moment, panic flared in his chest—what if she’d heard him? What if she didn’t feel the same? But as her breathing deepened, slow and steady in the quiet of the room, he realised she was already asleep.

Relief swept over him, and he tightened his hold on her just a fraction, burying his face in her hair. It was better this way, he told himself. She didn’t need to know. He didn’t need to ruin what they had, didn’t need to drag her into the mess of his life any more than she already was.

For tonight, it was enough to hold her. To let the monster in him fall silent, just for a little while.

And as sleep finally pulled him under, he couldn’t help but hope—just a little—that maybe someday, he’d find the courage to say it again.

the end.

taglist: @alexisquinnlee-bc @carlossainzapologist @oikarma @obxstiles @verstappenf1lecccc @hzstry8 @dying-inside-but-its-classy @anamiad00msday @linnygirl09 @mastermindbaby

[heavenorhella2001]

This had never occurred to me way back when when I first watched playthroughs of the game/played it myself, but;

Seeing this post made me remember Max's nightmare, when she was trapped in her own mind/a broken version of reality.

And seeing this now?

Max definitely has PTSD.

Everyone always primarily discusses/ focuses on Chloe's trauma (which is understandable. I'll always be a Chloe defender and don't want to downplay her trauma by any means.)

But, unfortunately, Max's is overlooked.

Now, a lot of people might view this skeptically, question the idea of Max having PTSD. To many, it might seem like Max doesn't really have any lasting form of major trauma after the events of the game. Maybe she really was content and at peace and happy-go-lucky. (I've always scoffed at that scene at Chloe's funeral, when Max smiles at the butterfly.) And I'll admit, within the context of the story maybe we aren't supposed to think so. But if that's the case I just have to assume that's due to the developing team's lack of knowledge, experience with mental health and how it works, the impact things like this have on someone. Not that they are coming from a malicious place, of course. But very rarely does a person 'get it' unless they've been through it themselves. The average person simply won't understand.

But if you see everything I've described here as it's laid out, it makes total sense;

Let's talk about Jefferson. He is just one of many elements in the game contributing to Max's trauma. He was her teacher, someone she looked up to, respected, and was supposed to be able to trust. She truly felt safe around him. It's implied she had a crush on him. But her image of him completely shattered. After the truth about him was revealed, she was no longer able to trust her own judgement of people, her perception of reality.

He drugged her when she was vulnerable, and she was helpless to watch as he shot and killed the love of her life right in front of her. He kidnapped her, and she was thrown from the frying pan right into the fire. When she woke up she was tied up in a basement, helpless, and he had burned all her photos. Not only precious memories, but also one of her only means of going back and fixing things. He then took photos of her, over and over, this went on for who knows how long, while she was drugged, tied up and helpless, in order to satisfy his own perversions. Throughout, he mocked and tormented her.

Then, let's go into what happened with Chloe. Having to watch her best friend, the girl she loved, die over and over and over again. Max felt responsible for fixing it, preventing it, because she was the only one who possibly could. She would blame herself, think of it as a failure on her part each time Chloe died.

After watching her die in various ways, so many times, I'm sure Max questioned if she really even could save Chloe- or if Chloe was supposed to die from the start, and the universe was determined to restore the balance, no matter what Max did or how hard she tried.

And then there's Kate. This could go one of two ways depending on your choices, one of which is infinitely worse and more traumatizing, but either way it would definitely have haunted Max and left an impact on her.

Imagine how you would feel, knowing one of your closest friends was being bullied. Knowing they have been drunk/drugged and taken advantage of at a party. Yet instead of anyone coming forward, doing the right thing and helping Kate out of that situation, everyone at the party instead weaponized it, used it against her, slut-shamed her even though she wasn't in her right mind, was barely even conscious and was in no way able to consent to anything that was happening. Not that slut-shaming her would have in any way been okay or excusable even if Kate was acting of her own volition. Knowing that, even though you don't agree/don't identify with that, that your friend is deeply religious and clings to faith as a means of comfort. Knowing that she feels like a failure, that she feels like she's betrayed her faith, everything she stands for, and her family, even though she was in fact a victim in her situation. Being able to read letters, watching her family victim-blame her, hide behind their beliefs as a means to tear down someone they should feel obligated to protect, to support. Watching your friend be alienated by everyone around her, including her own family. Watching the school bullies write obscenities about your friend on the walls, and in the bathroom, make jabs at her and taunt her at every possible opportunity. Your friend's light has begun to dim, she starts pulling away from you, begins hiding away in her room more, which now feels like a dark, oppresive void. You know your friend is depressed, and you're trying to be supportive in any way you can, but there's a distance building between you you feel you can't bridge.

Then it happens. She kills herself/tries to kill herself. In front of you, and everyone who tormented her. Even then, the people who hurt her have no shame, laughing and recording her when she's in crisis. You begin to question and blame yourself, blaming youself for not noticing something was severely wrong earlier, not recognizing the impending signs for what they were. You want to help your friend, to save her, but your powers at failing you at the worst possible time. You only get one chance to do this, like everyone else, and you have to do it the right way.

If Max managed to talk Kate down, that's still an instense emotional weight, still a serious event to work through and process.

If Kate jumps…well…

Max feels like a failure. Like she contributed to Kate's death just as much as everyone else. Like she may as well have pushed Kate off that ledge herself. Not only watching your friend die in front of you, but knowing that it was self-inflicted in a moment of desperation, that they chose to do so and your words had no effect…

Now, the end of the game. Depending on what you choose, Max either has to to feel an immeasurable weight on her conscience, the responsibility for the destruction of the town where she was born. Where she grew up. Where she has countless memories, despite its' faults. The deaths of almost everyone there she's ever known.

Including (especially) Joyce.

The guilt of feeling like she took Chloe's mom away from her too, after Chloe had already lost her dad.

Oh. And that reminds me.

It was an incredible miracle, Max discovering her ability to go back through time via photos. Being able to go back 5 years, to when she and Chloe were only 13, before all the horror had happened, and save William. The sense of sheer relief, happiness and accomplishment she felt. She felt like a hero.

Only for it to all blow up in her face in the worst possible way.

Seeing Chloe, now a total shell of her former self. Completely disabled, and paralyzed. Helpless. Unable to live on her own. Seeing firsthand the emotional and financial stress William and Joyce are going through as a result of the accident. Chloe having so little quality of life that she pleads with Max to kill her, because she can't even do it herself.

(This is not my narrative or opinion on Chloe's situation, by the way. This is how it's portrayed. Quality of life, determining whether your life is worth living to due a life-changing accident or consequent disability is the choice of the invidual whom it effects. I'm not saying that anyone in Chloe's situation, who is paralyzed would inherently have no quality of life or no reason to live. That really depends on the invidiual, what that person needs in order to truly live and thrive, whether that person has family and friends and an emotional/practical support system in their life, etc. For Chloe, for me, and for many other people, though not all, living that kind of life would not be worth it.)

Max, depending on your choices, having to kill Chloe, to choose the merciful path, allow Chloe to exercise her autonomy in a world in which she can no longer do so and put her out of her misery. Knowing that she's doing for Chloe what she'd want someone to do for her if she were in that situation, yet still full of pain and regrets.

Max then having to go back and undo it all. Allow William to die again. Watch Chloe experience that horror and trauma again, knowing now she could've prevented it. But at what cost?

Lastly, if you chose to let Chloe go. To let her die.

That makes it immeasurably worse in my opinion.

The week she and Chloe spent together, reconnecting and rebulding their friendship, everything they went through together, would essentially never have happened.

Chloe, in this timeline, died alone in a bathroom. She never recieved any sort of closure, never got to know what happened to Rachel, questioning if Rachel perhaps just abandoned her, similarly to how Max did.

She never got to resolve things with Max, never heard from her again. She never got to know that Max still loved her, still cared about her and thought of her, but was too scared and guilty to reach out.

She never got to patch up things with her mom, or with David.

Everything Max went through. Everything she experienced.

To recap:

Having to watch her best friend, the woman she loves, die over and over again, feeling helpless, trapped in this endless, hellish cycle of death.

Being lulled into a false sense of security, betrayed and abducted by someone she thought she could trust, someone she looked up to.

Witnessing firsthand Kate's suicide/attempt, feeling like she failed her.

Being forced to let William die again, and force Joyce and Chloe to suffer that loss again.

Having to watch Joyce mourn her only daughter, after already losing her husband. Knowing she could've prevented it.

Everything that happened would still exist, but only in Max's mind.

She has no one she could ever confide in, talk to, or open up about it.

Chloe, for her, was that person.

No one would believe her, albeit understandably.

It's implied her powers vanish after she goes back that final time to let Chloe die.

She'd have no way to prove her story was true.

Carrying the weight of that burden, that knowledge and trauma, alone, would drive anyone insane.

Feeling like everything she went through, all the efforts she made to keep Chloe alive, were pointless.

I don't believe there is any way Max could be okay after that.

She'd be a hollow shell, just going through the motions. Totally disconnected from the world and the people around her. (Understandably. Who the hell could she connect to? Who would understand her?) Everyone at Blackwell, and their student lives and petty drama would feel so insignificant. So incredibly stupid and shallow to Max after what she's been through.

In fact, I've always felt - years after the events of the game, were you to choose to let Chloe die - that Max likely killed herself.

Over time, she probably began to question herself, to feel crazy, and begin wondering whether any of what happened, actually did, or if it was just something her mind created.

Max's trauma, her thoughts and emotions in regards to all of this are reflected in this part of the game, her mental breakdown. You can see her self-loathing, the way she blames and criticizes herself, in her interactions with herself and in her distorted journal entries.

Anyway. I never really liked Max all that much as a protagonist.

I thought she was a pushover, a little shallow, cared too much about what people like Victoria thought of her. I thought it was pretty unforgivable the way she ghosted Chloe, at the most traumatic, formative time of Chloe's life, when she had just lost the most important person in her life, besides Max. I understand anxiety, feeling awkward, helpless and flailing in that situation and not knowing what to say or do to make it better, but it just doesn't matter to me. Nothing excuses that.

However…

Max, did ultimately (well, depending on your choice at the ending,) make it right.

This has given me some perspective, and I have a lot more empathy for her now.

     you thought you could control everybody and everything, huh?      —   twist time around your fingers?

[neferaskingdom]

♡ What's Me Without You? | MV1

NEFERASKINGDOM

Summary: She’s his forbidden fruit—the one thing Max can never have but can’t stay away from. She’s his calm in the chaos, his greatest temptation, and the silent ache he’ll carry for the rest of his life.

A/N: This story was requested by @pinkinternetstarlight

MAX VERSTAPPEN MASTERLIST | MAIN MASTERLIST

Max Verstappen wasn’t sure when the ache in his chest had become a constant companion, a dull, hollow reminder of all he wanted but could never have. Maybe it had always been there, buried beneath the layers of fame, pressure, and expectation. Or maybe it had grown over time, with every laugh that escaped Y/n’s lips, with every soft touch of her hand on his arm, with every time she smiled at him like he was her whole world.

He didn’t deserve her. He never had.

Yet, she was always there, unwavering in her support, her loyalty, her love—though she would never admit it. Y/n wasn’t just his best friend. She was his home, the only person who saw every crack in his armor and stayed anyway.

Max leaned back against the couch, his head resting on her lap as her fingers combed gently through his hair. Her touch was soothing, her presence grounding him in a way no one else could. The silence between them wasn’t awkward; it was familiar, comforting. It was the kind of quiet that reminded him he wasn’t alone.

But even now, even with her hand softly stroking his head and her scent surrounding him, guilt gnawed at the edges of his mind.

He’d had a terrible race—another mechanical failure, another DNF that left him simmering with frustration. When he’d finally returned to his hotel room, all he wanted was her. Not Kelly, who was waiting for him back in Monaco with Penelope, but Y/n. It wasn’t right, and he knew it, but Y/n was the only one who could put him back together when he felt like he was falling apart.

“I came as soon as I could,” she whispered, her voice soft and laced with worry.

She always did.

It didn’t matter where in the world he was. It didn’t matter what she had going on. If he needed her, she came. She’d dropped everything to be here tonight, flying across time zones and leaving behind her own life to hold him in her arms.

Max closed his eyes, breathing her in. He could feel the tension in her body as she sat rigid beneath him, her free hand resting lightly on his shoulder. She was worried about him—she always worried about him.

“You didn’t have to come,” he murmured, though they both knew it was a lie. He didn’t know how to survive these nights without her anymore.

“Don’t be stupid,” she replied, her voice soft but firm. “Of course I had to come. You’re—” She paused, swallowing hard. “You’re my best friend.”

Max’s eyes fluttered open as her hand stilled in his hair. He shifted slightly, pressing his face into her neck, seeking the comfort he couldn’t find anywhere else.

Her skin was warm against his cheek, her pulse steady and reassuring. He felt safe here, in her arms, in her presence. But the safety came with a tinge of guilt, a bitter reminder that this wasn’t where he should be.

But Kelly didn’t understand.

Max could see it in the way her lips pressed together whenever Y/n’s name came up, the way her smile tightened whenever Y/n walked into the room. She never said anything outright, but the tension was there, simmering beneath the surface.

It didn’t matter.

Max knew where his loyalty lay. Y/n had been there long before Kelly, long before anyone. She was the reason he kept going some days, the only person who truly understood the toll this life took on him. Kelly might not like it, but even she couldn’t deny it—Max needed Y/n in a way he would never need anyone else.

He tried to make it work with Kelly, for Penelope’s sake if nothing else. He liked Kelly—she was kind and understanding in her own way, and he adored Penelope. But it wasn’t the same. It never could be.

Kelly had confronted him about it once, in the early days of their relationship.

“She loves you,” she had said, her voice calm but cutting.

Max had frozen, unsure how to respond. He didn’t deny it. How could he? Y/n’s love was written in every small thing she did for him, in every sacrifice she made, in every time she dropped everything to be by his side.

“And you love her,” Kelly had continued, her eyes hard but resigned.

He didn’t deny that, either.

But Kelly had never brought it up again. She knew better.

Because as much as she hated it, as much as it hurt her, she knew that if something happened Max would always choose Y/n. 

Max shifted on the couch, his voice breaking the silence. “Do you ever think about what it would be like? If things were different?”

Y/n’s hand stilled in his hair, her fingers hovering for a moment before resuming their gentle strokes.

“Different how?” she asked softly, her voice careful, cautious.

Max hesitated, his heart pounding. He didn’t know why he had said it, why he was opening this door. But the words were out now, and there was no taking them back.

“Us,” he said quietly. “If we were...different.”

Y/n was silent for a long time, and Max felt his chest tighten, the weight of her unspoken words pressing down on him.

“Don’t,” she whispered finally, her voice trembling. “Don’t say things like that, Max.”

He remembered the first time she had cried in front of him. They had been teenagers, sitting in his room after a long day.

“No one likes me,” she had said, her voice thick with tears. “I’m ugly, and I’m boring, and no one wants to be with me.”

Max had been furious—not at her, but at the world for making her feel this way. He had held her as she cried, whispering reassurances into her hair.

“You’re beautiful,” he had told her, his voice firm. “And anyone who doesn’t see that is an idiot.”

She had sniffled, pulling back to look at him with watery eyes. “You’re just saying that.”

“I’m not,” he had said, his hands on her shoulders. “You’re amazing, Y/n. And if some guy doesn’t see that, then he’s not worth your time.”

He meant it. He always had.

But Max couldn’t help but feel guilty. After all, it was his fault she was crying in the first place.

He knew he had chased away every boy who had shown an interest in her. He hadn’t meant to, not at first. But the thought of her with someone else, of her giving her heart to someone who wasn’t him, was unbearable.

So he had intervened, subtly at first, then more overtly as time went on. He didn’t regret it, even when she cried on his shoulder, wondering why no one stayed.

He couldn’t tell her the truth, couldn’t admit that he was the reason.

Because Max Verstappen was a selfish man. And he couldn’t let a bit of guilt stop him from protecting her.

Max’s fists clenched as he watched Y/n laugh with the guy at the bar. Her smile was radiant, and for a moment, Max forgot how to breathe.

Then the guy leaned closer, and Max saw red.

“You okay?” Y/n asked when Max stalked over, her brows knitting in concern.

“Fine,” he said tightly, his gaze flicking to the guy. “Who’s this?”

The guy opened his mouth to respond, but Max cut him off. “You should go.”

“Max!” Y/n hissed, her eyes widening.

The guy frowned but quickly walked away, muttering something under his breath.

“What the hell was that?” Y/n demanded, crossing her arms.

“He was bothering you,” Max said, his jaw clenching.

“He wasn’t bothering me,” she snapped. “He was nice. And now he thinks I’m some helpless girl with an overprotective brother.”

Max flinched at the word brother. “I was just looking out for you.”

“I don’t need you to scare off every guy I talk to!” she said, her voice rising.

Max looked away, guilt twisting in his stomach. “I’m sorry,” he muttered.

Y/n sighed, her expression softening. “Just...let me handle it next time, okay?”

“Okay,” he said quietly, though he knew there wouldn’t be a next time.

Because no one would ever be good enough for her.

Max remembered the night he realized he was in love with her.

They had been eighteen, sitting on the hood of his car under a blanket of stars. It was one of the rare nights he wasn’t on the road, and she had insisted on taking him out to the middle of nowhere to remind him what quiet felt like.

“Do you ever think about the future?” she had asked, her voice soft and wistful.

“Sometimes,” he had admitted, though the future was always a blur to him—races, championships, the never-ending grind.

“I think about it all the time,” she had said, her eyes shining as she looked at the sky. “Where we’ll be, what we’ll be doing...if we’ll still be here together.”

“Of course we will,” he had said without hesitation.

She had smiled then, the kind of smile that made his heart ache, and he realized in that moment that he wanted to see that smile every day for the rest of his life.

But he had been too afraid to say anything, too afraid to ruin what they had. And as the years passed, that fear only grew.

Max didn’t deserve her, but that didn’t stop him from wanting her.

He wanted her laugh, her touch, her presence in every corner of his life. He wanted to wake up to her sleepy smile and fall asleep with her head on his chest. He wanted to tell her how much she meant to him, how much he loved her, how he would give anything to be the man she deserved.

But he couldn’t.

Because she deserved better.

And so he kept his feelings locked away, hidden beneath layers of unspoken words and longing glances.

There were moments when he thought about what it would be like to be with her, really be with her.

He thought about holding her hand in public, about introducing her as his girlfriend instead of his best friend. He thought about what it would be like to kiss her, to wake up beside her, to call her his.

But then the doubts crept in, the fear that he would ruin her, that his demons would drag her down with him.

She was too good for him, too pure, too kind. Those thoughts were dangerous, and Max knew better than to indulge them.

Max shifted on the couch, pulling back to look at her.

“Thank you,” he said softly, his voice rough with emotion.

She frowned, tilting her head. “For what?”

“For everything,” he said, his eyes searching hers. “For always being here. For putting up with me. For...everything.”

She smiled, and it was like the sun breaking through the clouds. “You don’t have to thank me, Max. You know I’d do anything for you.”

And that was the problem.

She would do anything for him, and he would let her, even though he knew he didn’t deserve it.

Max didn’t sleep that night.

He never could when the weight of his emotions threatened to suffocate him, and tonight, it felt heavier than ever. He stayed where he was, his shoulder stiff but unwilling to move and disturb her peaceful slumber. Y/n deserved her rest—she had flown halfway across the world just for him. She always did.

The next morning, Y/n was awake before him, bustling quietly around the small hotel room. Max cracked his eyes open, watching her from where he lay. She had always been a morning person, though he didn’t know how she managed it after such long flights and sleepless nights.

“Good morning,” she said softly, noticing his gaze.

Her voice was warm, soothing, and it wrapped around him like a blanket.

“Morning,” he replied, his voice thick with sleep.

Y/n walked over, holding out a cup of coffee. Max took it gratefully, his fingers brushing against hers. The touch was brief but enough to send a spark up his arm, one he tried desperately to ignore.

“Feeling better?” she asked, sitting down beside him.

He nodded, though it was a lie. He felt worse, if anything, but he wouldn’t tell her that. He couldn’t.

“You didn’t have to stay,” he said quietly, staring into his coffee.

“I wanted to,” she replied, her tone leaving no room for argument.

Max turned to look at her, his chest tightening at the sight of her soft smile. She always looked at him like that, like he was the most important person in her world. And maybe he was.

The rest of the day passed in a blur. Max had meetings and obligations, and Y/n trailed behind him, her presence quiet but comforting.

It wasn’t until they returned to his hotel room that evening that the tension in his chest began to ease.

Y/n curled up on the couch, her legs tucked beneath her as she scrolled through her phone. Max sat beside her, close enough that their shoulders touched. He could feel the warmth radiating from her, and it was enough to make his heart ache.

“I should head back tomorrow,” she said after a while, her voice hesitant.

Max’s stomach twisted at the thought. He didn’t want her to leave—not yet, not ever—but he knew he couldn’t ask her to stay.

“Do you have to?” he asked, his voice quieter than he intended.

Y/n turned to look at him, her eyes soft. “I’ve been gone from work too long already, Max. I can’t keep disappearing every time you need me.”

The words weren’t meant to hurt, but they did.

“I know,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. “But I’ll miss you.”

Her expression softened further, and she reached out, her hand resting gently on his. “I’ll miss you too.”

Max didn’t want to let her go, but the next morning, he found himself standing in the lobby, watching as she prepared to leave.

“Call me if you need anything,” she said, her voice firm. “I mean it, Max.”

“I will,” he promised, though they both knew he hated calling her. He hated being a burden, hated pulling her away from her life.

She hugged him tightly, her arms wrapped around his neck. Max held her just as tightly, his hands resting on her back.

“Take care of yourself, okay?” she whispered.

He nodded, though he wasn’t sure he knew how to without her.

Back in Monaco, Kelly was waiting for him. She greeted him with a kiss, and Penelope ran into his arms, her laughter filling the room.

It should have been enough.

And in a way, it was. Max loved Penelope, and he cared for Kelly. But it wasn’t the same. It would never be the same.

That night, as he lay in bed beside Kelly, his mind wandered to Y/n. He wondered what she was doing, if she was thinking about him the way he was thinking about her.

Kelly shifted beside him, her arm draping over his chest. Max stiffened, guilt washing over him.

He wasn’t a cheater, but sometimes, it felt like he was. Max loved Kelly in his own way, but it wasn’t the kind of love that consumed him. It wasn’t the kind of love that made his chest ache and his heart race.

That kind of love was reserved for Y/n, and he knew it always would be.

As long as she was happy, he would endure the ache.

Because she deserved better than him.

And Max Verstappen would rather break his own heart a thousand times than let anyone break hers.

[guiltyc0nscience]

⋆˙⟡ lacy, oh, lacy, matt sturniolo

ex!matt sturniolo x ex!fem reader

synopsis. in which your ex boyfriend matt gets a new girlfriend and you envy her.

warnings. angst, self comparison, ex!matt, jealousy.

word count. 700 words.

authors note. this is my fav song on guts :(

you were scrolling mindlessly through instagram, half-distracted by the show playing in the background, when it hits you like a punch in the gut.

matt’s name.

you almost swipe past it, the little blue checkmark drawing your attention before your brain has time to catch up. the first photo in the carousel is enough to make your chest tighten; matt’s unmistakable smile, wild and carefree, his arm slung casually around the waist of a girl who is undeniably beautiful.

she’s perfect in a way that feels cruel. her hair is shiny and soft, her skin glowing like she exists in some perpetually golden hour. she’s wearing a baby pink skirt and a white tank top, that made you second-guess every piece of clothing you ever owned. and matt—he’s looking at her like she’s the only thing that matters, his gaze full of that rare blend of comfort and adoration that used to be reserved for you.

your fingers hovered over the screen, but the curiosity wins. you click on her profile—never a good idea.

her name is lacy, a name as delicate and ethereal as she looks. her bio is full of cute emojis, and her feed is an endless stream of photos that make her seem both unreachable heartbreakingly real. there are candids of her laughing with friends, aesthetic shots of iced-lattes and sunsets, flawless photos of her, and of course, more pictures of her with matt.

each photo was a dagger.

you scroll further, unable to stop yourself. there’s a photo of her in a bikini that hugged her perfect body in all the right ways, standing on the beach, her arms wrapped around matt as he leans down to kiss her forehead. the stunning sunset in the background really setting the scene.

you hate her. you hate how easily she seems to slot into the life that used to be yours. you hate the way she seems so effortlessly happy, like she’s never had to sit in her room crying after seeing someone else post photos like this. most of all, you hate how much she reminds you of everything you’re not.

lacy was kind. you could tell by the way people commented under her posts, by the stories where she’s tagged with the captions like “the sweetest person alive” and “my literal angel.” she’s funny, too, with captions that actually made you laugh even though you resented her for it. and then there’s the way she looks at matt in every picture. it’s the kind of look you recognised because it used to be yours.

and matt—he’s happy. he looks like he’s found the thing he’s been searching for.

it feels like a slap in the face.

you tell yourself to stop. to close the app, put your phone down, and do literally anything else. but instead, you go back to his post, lingering on the comment section. the flood of heart emojis and “you two are perfect” messages like tiny arrows, each one reminding you that this is his life now.

he doesn’t think about you anymore.

the realisation hits harder than you expect. it’s not like you thought he was still pining for you, but seeing it laid out in front of you—proof that he’s moved on, that he’s happy—makes your stomach churn.

you close instagram and toss your phone onto your bed next to you, but the damage is done. lacy is burned into your mind now, an image you can’t shake. you think about her at random moments, comparing yourself to her in ways that feel pathetic but impossible to stop.

would matt have loved you more if you’d been more like her? if you’d laughed more or dressed better or been softer around the edges?

you hate how much you care.

it’s not just jealousy—it’s grief. for what you had with matt, for the person you were when you were with him. for the version of you that thought she was enough.

you try to tell yourself it’s just a passing feeling, that in a few days this ache will dull into something manageable. but tonight, it’s sharp and all-consuming, and it’s hard not to feel like lacy has taken more than matt from you.

she’s taken the version of yourself that felt loved.

and you can’t stop wondering if you’ll ever get her back.

[nmakii]

christmas kids

about him, who was also born on december 25th. i used to spot your face in every crowd, now i can’t even remember your smile.

— kaiser hates celebrating his birthday. no exceptions; not even for you.

cw: mentions of kaiser’s backstory, gesner being vulgar (im his biggest fan), kaiser is a meany pants, self deprecation

parties like these were a pain. kaiser stood beside his drunken teammates, while ‘all i want for christmas is you’ by mariah carey blasted for the 6th time on loop. it was disgustingly corny how he’d have to act as if he gives a damn to celebrate christmas with his co-workers. if the club owner for bastard münchen hadn’t required attendance for this party, he would’ve definitely skipped it.

to be entirely honest, he never even saw the point of celebrating december 25th. every year, the streets of berlin would be glowing with festive lights, and the halls of cathedrals would loudly ring their church bells.

but in kaiser’s dark corner of hell, his father would beat the life out of him. more so than usual— his eyes would bruise purple for weeks, and his nose wouldn’t stop the stream of red that would bleed all over his ragged clothes.

kaiser had learned from a young age, his birthday wasn’t something that should be celebrated, or even acknowledged. it was the day his scummy mother abandoned his even scummier father; it was the day trash was born. how could such an occasion even be celebrated?

with his birthday being public knowledge though, he doesn’t exactly have a choice on if he wants to celebrate it or not.

as clock struck midnight, everyone yelled out christmas greetings and wishes of good will, as well as greetings for kaiser, now a year older.

“woo! happy birthday, asshat! you’re 19!” gesner, incredibly drunk, slurs to kaiser. “a year closer to your death… in the end, we’re all just waiting for the day we never open our eyes again… oh, this is just too sad…” grim shudders, falling to the ground.

birkenstock pulls grim off the floor, and the team gathers around and very off tunely sings happy birthday to kaiser, while ness struggles to light the candle placed on top of the leftover pizza, yet to be finished.

“…happy birthday to you!” they cheer. “make a wish, kaiser.” ness smiles, holding the box.

‘what do i want..?’ he asks himself. he already has a lot more than he’s ever wanted; a comfortable home, decent company— asking for anything else would just seem… wrong.

the candle gleamed a burning red, its’ shine reflecting on kaiser’s face. the hot flames on his face, and he suddenly realizes what he wants— to be human.

that’s all he’s wanted for the longest time, why should he wish for anything else?

he blows out the candle, and they clap. “you guys didn’t need to do anything, i didn’t want to celebrate my birthday.” he lightly reprimanded. ness frowns, he was the one who had wanted surprise kaiser in the first place.

but, gesner boos at his pessimism. “don’t be a jerk, dick cheese! just accept it!” he roughly slaps kaiser on his back, kicking all the air out of his lungs. “oof..!” he coughs. “g..guh… are you sure you’re a football player? you slap so hard, you’re better suited to volleyball.”

gesner scoffs, and goes off on his rant about kaiser’s narcissism.

‘this environment… it’s hostile but, i’m still in control. this… isn’t that bad.’ kaiser thinks to himself. he doesn’t receive their goodwill; he forces it out of them, and they respond with their own form of resistance. yet, they still pass to him, no matter what. because, he’s the one in charge of this team.

“…and, you keep showing off that pretty thing you’re leaving on the hook. she could totally do better than that ‘will they, won’t they?’ situationship of your’s! seriously makes me feel bad for her…”

…kaiser wasn’t exactly sure what brought gesner to bring you up. but, bringing up your… relationship, was a bit of a sour spot for him.

he wanted to love you, you were someone he wanted to stick around for a while. you were kind, almost heaven-sent. something about you that would make him keep coming back. maybe it was the way you’d wake up early with him and make breakfast together, or the way you’d sass him and put him in his place when he was being an asshole. but, he couldn’t make up his mind on whether or not he should tear down those walls he’s built, and start over for you.

kaiser was used to restrictive environments, he thrived in discomfort. but, being vulnerable simply made his skin crawl with disgust. if it was for someone for you though… maybe he could try it. were you really worth it?

…he thinks you could be.

“it’s not a situationship, we’re just hanging out.” kaiser rolls his eyes, taking a sip of his mocktail. “plus, don’t you already have a girl you’re torturing?” he condescends.

thankfully, the party goes on without a fight starting, or kaiser’s birthday being mentioned anymore further.

and by the time kaiser arrives home, it’s already 2:30. he opens the door into his penthouse apartment.

the light is on.

he’s sure he didn’t leave the light on when he had left, there’s only one other explanation.

“s/o?” he called out.

you probably used the spare key for his apartment he gave you after much more frequent visits. did you think he was home?

“ah, hey!” you finally noticed his presence, waving hello. kaiser still had a suspicious glare on his face, his malice evident simply by his tone. “what are you doing here?”

“it’s your birthday!”

“so?”

“so, it has to be celebrated..! it was the day you were born after all.” you brainlessly informed him.

“i don’t celebrate it.” he sighs as he finally shuts the front door, dropping all his belongings on the console table.

“it’s the same day as christmas. it’s a hassle to celebrate two things.” he says the same excuse he’s used millions of times before but today, his act was getting sloppy. it’s clear by his sullen eyes that it’s more than just because it’s a hassle.

“uhuh… well, i made you a cake!”you urge him to come over. of course, it was a box set cake, but you still put tons of effort into decorating it!

what does he do? he wasn’t exactly sure on how to accept gifts in general. he passed through the narrow hall, and into the dining area.

he stared at the cake— it’s frosted in white french buttercream and its’ edges are piped blue with a french star tip. ‘happy birthday mikka’, it reads.

mikka… that isn’t a nickname that you’ve called him before. but, it’s cute. fuck, did he actually like this gift..?

‘…how sweet.’ he thinks. kaiser picked up the box with both his hands, his touch was so delicate. he carried the cake over to the kitchen counter,

…and opened the trash.

“hey! what are you doing..?!” you run to stop him from dumping your hard work into the garbage.

it doesn’t stop him though, it doesn’t even make him struggle. “i told you i don’t celebrate it.” he huffs as some of the cake crumbles and stains his hands.

he takes a frosting-covered finger to his lips, indulging in his salty sweet taste. “ah… it’s good.” he compliments. something that only happens to make you angrier.

“then why did you throw it in the garbage, asshole?!” you yell out. how insensitive could a person get?!

“i already told you, or are those ears of your’s just for decoration?” he scoffs, the air is heavy.

and at that moment, he knew it.

michael kaiser is not meant to love, or be loved.

…

“get out.” he commands. his cold eyes hit you like a dagger. “h..huh..?” you ask, indignant at how you were being treated.

you knew kaiser would be hard to unravel but, why is he acting so different so suddenly?

“i said get out. i already decided…”

“…we’re over, s/o” he decreed. “whatever romance you and i might have had is gone. go find someone else to care about you. i’m not gonna fit your romantic fantasy.”

“i— wait, mikka, we can work this out, okay..?!” you ask, a panicked expression decorating your face. “goddamnit, fine— i’m sorry for calling you an asshole, okay?!”

you sound almost desperate in your tone. but, it still doesn’t shake his decision. “no… get out. find someone who can fulfill that fantasy of your’s, i’m never gonna be the perfect boyfriend that you’re dreaming about. understand?”

and, the cold reality faces you. a look of despair on your face, it’s incredibly pathetic to be in this low of a position right now.

ah, that look on your face… he’ll miss that look of terror and desperation, on your face especially. the way your pretty eyes gleam with tears, and the way your nose scrunches, trying to hold back your snot.

“…fine. i hope you’re happy with your life, kaiser.” you spitefully spit out. his chest hurts when he hears you call him by his last name. did that hurt him..? just a little bit…

…and, that’s when kaiser asks himself the same question.

were you really worth tearing down everything he’s known just to build it all up again?

the answer was yes. you’re worth everything money could afford; you’re as priceless as every star in the sky.

it was kaiser who wasn’t worth it. you deserved more than a scummy asshole who’s too scared love.

but, that’s just the problem with kaiser, isn’t it?

the closer he wants you, the more he pushes you away.

[imraespace]

LIFE'S HARD WHEN YOU'RE INLOVE

─ WITH RIN ITOSHI !!

This isn't right. Why did you leave? Did your feelings change over night? The emotions he feels now, you control them so well.. he feels like breaking down right here and now..

His eyes stayed at the seat where you once were, what is he even doing here still?

.

.

"Oh so that's what happened!" Meguru thought. out loud. Hyoma, after leaving you with Rin, made his way into your classroom and decided to inform your desk mates on the situation.

He sat in your chair as the duo got comfortable in their own assigned seats. After explaining, his head rested in his palm as his eyes gazed out the window.

"Though, I'm one hundred percent sure that she's letting her emotions take over.." Hyoma muttered. Youchu stared at the male and hummed in agreement.

"It's all new to her, she just have to make the right choices."

.

.

.

"She's one hundred percent not making the right choices." Seishiro muttered, staring up at the ceiling.

Right now, he's in his classroom with Reo. The purpled hair friend sat infront of him, book in his hand as he occasionally sipped on a milk box.

"She's probably in her classroom." Reo replied, yet Seishiro still didn't let go on the thought. His head tilted to the side, trying ti get rid of the feeling but it only grow when his eyes landed on your figure leaving a certain someone.

His eyes lit up in surprise, but soon left and a sigh left his mouth. For someone who was talking to his cactus and hugged him to sleep over this boy, you have some balls to just walk away from him..

Without any warning, Seishiro got up from his desk, startling the boy infront of him and decided to take matters into his own hands.

"Where are you going?" Reo asked.

"Somewhere, I'll come back. Stay here."

Reo watched as the boy left the classroom with a bit if speed in his step. All he did was sighed, playing with the box infront of him.

Seishiro wasn't the only one who was worried about you, he just hid it in his book.

.

.

.

For once in his life, the teen boy actually gave it his all to make it there in time! His small jog to the outside of the school was all but in vain when he found Rin in the same spot, staring off into space. He isn't chasing after you as yet?

Get better taste.

Seishiro let out a small huff as he quietly made his way towards the boy. He took small peeks at your back, slowly making your way out of his view. No way Rin Itoshi is letting you slip out of his hands..

His steps got shorter the closer he got and finally, Seishiro took this time to smack THE Itoshi upside his head. The action caused the boy to quit day dreaming and turn in the direction, ready to let his anger out on who decided to lose their mind that day.

"What is your problem-"

"What is YOUR problem? She's getting away and you're here because..?" Seishiro muttered.

Rin scuffed at his words.

"It was a mistak-" Though, his choice of words died down as it left his mouth, only because he knew that what he was saying was a hurtful lie.

Sei stared at him, blank expression.

"Fooling nobody but yourself.."

.

.

"You don't deserve her." Seishiro brought up.

"Excuse?" Rin looked up at the boy, standing to get on his level.. because they're both tall.. and stared right in his eyes.

"What? It's true.. Y/N is gonna feel like more shit later.. Why? Because Rin Itoshi failed to comfort her."

Said male gave him a death glare.

"You don't know anything." Rin ended, taking tye one last chance he had and slowly walked away, with each step, ir got faster and soon he was running.

In your direction.

Seishiro stared at his back, sighing as he walked away, hand making its way in the back of his head, scratching the stress away.

For once, Rin got annoyed with his bangs.

Actually, everything made his annoyed ever since that chat with Seishiro. Why does he have a say for you..? You both live together and so what.

He was also annoyed at how right Seishiro was and he hated that he looked so weak, he needed a push. If that's the control you have over him he only wants you to see it.

He only wants you to see that weak side he have, how embarrassing he gets when he actually admits how much he feels about you.

He only wants you.

As stubborn as he is, he won't ever admit how badly he wants you. How badly he wants to have you by his side. What? He's just a teenager in love for the first time.

All this pent up emotions he have for you, he will never let it go to waste. Not today.

His breath quicken as he sped up, soon you was in his vision. You aimlessly walked behind the school, where there's no one in sight.

There you were, making your way towards a tree, sitting down on the grass and shoved your face between your legs, arms wrapped around your knees and with each silent cry, your arms got tighter around your knees.

Slowly, his steps slowed down. He took the opportunity to catch his breath. His heart hurt to see you like this, but one thing he knows is that, he will fix it.

Softly, he made his way towards you and gently, he sat next to you.

He listened to your cries, staring up at the sky and enjoyed the gentle breeze passing by.

He closed his eyes, and let his mind wandered. When you first met him, you were offering him a fruit sando. He rejected you and he cried your eyes out.

Yet you came back.

You grew closer because of this project. He learnt more about you in the span of those 5 days. How you tried in your own ways, may it be weird but secretly giving him water bottles under the name of her friend or it may be soft like offering your favorite drink to him.

A kind being like yourself, surely you don't deserve this suffering. But one thing about you, that he didn't know anything about. Your parents.

You live without them. You're always clueless about your future, he always wondered why but you didn't let it bother you. Why now?

Your crying died down a bit as your stole a peak our of your knees, eyes landed on Rin. A small gasp left your mouth as your whole head came out.

"Rin?" You muttered out.

His eyes finally opened and his head turned in your direction.

"Hm?"

He sound so patient, it made you feel bad. Your head turned to face your knees, closing your eyes.

.

.

"I'm sorry." He muttered.

"For..?"

"I should've known that it was a bad time to let it out."

"Oh.."

He sighed.

"There's one thing I don't know about you and that's who raised you."

His words gave you goosebumps.

"And honestly, I don't really care. They're not here."

His words caught you off guard but.. he was right.

"If you're here and they're not, they lost something important. Somewhere in their messed up mind, they got lost and left you. That's why I don't care about them because they didn't for you."

His eyes stayed on your face, watching as your face slowly changed emotions.

He's right.. you've been told this.. by-

"Mikage, Nagi, Chigiri and the other two you hang out with. They care.."

Your head slowly moved in his direction, staring deep in his eyes. His words fell short as his heart quicken. In his eyes, you despite the weaken state you're in, the way you looked up at him with hope in your eyes. He couldn't take it. Peaking through his bangs, half lidded eyes stared right back at you. His emotions took over.

Without thinking, his hands found it's way onto you, slowly pulling you into his chest. His arms snaked around your frame, back covered thanks to his large arms and his head rested on yours, lips nearing your lobe. His thoughts clouded his mind, all he wants to do is to let his lips rest on your ear, pull it with his teeth. He closed his eyes. Your emotions took over.

Your arms snaked around his frame, gripping on his shirt. Unlike you, his frame is much larger. You shoved your face in his neck, lips nearing his adam's apple. Your thoughts clouded your mind, all you want to do is to let your lips rest on the adam's apple, shove your face deeper in him. You closed your eyes.

"But in all honesty.." He mumbled near your ear, chills running down your spine.

"I want you to focus on me."

He slowly pulled you away from his neck, staring down at your face and wiped the remaining tears away. The tension build up as you both locked eye contact, hearts racing, skin heats up. He wants to lean in, you both want to.

His hand gently made it's way onto your shoulder, his head slowly coming closer as his eyes closed again, other hand making its way on your face and his lips rested right between your ear and cheek.

He just couldn't do it. But you didn't care. Blush spread across your face as finally, a smile made it's way back.

You shoved your cheek in his hair eyes closed, as your arms tried to pull him closer.

The school bell rings. It's time to present...

No one moved. ZERO POINTS.

RIN ITOSHI (16) :

Not much words was exchanged but it's quite clear. He's your boyfriend.

20 // 22

note: im a 16 yo who haven't been in love🙋🏽‍♀️! I kinda want a rin guys... this making me lonely.

TAGLIST: @deezy12299 @kuroronana @khoiyyu @swagkittybear @shidousprincess @starbarfbunni @jealovsie @imtiredmf @hainge @catorkitty @frogsrules @belovedfedya @x3nafix (OPEN)

-`♥︎´- for this story, i'm trying something new, which includes words/phrases, foods and hometowns from japan and germany. if there's any errors please point it out !

-`♥︎´- word count : 1.6k

[mmso-notlikethat]

Buck stood in the middle of Bobby and Athena’s new living room, the sounds of laughter and clinking glasses filling the air. The room was warm, almost too warm, crowded with the people he loved most—Maddie resting her hand on her growing belly, Chimney chasing Jee as she squealed with glee, Hen and Karen trading stories with Bobby and Michael. Even May and Harry, were perched by the tree, teasing Denny and Mara over the presents they’d opened early. It was perfect—he was happy.

He’d spent the morning on the phone with Eddie and Chris, smiling as Chris gushed about the new videogame Eddie had surprised him with. “It’s perfect,” Buck had said, meaning it. He wanted to believe it. Eddie and Chris were having their own quiet Christmas this year, just the two of them with their family—and Buck, with all his love for the Diaz boys, thought they deserved it.

So why couldn’t he stop thinking about him?

He tried, he really did. Tried to focus on the cookies Athena had baked (because yes, Bobby let her take over his kitchen), tried to laugh at Chimney’s ridiculous dad jokes, tried not to think about Tommy’s laugh—soft and genuine, usually accompanied by that deep scrunchy lines.

Tried not to think how was Tommy gonna spend his Christmas.

Tried not to imagine what their Christmas could’ve been.

***

Tommy’s shift at harbor was busier than usual—calls coming in, the team on high alert with the unpredictable holiday rush. He welcomed it, let himself get caught up in the rhythm of the work. The guys he worked with didn’t let Christmas pass without something small: someone brought cake, another guy strung lights up around the break room. Tommy joined in, a cup of coffee in hand as they told dumb stories and swapped jokes.

“You got plans after this, Kinard?” one of the guys teased as Tommy shoved another bite of cake into his mouth.

“Nah,” Tommy replied easily, flashing a smile. “Got all the plans I need right here.”

It wasn’t a lie. The work had been enough—it usually was.

But when his shift ended, and he stepped into his dark, quiet house, that familiar emptiness crept in, no matter how much he told himself to ignore it. His fridge hummed as he opened it, eyes landing on the six-pack of beer sitting untouched on the shelf.

For a long moment, Tommy stared at it, the cold air brushing against his face.

Get it together, Tommy. Always the same.

He slammed the fridge door closed, the sound echoing through the silence of the house. His chest felt tight, too tight, so he turned on his heel, headed for the garage.

The dim light buzzed to life as he wrapped his hands—old tape, frayed at the edges. He didn’t even bother turning on the music. His knuckles hit the bag with force, and the ache in his muscles welcomed him like an old friend. He pushed harder, faster, each strike punctuated by the words he refused to say out loud.

“Why—” hit.

“—are you—” hit.

“—so weak, Tommy?” hit. hit.

By the time he stopped, his breath was ragged, sweat dripping from his brow. He leaned his forehead against the bag, shutting his eyes.

It’s fine, he told himself. It’s nothing new. You’re fine, Tommy.

But as he stood there, the silence pressing in around him, he wondered—for the first time in a long time—what it might feel like to finally stop doing this alone.

To have someone waiting for him when he walked through the door.

To have Evan waiting for him.

Tommy swallowed hard, shoved the thought back, and stepped away from the bag.

It didn’t matter. This was just another Christmas.

[cgogs]

all i wanted | c!dnf oneshot | 4k c!George breaks c!Dream out of prison and tries to fashion a normal life.

secret santa for @rglozwriter (happy holidays! i hope you enjoy!!)

George has never once in his whole life thought of himself as a hero. He could count on one hand, maybe two, the number of times he ever came close. 

When he saved a little girl from the wolves. Oh, but he was rather little as well, and just as terribly afraid as her. So maybe it doesn’t count. When he restored clean water to a dirty river village— oh, he’d only broken the dam to help Dream, and that’s far too selfish in nature to be considered heroic. He hadn’t done it on purpose. 

And that’s precisely the problem, George isn’t sure he’s done anyone any tremendous good on purpose, and furthermore out of the pure goodness of his heart. He doesn’t think that makes him a bad person, not everyone is meant to be a hero. Not everyone has the heart for it. 

It was always Dream who was the hero. In all their childhood adventures, Dream was the one who would have them stop in their path to help the needy, the sick, the suffering. George was the one who would try and fail to get some sense through his head. It’s not that he’s a bad person, he just didn’t think they were in the means to be heroes, needy, starving, and sick as they were. 

But Dream had a habit of being a hero, and it’s one that didn’t break until they settled down. Until they invited more people into their lives. George watched that heart of gold dull and hide itself away. The heroism didn’t leave, it just turned itself into something else. And it was unfortunate because no matter how much George protested his selflessness (because it was so often at the cost of his wellbeing and safety), it was something that he truly loved about him. His hero.

It’s half of why George doubts the reality of his situation. It can’t be. Because George would never claw his way through obsidian in the water like a half-drowned rat to save someone. He would never put his own neck on the line for someone else. He would never do something so stereotypically heroic, something straight out of a book. 

He stares at Dream, sitting on the floor weaving a basket from flax and reeds. 

Dream once called him a selfish damsel. It was a joke, but George didn’t think it was untrue. Well, the damsel part was untrue. Mostly. Maybe. Their scoreboard of saving each other is… uneven. Breaking Dream out of Pandora has to count for fifty tallies. George demands it.

George is in his weirdness again. The heavy state between sleeping and waking, where he doubts everything he sees. Dreaming, he dares to think. How many times has he dreamt about saving Dream? Saving Dream and convincing him to run away? Too many times. And he remembers the feeling of waking up after all too well. The heartache and disappointment and hatred for everything and everyone.

The memories of walking the halls of the prison seem so distant, filled with water and oil. They seem impossible. 

Dream pinches himself and hisses, the half-done weave unfurling slightly as his hands recoil. He checks his fingers as if they were cut. George takes too long to react.

“Are you okay?” he says finally. Dream looks up at him, green eyes shining. He looks embarrassed.

“Yeah, no, yeah. I just cut myself a little.” Dream’s voice is soft and a little embarrassed in a way that makes George’s heart stop and start again. It peels one layer of fog off his mind. “Good morning. How long have you been standing there?”

Dream is nervous and awkward like a new roommate. It could be appropriate if they haven’t loved each other all their lives. Well, George never actually got confirmation if that’s wholly true. Dream could have stopped loving him for a little while there. But he’s at least mostly sure that Dream loves him now. Hopefully not just for saving him. 

George blinks, looking around. His feet are deathly cold in the doorway. Dream sits in front of the fire weaving his basket, and the world outside is pure white with snow. George comes to sit with him, vision glossy, like the world was smeared with grease.

“I dunno,” he answers, too late, “I just woke up.”

Dream pulls the pile of flax and reeds and willow to the side to make space for him. George pulls his blanket further around himself, rubbing his eyes. He’s sitting on a couple crumbs of dried plants but he’s decided he doesn’t care. He doesn’t want to move to fix it. Luckily for him, Dream notices and pulls the bent reed out from under him. George mumbles a gratitude. 

“Are you okay?” Dream asks. He doesn’t cast his voice like he used to. He’s quiet these days.

“Uh… yeah.” 

“Are you feeling weird? The soup?”

George laughs a little like it’s the first time he’s heard him call it that. All the memories come to him a few moments too late. Yes, right, this is a common occurrence. George’s smile drops in a way that’s too obvious. Dream frowns at him.

George is remembering himself. The heroics he thinks of as so alien aren’t quite so against his nature as he thought. It’s just that they only show their face if it’s for Dream. It doesn’t make him a hero, he’s still a selfish prick, but it means this is all a little more real than before. He’s remembering more and more as he wakes up, feeling more and more grounded. 

“Do I need to, um… do anything for you?” Dream asks. George hates how he asks for things now. Like he isn’t sure how to be a person anymore. This time isn’t as bad as others, but sometimes just the questioning quirk of his voice will make him sad. “I can jog your memory again. Or I can get your journal–”

George replies too fast. “I don’t want you to get up.”

“Okay. Um… this is our house,”

“I know this is our house.” George rolls his eyes.

“Okay. How about you just ask me, then.” Dream picks his basket weave back up, setting to work tightening the braids that went loose while he wasn’t holding it down. George feels bad snapping at him, even if it wasn’t much. He rubs his knuckles on Dream’s wrist as an apology. The little nod he gets back means it was accepted. It’s always nice to know Dream still remembers their old rituals. 

“I’m just, um… it doesn’t feel real.” George leans his head on the edge of the coffee table, the one Dream pushed up against the couch to make room for his weaving. George lets his eyes get lost in the braids and patterns, following the maze of reed. He thinks Dream must be planning to use it as a fish trap– he’s always been partial to pike. “I don’t remember how we got here.”

This must happen more often than George thinks, because all of the concern he was expecting is pushed to the back of Dream’s mind. He watches it happen. 

“You broke me out of prison. We’re waiting out the winter until summer, and then deciding what we want to do.” Dream’s voice is a practiced calm, like reciting a textbook. “You want me to stay. I want to tie up loose ends.”

“Why are you here… if you don’t want to be here?”

“I can’t do anything in the state I’m in right now.” Dream almost-laughs, only letting out a small sardonic snicker. The details of his face and body finally load in George’s mind, suddenly, as if they only just now took form, and he feels so stupid for not noticing before. The skinniness of his body, the scars on his arms, the two prosthetic fingers. Having just woken up is the culprit, it dulls his senses and replaces them with delusions. Or maybe he’s simply gotten used to the way he looks, and his hindbrain took no issue. “And you keep my bedroom door bolted from the outside.”

“What? Is that true?”

Dream smiles at him. “No.” 

“You’re an ass.” 

“I know.”

“So– how? How did I get you out?” George tries to imagine it. Clad in shiny armor with a formidable weapon, a getaway horse and a real plan. It’s just not him, even if it was for Dream’s sake.

“I don’t know.” He says it in a way that suggests he wishes he did. “You were– weird. Like this. And sopping wet, and like… sleepwalking.”

“How long ago?”

“Um… it was when the trees were just starting to turn orange.”

He’s not good with time. George groans, rubbing his eyes still. His memories are slow to appear, but they do. It’s not cause for huge celebration. They fade in and reveal themselves at his prompting like the tide reveals the stones.

He looks around at their house, hidden somewhere deep in the tundra. Nobody for miles. He remembers Dream, in a state, hiding food and weapons in every nook and cranny he could finagle. He thinks of it as safe. Dream feels, to some degree, safe here. That makes George happy.

“I remember.” George nods. 

“It’s not very complicated.”

“Everything with you is complicated.”

Dream rolls his eyes. He’s farther away from the fire than George– and then a memory hits him, one of Dream in that cell. Cowering from the heat, eyes big like dinner plates. He went off his head, if his memory serves. Begged him to leave: he couldn’t be here, he has to leave, he wasn’t real…

He remembers guiding him through the tunnels and corridors by the hand, leading in front and pulling him along. He was so skinny he weighed nearly nothing, and when he protested and tried to yank away, George was able to keep him in his grip. Which meant that there was something very very wrong with him.

Dream has asked him, over and over, how he’d managed to get in and out, and George has never been able to tell him. He still isn’t able. He truly doesn’t know. All he knows is that he’s made it a habit to always get what he wants. Maybe something in the universe finally bowed to that will. 

And in true fashion to tradition, when he got what he wanted, Dream was the one who had to figure out the logistics of their situation. What they were going to eat, where they were going to go. If you heard Dream tell it, you’d think George fainted or something as soon as they could look back over their shoulders and not see Pandora’s Vault any longer. But Dream just doesn’t remember the nitty gritty of it. George remembers holding him close to his chest while the sirens went off for hours, felt like days. They hid like foxes in a hole in the ground. 

Dream is paranoid. He’s always been paranoid but it’s worse than ever. It’s not like George can blame him. It’s just different. And ‘different’ is neither bad nor good, but it certainly means ‘not the same.’ 

George knows he’s changed too. He doesn’t know the exact ways how, or if it’s anything like how Dream has changed, but he knows Dream isn’t the only one who’s different. They’ve been making it work, regardless.

Sometimes he catches Dream staring at him when he thinks he can’t see him, or when he thinks George is asleep. He looks at him with something sick– something so grateful and reverent it’s awful. A new cog in his hero– he’s been well trained by someone else. It makes him angry. Possessive in ways he’s too ashamed to let materialize. He can’t let himself feel good about the way Dream looks at him now.

Dream takes his new fish trap and gets them a pike and a rabbit. Presumably not caught with the fish trap. By the time he comes home, George is at his wits again. The journal helps, notes his fully-awake self writes for his sleepy-self so they’re both on the same page. It was Dream’s idea. They both have one– George isn’t proud of it, but he reads through Dream’s every time he leaves the house.

Today, he reads through Dream’s before he even cracks open his own. Dream writes about his week, the things he’s been eating and when. Sometimes George is blessed to read his own name. 

george has been remembering easier lately. i should be waking him up earlier

The guilt from invading Dream’s privacy washes away when he opens his own journal and sees Dream’s annotated his latest entry in green ink. They’re equally in each other’s business, and that makes his day. The entry itself is mortifying, but George would be lying if he said he didn’t secretly wish Dream would read it and answer him.

I don’t know if we’re still together. don’t act like it because if he weirdchamps me again i’ll kill you 

^ when did i weirdchamp you?

They eat fish together with nothing to talk about. Dream’s been doing better, too. With touch and being less… like he’s always in a crisis. They’re sleeping in the same bed again. Dream preferred the floor for a long time. 

In the middle of the night George wakes slightly to the feeling of kisses being planted to the back of his neck, down his spine and over his shoulders. Dream pulls aside his shirt to reach his skin and everything. George smiles where he can’t see.

Since it’s winter, they don’t have a lot of vegetables. Sometimes Dream brings back a pumpkin from god knows where– George suspects Techno, but it’s not like Dream tells him anything. They have some berry bushes in the backyard, good for juice and pie. 

Dream says he finds peace in hunting. George can’t imagine how, but he goes with him sometimes and it seems to be true. Maybe it’s easier for him to focus his thoughts. George isn’t sure. George is just a half-functioning damsel, after all. He’s useful for skill shots and skinning the rabbits, at least. It’s hard sometimes, sitting around and letting Dream do everything. 

It’s how it used to be, but… well, it’s just different now. George frequently finds himself out of character. He wants to be useful– it seems like Dream has grown a love for useful things. He wants to be in that category. He wants to be all the things Dream loves and deems important. If only he’d let him in whatever hell he’s thrown himself into.

“I love you,” Dream says one night, in the hallowed hall they call their bedroom. Where the deepest secrets are confessed. It takes George by surprise, lungs and heart still racing. He’s not quite all-there after fooling around for so long. He blinks, processing the joy, the accomplishment– but also the exhaustion. He turns his head to look at Dream, hair messy, like gold threads on the pillows. “I’m sorry.”

“Why would you be sorry for that?”

He shrugs hopelessly. “I just think it puts you in a bad spot.”

“Ugh, I don’t care.” George rolls into his chest. It’s all too cold without him. “I want to be there. In the bad spot.”

An arm comes to wrap around his back and hold him close. A soft kiss is planted to his bruised mouth, already sore and bit from kissing all night. George is quickly becoming too sleepy to stay awake. Maybe Dream knows that, maybe he can feel the magic in the air when George starts to slip away. He presses his cold, cold hand to Dream’s heart. He wishes he could pull it out and keep it safe. Keep him.

“I wish you knew what was good for you.”

“I don’t have to. That’s your job.” George mumbles against his lips. Dream doesn’t kiss him again, lowering his head to let him rest. “I know what’s good for you.”

“Do you really think that?”

“I know that.”

As time passes and the worst of winter is over, George can’t help but pray for the frost to stay. In Dream’s journal, he writes about the steps he’ll take when he goes back home. He still calls it home. George’s eyes sting with tears as he closes it and tucks it away. 

At dinner, George doesn’t sit. Dream doesn’t sit either, despite food already plated for him. He knows what it’s about. 

“Are you really going to leave again?”

“...yes. When summer comes.”

George leans back against the counter. “Are you going to come back?”

“I want you to stay here. It’s, safe here.”

“But you won’t come back?”

Dream looks stressed almost instantly. George can’t bring himself to feel bad. His heart is too close to breaking, even though Dream never promised him anything, so it really isn’t fair to him. 

“I won’t promise you anything. For your sake,” Dream runs a hand through his hair, and George scoffs, “But I want to come back. Until this is all over. And– and when it’s over, we can be together all the time!”

“Is that what you want?”

“Isn’t that what you want?”

George’s crossed arms fall to his sides. His mind is full of cotton. He pronounces his words emphatically. “I want to be what you want. If you’ll only come see me out of– pity, then don’t bother.”

“That’s not what I said,”

“You’re barely saying anything! Do you not feel like you owe me anything? I don’t– I won’t ask for a lot, I just, I just thought–”

“Okay, okay, George, please, just listen to me.” Dream is in his space now, which is unusual. It makes his spikes lower. Dream is trying. “I’ll– I’ll come see you. I promise.”

And there’s that look again. The one where his eyes train on George, hyper focused on his expression and body language. The one that feels like all the devotion and obedience in his body rise to the surface to prove that they’re still there. It makes his skin crawl. 

“I just– I can’t have you involved. I can’t. I got a taste of it months ago and I can’t ever feel that way again.” Dream lowers himself. For a second George thinks he’s going to drop to his knees and the mere thought makes his stomach invert. But Dream’s posture only bends, eye to eye as he pleads with him. “You understand that, right? Please.”

“Dream, stop, I’m not– you’re not–” 

In trouble, he wants to say. But as it stands, that isn’t true. Dream is very much in trouble with him. Should he change that? How can he reach inside himself to turn his heart off and talk to him like a normal person? Or should he accept the reverence, should he think it appropriate?

No, he shouldn’t. Because it isn’t his. This isn’t what he trained Dream to do. This isn’t anything like their old rituals. Or maybe it holds remnants, he can recognize some of it, but it’s become corrupted now. It’s not an affection he can accept, because it wasn’t written with him in mind. He’s not Dream’s authority. He may want Dream to obey him, bend to his will, but George knows the subtle differences between love and obedience.

“Dream. It’s okay. I just, I don’t…” He looks to the window, then to the floor, desperately avoiding his eyes. “I don’t want you to act like I don’t exist. Okay. That’s all I want.”

“I love you.” Dream says. “I just want to keep you safe.”

A subtle confession. Abandoning him was all in the name of keeping him safe. George almost laughs. It’s so stereotypically heroic, so self sacrificial. George should have ironed out the heroics in him when they were younger, when he still had the chance. 

“We’re not good people.” George looks at him. “I wish you’d stop acting like it. You don’t have to go back. You don’t owe anything to anyone.”

“I owe everything to everyone.”

“And you want me to stay here. You’ll come by when you need a warm body, right?” He says it like it’s a deal he wouldn’t gladly accept. 

“I will come by when I can. You know. When it’s safe. And we can do anything you want.”

“Don’t make it sound like– like I’m renting you!”

He steps on one of the hair triggers that rule over Dream’s frustration. George thinks it’s a victory. “How do you want it to sound? I’m really trying here!”

“I want it to sound like you actually want to be with me, you ass.”

“I do!” Dream says it like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. And maybe it is, and George just can’t see it from this angle. “I have responsibilities that aren’t– negotiable.”

George doesn’t understand why he’s fighting this. Maybe he’s scared of what will happen if there’s no one around to wake him. Maybe he’s ambitious enough to think he can haggle a better deal. The strength it takes to fight with Dream is quickly leaving him. It’s a great arrangement. More than he could ask for just half a year ago. Something he clawed through obsidian to obtain. 

He’s seen the leash prison put on him. He’s held it, even. Pulled on it, led Dream around with it. George has decided he doesn’t want it. 

“I’m sorry,” he says, and it takes the words out of Dream’s mouth, whatever he was going to say. “You have no idea what it was like to be without you. I can’t do it again.”

“I promise–” 

“I trust you.” George’s eyes are furrowed and serious. “But I can’t wait until it’s all over.”

If he can’t make Dream see how futile this all is, then it’s something he’ll have to discover himself. But George won’t wait another two years for it to happen. 

It’s the spring after their winter together, and George hasn’t seen Dream in two months. He knows because he’s been tallying it in his journal, which has seen an uptick in use without a roommate. 

Techno visited, once. Gave him supplies. They must be closer than they thought, George somewhere on the fringes of the tundra where the four seasons are allowed to exist– watered down as they are. It pissed him off more than it should have– of course Dream would send someone else before he came to do it himself. 

Maybe he’s making a name for himself again. Maybe he’s in hot water and can’t come, or he’ll be followed. It’s not like George gets a lot of news out here. He’s slept through days straight, he’s sure of it.

He’s pouting at the ceiling, in the middle of some pessimistic bratty rant about his life when he hears that stupid knock Dream does on everything. It knocks the gloom straight out of his chest. He races down the stairs, everything in the world leagues and bounds less important than opening the door. 

Dream stands in his mask, a light smattering of snow on his hood and cloak. George reaches to pull him in by the neck before Dream can even get a word out. A promise kept. He’s halfway through pulling his mask off when George jumps up to hug him. The force of it makes them both wobble. 

“Are you real?” George asks in his shoulder. He almost doesn’t believe it. An armored hand rubs his back. 

“Yeah,” Dream’s voice rumbles in his chest, vibrations sending through George’s bones. It’s his new favorite feeling. 

George pulls away. He interrupted the de-masking process, so half his face is still covered. It looks stupid. It’s George’s new favorite thing. 

George couldn’t care less about the gift. It's nice, and he'll use it every day, but all joys are overshadowed by the presence of the man in his home– even if covered in dirt and scorch marks as he is. If he could choose any gift, he’d wanted a burner comm that he would be allowed to message him from, but the quilt is nice. George leaves it folded on the kitchen table, all pleasantries said and done with. Yes, he loves it, it’s beautiful, I love the color green. 

He pushes himself up to kiss him. He tastes like gunpowder and blood. It’s George’s new favorite taste. 

[watercolorsam-arts]

Saw Sonic 3 tonight…. Holy Shit

I have a lot of thoughts, and a lot are really good, I had a blast watching it and I will be going to see it again.

I do however have one “complaint” I guess? Spoilers under break

I need to talk about Maria. But I want to start my little rant with *I did not dislike how Maria was handled in the movie* I quite enjoyed everything she was in. As a stand alone story in the movies, it was awesome (and personally seeing the movies as a sort of au makes the most sense for me). But I want to talk about how one character decision changed a significant amount of Maria and Shadow’s story. (Among other thoughts and things I noticed)

Maria was not explicitly stated to be sick,

It actually seems like she wasn’t sick at all.

Which I feel takes away a lot from Shadow’s creation/discovery.

Shadow in the games was created to be a cure for Maria’s N.I.D.S (Neuro-Immune Disorder Syndrome) his excess chaos energy was a byproduct of being created using Black Arms dna. He was never meant to be a weapon, he was meant to heal.

Maria cared for Shadow beyond just “this will cure me” she and Gerald saw him as himself. He might have been just a cure to Gerald at first, but Maria saw Shadow, not a weapon, or a cure, or an alien, she saw Shadow.

G.U.N saw a weapon, which is why they had to take him, and cut down anyone in their way.

By removing Maria’s sickness, you don’t have any reason for the Ark to exist, and you also don’t need to “create” Shadow. Shadow had to be dropped into the story (kinda literally as he fell from the sky) for him to have a reason to be there.

Maira and Shadow’s relationship in the movie doesn’t have quite the same impact. It even feels kind of… generic? I guess? That the “child” character doesn’t see the “monster/weapon” as one and befriends them. Maria being there isn’t nearly as justified as in the games. “Her grandfather brings her everywhere” and I get why, but still. Even if there was one line of “she gets sick easy, so the professor wants to keep an eye on her.” Instead of just “yeah they go everywhere together”. (Once again, I didn’t hate the version of their relationship in the movie, this is just a comparison to the games)

Maria not being off world also takes away from Shadow’s motivations. Maria wanted to see the world, she wanted to meet the people, and experience everything! She cared so much about a place that would cause her harm just by existing there. No matter what happened, she believed with all her heart that the people of earth deserved to live life to the fullest, even if she couldn’t. So when Shadow gets reminded that he was meant to protect and heal, he chooses to save the world Maria cared so much about.

Movie Maria’s death feels like she was caught in the crossfire for no reason, which, in its own way, has a big impact on Shadow’s arc. She had so much life to live, she was his sister, she didn’t have to die, which fueled Shadow’s hate.

Movie Shadow’s motivations for saving the day are different from game Shadow’s. His motivation is fueled by hate, and hurt, and by love. He hesitates when he hurts Tom after mistaking him for the General. He hurts watching Sonic live a similar horror to what he did. Just like Sonic has to learn, no one wins with revenge, everyone just keeps getting hurt, and he might have wanted to hurt them, make them pay for what they did, he doesn’t want to hurt. He still chooses to heal, and to protect. Maria haunts him in the way a dead star still shines for us, guiding him even though she’s gone, to show love instead of hate and hurt.

They’re both executed phenomenally, and both work in their respective stories, personally, I prefer how the game handled it, but that’s just me. And it’s so interesting to see how different yet similar the two are. The main take away is that all movie Shadow knew was that he was a weapon and chose to actively go against that, while game Shadow knew he could heal as well as hurt.

I will forever cry over the “they’re children!” Line, because… yeah… Shadow and Maria were children, who should have never gone through what they did, I need to hug them and put them back in their blanket fort with a new movie and some snacks.

And this is less of a movie/game comparison, but more so the representation of Maria’s illness. A lot of the time, we see Maria as full of life and energy, but various media like Gerald’s journal, dark beginnings, and the Shadow Campaign in generation has told us she doesn’t always have it that good. She has days where she can barely move, or she’ll need a mobility aid, or she’ll be incredibly sick even with the Arks gravity and atmosphere. Chronic illness’ don’t always impact you the same every day, but you’re still ill, even if you can’t see it, and Maria has become pretty good representation for that, which makes me kinda sad that it was dropped for the movie.

(I feel like my ramblings don’t make sense towards the end? So I think it’s a bit more just, thoughts about the movie and the game. Thanks for reading this far btw :) )

[mrs-adabarba]

so tell me - rafael barba x female!detective

character uses she/her pronouns.

warnings: none, just a bit of angst, mentions of being on the job i guess.

*gif is not mine*

The cold Manhattan air bit sharply at YN's cheeks as she hurried out of the precinct, her heart pounding in her chest. Unfortunately for her it hadn't been an uncommon feeling in the recent days, self doubt often creeping in. The weight of the latest case clung to her like a dark cloud, suffocating and relentless; every detail of the victim’s story replayed in her mind like a haunting reel she couldn’t switch off. It was suffocating.

Her steps faltered as she reached the steps outside, glancing up at the starless sky, the city lights trying and failing to pierce the smog. Wrapping her arms firmly around herself, trying to suppress the tremor that wracked through her, she let out a sigh.

Sometimes, I wish I could tell someone everything.

But who could she talk to? It wasn’t just the gruesome details of the job, no - it was the growing cracks in her somehow still intact armor. The moments of self-doubt. The sleepless nights. The way her chest tightened every time she walked into a crime scene and saw the familiar faces of families shattered. The way her heart broke when there was no justice, no matter the victim.

She exhaled sharply, shaking her head. This was the life she had chosen. No room for weakness. No room for vulnerability. She just had to move on.

---

Rafael Barba watched her from the bottom of the steps, his eyes observant.

He had come to drop off some last-minute paperwork for a case but when he saw her standing there, wrapped in her thoughts and the kind of pain he knew all too well, he froze. He wasn't used to seeing such a vulnerable side to Detective YLN, no, this was YN he was seeing - real and raw.

Rafael knew how it felt when the self doubt started creeping in, when the voices told you that you just weren't good enough. He knew how it felt for a case to get stuck in your head, it was devastating. And he, Unfortunately, knew all too well how it felt like a stab to the gut with every scumbag still left walking the streets.

"Detective," he called out softly, his voice carrying over the night.

YN startled slightly, turning to look at him with wide eyes as if she was a deer caught in the headlights. Rafael thought it was adorable. The flicker of surprise quickly vanished, as if she thought she could hide it, replaced by her usual stoic expression. “Barba.” Short and sharp. “What are you doing here?”

He raised the manila folder in his hand, expression matching her own.“Paperwork. The ever-exciting side of law enforcement.”

She huffed a humorless laugh, rubbing her arms for warmth. “Lucky you.”

Rafael climbed the steps slowly, his eyes never leaving her. Her heart beat slightly faster, not enough to startle her but just enough that she felt it and immediately regretted the effect it had on her. “You look like you’re carrying a lot more than just paperwork tonight.”

YN stiffened. “I’m fine.” Of course she wasn't fine but if she was anything she was not a burden.

“Of course you are,” he said dryly, his sharp gaze narrowing. YN was sure she saw a small eye roll, her eyes narrowing. “You’re always fine, aren’t you, Detective?” His fiery eyes met her cold ones, a perfect match as they glared almost lovingly into one another's eyes; both blind enough to not see it.

Her jaw clenched, heart beating a slight bit faster once more. “Don’t start, Barba.”

“Start what?” He took another step closer, lowering his voice. Her heart began even faster, a heat surging through her for a moment and she was truly embarrassed by the effect he had on her. “Start caring? Start noticing when someone is about to snap under the pressure?”

“Back off,” she said tightly, turning away. She couldn't let him see the blush that spread acrosuther cheeks far too willingly nor did she want him to see the hurt that had begun to linger in her eyes.

She should have known better, Rafael wasn’t one to back off easily - especially not when he could see through the cracks in her armor. “You know, you could talk to someone.”

She froze at his words, her back still to him. Her hands curled into fists at her sides, shoulders slightly hunched as she muttered just loud enough for him to hear. “Sometimes I wish I could tell someone everything.”

“So tell me.”

His words hung in the air between them, soft but commanding. They were unexpected and she had to take a moment to process them.

YN turned to face him, slowly, her eyes burning with unshed tears and frustration. It was obvious to Rafael that she needed to get it off her chest but he also knew how stubborn she could be. “You’re not just someone, Rafael.” Her voice came out softer than she'd expected it to.

The use of his first name caught him off guard, but not as much as the raw emotion in her voice nor how much he enjoyed hearing YN say his name in such a soft voice. “And what’s wrong with that?” he asked, his tone gentler to match hers now.

“Everything,” she whispered. “Because if I start talking to you, if I let you in…” Barba was sure her voice broke but he couldn't have been sure. She gently cleared her throat. “If I let you in, don't think I’ll be able to stop.”

Rafael took another step closer, his expression softening, a side to him YN hadn't seen before. “Maybe you don’t have to stop.”

Her breath hitched and, for a moment, she let herself imagine it. Letting someone see her, really see her. But the fear of losing control, of becoming vulnerable, loomed large. She shook her head. “I can’t.” Her voice was barely a whisper now.

He tilted his head, studying her. “Can’t, or won’t?” He wasn't angry, there was a softening of his voice but he was frustrated.

“Both,” she said, her voice barely audible. Her eyes fluttered shut for a moment, her teeth had a loose grip on her bottom lip for just a moment but it was long enough for Barba to catch it.

A long silence stretched between them. The bustling noise of the city seemed to fade away, leaving just the two of them standing on the precinct steps. Her heart now pounded in her chest, enough to concern her - maybe it was a heart attack. Well, at least YN wished it was because if it wasn't she would have to face reality.

Rafael finally sighed, running a hand through his hair. “YN, you’re not alone in this. You don’t have to carry it all by yourself.”

Her lips quivered up into a bitter smile, it was now or never. “Is this your way of flirting with me, Counselor?”

Rafael smirked, the tension breaking just a fraction and he was pleased. “If it is, am I doing a terrible job?”

She let out a soft laugh, shaking her head. Tension had seemed to ease, YN feeling ever so slightly better - okay, maybe a lot better. “You’re insufferable.” Her smile was no longer hidden or pushed down.

“Only for you, Detective.” His voice held a teasing lilt, but his eyes remained earnest. “Think about it. If you ever need someone to listen... I’m here.”

YN studied him for a moment, her defenses wavering, she'd let him in ever so slightly and it was terrifying. She nodded once, the tiniest crack in her walls beginning to widen again. “Thanks, Rafael.”

And there it was again, the way she spoke his name and the effect that it had on him. He wanted to quiver and the mere sound of it but he didn't want to give up in this game; it was exciting.

“Anytime,” he replied, his tone sincere though it was hard to hide the real tone wanting to burst out. As she turned to walk away, her shoulders ever so slightly un-hunched, he called after her. “And YN?”

She glanced back over her shoulder, eyebrow raised in questioning.

“You’re not just someone either.”

For the first time that night, a genuine smile tugged at her lips. “Goodnight, Barba.”

He watched her go, watching her stand even more slightly taller, his own heart feeling a little lighter. Maybe, just maybe, they both had found a glimmer of solace in the darkness.

---

AN; thank you so much if you've read this far! Let me know if you've enjoyed it please! 🫶

[friedtyrantbasement]

Tough conversations and good distractions

M reader

Cast: Yizhuo, Aeri, Yooyeon (not mentioned often)

Tags: smut, top reader, cheating, angst, marrital issues, drama, multi part series

WC: 3.8k

This felt like a repeat of how your parents argued. Your tie feels tight around your neck, this is what you never wanted to feel at any point in your adult life.

Your marriage was going through a rough patch for a while. Like, a seriously long while.

Yizhuo and yourself had been together for almost a year now, and at the beginning of your marriage you felt like nothing could go wrong. Of course, the honeymoon period didn't last long.

It's not like you try your best to fix it either in all honesty. You work in a fast-paced corporate job and the last thing you need to come home to is your wife asking you incessantly about who you've been conversing with and other questions you feel like you answered a million times.

You don't like to lie but distractions were needed to help keep you in your right mind.

“Baby, for the last time. The only one I have my eyes on is you. I swear it.” You learned to give that speech almost every time she felt insecure. It was getting over used, you might need to paraphrase it soon.

On top of Yizhuo’s knack for insecure behaviour, you have to deal with her family's high expectations. You're the vice president of your older brother's company but that wasn't enough for your in-laws. They wanted you to start your own company, be risky but that just wasn't who you were. You're a laid back guy who enjoys doing his job and one hell of a good one at that and getting paid without making any huge decisions that could affect other people at large.

“God, I just don't understand why you can't talk to me! You act like I'm not here for you when I tell you that you can always talk to me.” You want to roll your eyes at her words. Yizhuo would look impeccable if it weren't for the fact that you thought she had gone deaf in one ear.

“No sweetheart, I said that I simply have nothing to talk about, not that I can't talk with you.” You say gripping the dinner table you're currently leaning back on as your wife sits on the couch away from you. Yizhuo had been pressing you for answers on why you were so quiet these days but you just weren't up for it.

She licks her lips, her tongue sliding over her plump bottom lip and squeezing her eyes tightly as she blinks, as if she was calming herself down.

“I just have been…. Hearing things.” She starts.

“What things, Yizhuo?” You say her name, which makes her shift in her seat. Now she's rubbing her hands as if she's going to hear heartbreaking news.

“I've heard… that you've been seeing another woman. Specifically, that new girl on your work team.” Oh lord. You want to rip your hair out. ‘Is she seriously accusing me of sleeping with a university intern that I haven't even met?’ Your thoughts laugh at the situation, it's hilarious at this point.

The person she should worry about is the one closest to her.

“Oh really? And who told you that? Your little spy Aeri? She barely knows left from right and how many times has she been wrong about shit like this? Huh? Drop it, Yizhuo. I'm serious.”

You were dead serious, tired and not in the mood to be playing bullshit with your wife this early in the morning right before work. “Fine! But I still don't get why you just can't say ‘No honey, I'm not cheating’. Why can't you just say that to me?” Yizhuo says, throwing her hands up in defeat as she gets up to head to your shared bedroom.

A sigh leaves your mouth. This has gotten ridiculous. “You know what? I don't think that no matter what I say or do you're ever going to believe me. That's why, Yizhuo. So I'm going to work now and I would recommend you to drop this nonsense before I get home.”

You don't even let her say something back. You grab your work bag, car keys and you're gone with the wind. Now you're in the worst possible mood ever, sorry to all of your coworkers today.

��

“What's up with the VP today? He's crashing out over a few small mistakes.” One of your coworkers whispered in the break room. “Isn't he married to that fine woman? What issues could he have?” Another one said, edged with slight envy.

“Probably just some troubles in paradise. It's their one year mark soon. Everything goes to shit after that, I would know.” A supervisor says, his voice quieting with the last part of his dialogue. As if it was scripted, the workers collectively release a sigh, remembering the way they used to formerly be with their partners.

Of course, there was always someone keeping an ear out for a good conversation—minus the collective sigh at the end—especially when it has to do with someone she's been keeping an eye out for.

You are half near losing your mind. The argument from this morning and now your team was making numerous mistakes regardless of how small they were. ‘Fuck, I need to smoke’ You think getting out of your chair that you'd been glued to for the past four hours. Besides, the air and the person waiting for you will clear your head.

You press the elevator button a few times and that small action makes you wonder just when you have become such an impatient person. You used to love a good wait time especially when you were about to do something you had promised yourself you would never do again. Fortunately, the elevator opens, inviting you to enter it and whisk yourself away from the stress of your life.

“Hold it, please!” You hear a feminine voice call out, her heels making a light jog towards the elevator which you hold your arm out, keeping it open. “Thank you so much. I wasn't ready to wait another 10 minutes for the elevators.” The black haired girl breathes out and you chuckle nodding your head at her.

“I hear it. I still can't believe they only have two elevators for a fifteen floor building.” You say, getting a better look at the woman who's in a neat pencil skirt and a button up shirt. “What's your name? Haven't seen you before.” You mention extending your hand to the woman.

She takes your hand shaking it. “The names Yooyeon. Don't bother introducing yourself, I think we'll end up seeing each other more often.” Just then the elevator opens cueing her leave. Yooyeon waves as she steps off the elevator. You watch her walk away. Your eyes are unnecessarily narrowing down on her ass as the elevator closes.

You breathe out a sigh, it has been a while since you had an easy going conversation with someone. You think for a split second just as you enter the rooftop. “Well well well, look who we have here.” You hear a sensual voice purr.

“Oh my, is that my wife's makeshift CIA investigator? Goodness, what do I owe the pleasure, Aeri.” You say sarcastically walking beside the woman, pulling out a cigarette to which Aeri lights it up for you. The woman dangerously close, you can smell her Chanel perfume as her eyelashes bat at you.

“Oh dear, have I ruffled your feathers on such a pleasant morning, sir?” She says, coyly placing her hand on the lapel of your suit. You remove her hand and breathe out your smoke onto her face. “Do you find yourself happy confusing my wife?” She fans the smoke away from her and smiles at you, if it were anyone else they would have misunderstood her smile as a genuine one.

“I enjoy it just as much as you like filling me up.” Her words make you clench your jaw. Your hand that does not have a cigarette lodged between two fingers grips her face. “Watch that mouth. You're much more careless than I thought.” Aeri only grips your blazer and throws your hand away from her face.

You breathe in smoke again, holding it in and then you blow it out. You know what's going to happen after this. You know you can't trust yourself with this woman, and she knows that just as well as you do. So you step out your cigarette and press your lips against hers. Aeri meets you with fervor and passion.

“You know you can't get enough.” She whispers haughtily, confident in herself. Unfortunately, you know she's right and so you burst out laughing to her confusion. Aeri almost gets the chance to ask you what's wrong with you but you kiss her again. Your tongue running over her lips, sucking on her bottom lip, and just like that Aeri feels like she's the only one in the world. Pressing chaste kisses all over her lips and then you slide your tongue into her mouth. You hear her release a moan, a pretty one at that. It rings in your ear, letting you grip the back of her neck pushing her as close as you possibly could.

It's an addiction, one that feels so good, one that you doubt you could stop. So you don't. You're driving Aeri to one of her father's numerous hotels to check in to so you can take your fingers out of her cunt and stick something else in.

“Fuck- drive faster, you piece of shit.” The name calling makes you scoff. “Didn't I tell you to watch your fucking mouth earlier?” You curl the pads of your fingers to hit her spot. Aeri's back arches, the back of her hand falling lightly over her mouth as she tears up. Finally, you achieve your desired silence minus the moans and ‘Fuck’ and ‘Mm right there’ ‘s coming from Aeri's mouth.

Unfortunately, you reach your destination all too quickly. You slide your fingers out of her sopping folds and she shoots you a glare but nevertheless gets out of the car, walking a few paces ahead of you. The receptionist is used to the two of you and your monthly rendezvous with the Chairman's daughter.

“Don't take so long, you know what we're here for and I’d rather not spend more time with you than I'd like to.” Aeri says, as you zip her black short dress down. You roll your eyes and push her onto the bed without much regard for her. You throw off your blazer and pull your tie off only to unbutton the first button. You crawl closer to her, you bury your face into her neck, pressing a hot kiss against her pale skin.

By the time you're done making love with her neck, your belt has been unbuckled and your pants are off. Aeri's fingers pull the waistband of your boxers down with some help of yourself. “Come on, put it in.” She whines into your ear, you aim your length at her entrance but don't do as the vixen wants.

“So fucking whiny for it, why don't you beg? Act a little cute for me, won't you? It's been so hard calming my wife down because of your evil whispers.” Aeri stiffens at the mention of Yizhuo. You can see her eyes flicker, you wonder if that's if she feels bad or if she doesn't like how much you're talking.

But the thought of reality doesn't last long before you feel Aeri press her dainty and magically gorgeous hand on your chest pushing you down onto your back. Aeri unbuttons the rest of your blouse at a torturously slow speed, which you would never admit turned you on a bit. She presses hot kisses down your torso starting at your jaw, so near to your lips and further down she went.

As a natural occurrence would have it she landed just where your lower stomach is. Her tongue flat against your stomach, giving it small kisses and kitten licks. You just wish she'd go a bit lower so you hold a hand to the back of her head and try to escort her way to your hard, pre cum leaking cock.

“You want me to suck on him? Act a little cute for me, won't you?” Referring to your cock as ‘him’ and the sarcastic repetition of your words. The two of you lock eyes for a moment before you feel the need to kiss her again. So you do as you desire but not before you get what you want.

You wrap a hand around your cock and push it closer to her lips. Aeri looks up at you and you tilt your head slightly with a pout on your lips, as your back rests against her head board. She gives in to your little show and wraps her lips around your tip, her tongue makes small circles around the head before letting more of your length slide into her mouth. You suck in a deep breath as you feel Aeri apply suction.

Your hand naturally returns to the back of her neck politely urging her to take more of your shaft. Aeri knows the desperation that you're displaying and she enjoys it but more than anything she enjoys seeing you crumble, that mask of being the all responsible, perfect family man and vice president just falls off under her touch.

Though this is something that she knows will never last forever, she gives in taking you into the back of her throat. She takes your cock whole, letting it hit the back of her throat and she lets her mouth head back to the tip. Aeri repeats this over and over. No regard for the way she’ll probably gag at having you so deep.

As if she wants to consume you whole, monopolise you, own you, the greed that she feels is most likely consuming herself but she delusions herself into thinking that she is not affected by the way your eyes are stuck onto hers.

Aeri can feel your hips twitch, as if you’re warning her unconsciously of your orgasm. Her tongue slides over your member, carefully paying attention to it in the most romantic way possible. The poised woman removes your cock from her warm mouth allowing your white hot to land on her face in untimed spurts. Your hand grabs some tissues on the bedside table of the bed to pass to your accomplice. To which she takes and carefully dabs her face, erasing any residue left.

Now you think for a moment, ‘She looks pretty.’ but you don't allow yourself to think any further, after all Aeri would tie a noose around your neck if she knew you had such thoughts, soft thoughts. You lay the woman down on her back, the rest of work would be on your part so you slide on a condom looking down at the woman under you.

“A man with no arms could move faster than you, don’t waste my time.” Aeri spits at you and you scoff at her words, lowering yourself and pressing your cock head against her wet entrance. Her back arches and her arms wrap around your neck as your cock enters her, filling every space in her cunt.

“Fuck, it’s been so long.” You groan as you bury your head into the crook of her neck, your hand slides under the back of her thigh caressing her softly as you fuck her. Aeri’s small swears and loud moans fill the hotel room along with your groans. Your hips rock back into her pelvis, and you can feel Aeri's small movements in an attempt to match your thrusts. You're stretching her out in ways she could never imagine. The tightness of her sopping pussy has you groaning out in awe.

Your eyes are stuck on the way Aeri's breasts move every time you fuck her. You throw her legs over your shoulders and get as close as humanly possible, your face perched between the woman's perfect boobs. Your mouth latches onto one of her nipples, sucking it, licking it, and giving it all your attention and focus. Aeri yelps and mewls, her luxurious sounds of pleasure leaking out of her pretty lips only encourages you to continue working her breasts. But you never forget to hit the deepest part of her pussy, you find yourself unable to stop giving the most concentrated strokes known to mankind.

“Go- god, keep going, you- fuck so perfect for me.” Aeri says as her hands manage to touch your face and bring you to focus on her face, that's contorted in the ecstasy that you bring her. Both of your lips find one another with some struggle of space, yet your tongue slides into her perfectly curated mouth and you spend time working her mouth. “You're the one who's so fucking perfect.” You praise her and you can tell she enjoys the words of affirmation after all, her cunt is tightening around you.

As if you would die if you did not seek pleasure from Aeri you continue to chase your high. Despite hers being long reached, Aeri can only let out gasps and whines asking you to give her a break. “I'll give you a break when you deserve one. I haven't even cum yet.” Your hips jerk again into her and her head falls back. The sounds of her moaning are rivaled by the sounds of your balls slapping harshly against her skin, additionally the wet sounds coming from her pussy. “You're acting like you don't enjoy this, you hear that? Those sounds are all yours. Don't get so fucking arrogant, you whore.” you spit out cruelly, and she responds with a sobbed out apology.

A small smile paints your lips, the feeling of pride swelling in your chest. Who else but you could bring the Chairman's daughter down a notch other than you? If the world was your oyster this is what you would be doing for the rest of your life. “That's what I thought. Don't forget your fucking place. And tell me where your place is?” You egg her on, you know Aeri knows the answer to this question. Her eyes look away from yours and she can only bite her lip. So you stop thrusting for a moment, which causes a whiny mewl to leave Aeri's lips.

“My place is..” she takes her time pronouncing the words. It only increases your satisfaction of watching the proud woman suddenly melt into a girl who only has her eyes on you. “...below you.” A smile slaps onto your face, your hand lands on her hair, caressing her so softly. You know she's waiting for her reward and it's your job to give her what she wants.

You bottom out in Aeri's cunt, filling her up, a cuss falls out of her mouth. Your hand goes under her thighs and pushes her knees beside her head. Your fucking her rough and murderously fast, she's practically screaming. Your cock is hitting a perfect spot, your teeth are gritting together. “This is what good girls get when they act good.” You say, your voice low and deep as Aeri reaches yet another earth shattering orgasm. Yours is on the way soon, with the way your balls are tightening. You slide out of her, you take off your condom, then you push yourself back in.

“No- wait, you can't. That's too-” Your hand falls over your mouth. “Shut the fuck up, I'm not cumming inside of you, dumb whore. I'm just feeling your insides a bit.” And to your expectations, it felt so good, you should've done this from the start. You're orgasming soon though so you slide out your cock again and let yourself finish on her tits and face.

Both of you are panting, completely out of breath. “What's with you today?” Aeri says, obviously annoyed with you, but you couldn't bother to care. “My wife and I have an interview to get to. I'll shower first.” You ignore her question and take a quick peek at your watch that is currently the only piece of clothing you have along with your ring. “Well, since you didn't read the list of interviewees. My father and I are also getting interviewed. We have no time.” You know what Aeri means and you smile.

She rolls her eyes and grabs you by the elbow and leads you to the washroom. Suddenly you feel like you have an extra 20 minutes to spare. So long as you get another blow from her. “Let's get each other clean, Uchinaga.”

—

“Do you know how much we're running late?!” You hear Yizhuo say from the second floor of your mansion. “Honey, we're fine. It's a 25 minute drive.” You were thankful that your limo at least had champagne in there to keep you company as your wife freaks out over the time.

Your eyes catch Yizhuo peeking down at you from the ledge of the stairs. Her face coloured in seriousness with her full lips pursed into an unhappy one. You lock eye contact with her and pull out one of your award winning smiles, the one that you'd use during the interview.

“Get off your phone, and tell the chauffeur to pull around.” Yizhuo's voice is elegant and perfect, and you know she means it. “Now, please.” Though it doesn't sound like Yizhuo is asking, rather she's demanding, and of course you comply. You go outside to see your chauffeur, an older gentleman with grey hair and a heartwarming aura.

“Pull around the limo, the one with alcohol. Thank you, Greg.” He nods at your words with a polite smile on his face, and he's off to get the car. You turn around to go grab your blazer and Yizhuo's fur coat off the couch.

“Sweetheart, thank you for getting my coat. You're perfect.” Yizhuo says, pressing a soft kiss against your cheek as you open the door outside for her. “Anything for you, my beloved.” You say, holding the coat open for her to slip on easily, which she does. You throw on your black coat easily. Yizhuo's coat is black fur, befitting of her white cocktail dress.

“You look gorgeous, I'm almost hurt that someone else will see you looking this good.” You compliment, earning a smile and an elegant giggle from your wife. “And all of this will be yours when we get home. As long as you're on your best behaviour.” She says coyly, and you could practically feel your cock hardening under your pants.

You couldn't wait to get this over with, get home and collect your prize. Whether you would live up to deserve it… well we'll find out.

[littlexlioness]

His heart was lead. His arms and legs dead weight for him to drag about when he infrequently dared to leave to his room – doing so only on his days to cook. It has been two months since she disappeared. Two months with a gaping hole where his heart has been.

He was empty most days. Hallow. Which, he supposed, was better than the raging blackouts of sorrow and despair he had experienced the first few days she was gone. Spite has taken over then when the feelings became too much. He hadn’t been able to hold the demon back, when he felt the earth slip out from underneath his boots. He felt his heart drop to his stomach. Felt reality being to fade away, again. It has been months since he’d felt darkness like this. Since the Ossuary, when he’d last lost all hope.

But back then, there had been Rook. Her high cheekbones and shinning green eyes had blasted part every dark cloud he’d surrounded himself with. She has been the light he had so desperately needed. Had been the light he’d been begging the Maker to bring into this life, his hope. And now she was gone. Swallowed into the Fade, never to be heard from again.

He knew better than to hope now. Knew nothing good would come of wistfully waiting around for her to storm back in through the pantry door and declare that she was fine. Never again. His chest ached with a familiar emptiness that, for a while, had felt foreign to him. But heartache could not change reality, and the reality of the situation was that Rook was gone. For good.

No matter how much he raged, how he shook, screamed, and sobbed – nothing would bring her back. And the idea of seeing her again, holding her the way he had dreamed of one day doing – would have been enough to end him right then and there.

So he didn’t hope. He couldn’t. Couldn’t imagine her fighting back, tooth and nail, scrappy till the very end – like she always had been. He couldn’t imagine her laughing with the team or rejoining them for dinner. Because any more hope for happiness would likely be his last.

Compartmentalize. That’s what he’d been taught as a Crow. Shut down your feelings and finish the contract– no matter the cost. And right now, that meant taking out the Gods and finishing Rook’s final mission. It was the least the team could do, having lost her in the line of duty. Carrying out her legacy would be his greatest honor. His most important Contract.

He heard a loud clank of pots and pants on the other side of the door, and knew Bellara should be done cooking any moment. He cringed at the thought of having to pretend to be fine in front of the team. He’d taken to eating alone after the first few days. He still cooked when it was his turn, and when it would have been Rook’s but taking his meals in the pantry, alone. Trying to put on a brave face inspite of Spite’s constating roaring had become altogether too much for him. And unless the team wanted to watch him try to leash the demon and fail horrifically, he wouldn’t be joining them.

He felt most guilty on Bellara’s days. She was the only other member who could manage to put together something actually edible, and those big, brown eyes of her staring up at him when he murmured, he would be taking his meal alone only furthered the pit in his stomach. Too soft, too fragile. They all were. And damned lucky to have even made it this far alive and in one piece. At least, most of them had.

A soft knock at the door had him turning over in his cramped cot and facing the door. Only to see the small elfhen he  been thinking of.

“ I know you prefer to eat on your own. But I tried my best to make crow feed, and I’d really like it if you’d join us for family dinner tonight.”

He could tell she was nervous, her eyes darting around the pantry trying to look at anything other than the shell of the man he was – lying lifelessly in the corner.  She had a small, sad smile and a tried her best to laugh at the last part- referencing Rook’s joke about them being a family. Rook always called mealtime, “family dinner” and demanded they were all present. No Excuses.  

She’d told him once, in confidence, that she’d dreamt of finding her own family someday. After growing up as an orphan and being taken in my the Mourn Watch. She’d dreamed of finding her place, her “people” someday. It had been a quite night, after a mission to Nevara with Emmerich that she’d told him. They’d sat closely together that night, sharing a cup of coffee in her rooms as the fish swam around.

Now, he’d do anything to get those quite moments back. To feel her warmth against his skin again or hear her voice whispering secrets to him in the early morning hours, too raw to speak to anyone else. The hollowness in his chest throbbed, and he felt Spite thrash against his control shouting at him

“ROOK. SHOULD BE HERE. FIND ROOK.”

He shook his head, trying to clear away the voice of the spirit, as best he could. Spite was getting louder, and angrier with every passing hour. Holding the demon back had begun to physically pain him. It took everything ounce of control he had to not relinquish his restraint.

Taash had been the one to find him, the first night after Rook disappeared. He’d spent hours searching the area, looking for clues, daggers in hand, eyes frantic and glowing,  all but begging the power-hungry Gods to let him join her. To let him trade places with her, to do anything to bring her back.

But there was nothing to be done.

Rook was gone.

That night they had barely crossed the threshold of the eluvian before Spite had snapped the withering leash of control he’d held over the demon and broken free.  There wasn’t much he could remember other than the overwhelming darkness of it all, the pit in his stomach overtaking him, his heart shattering time and time again, as wails he couldn’t control broke from his lips. He could feel his limbs trashing, as Taash held him close to their chest ( either in comfort, or to restrain him from hurting himself – he’s still not sure).  Spite had taken over for hours, hours of screeching and shouting unable to accept she was gone. Unwillingly to accept that there was nothing more to do to rescue her. It seemed Spite and he had very different ways of handling her loss.

He’d tended to his injuries in solitude and shame later, when he woke up.

“…..- Anis?”

He’d lost himself in thought. It had been happening more often lately, more often that he would like to admit. He looked up at Bellara with a sheepish, soft, smile.

“I’m sorry. What was that?” He was sorry. Bel had the softest heart of their team, and he knew she was hurting just as much as he was. He hadn’t meant to get lost in his head again – had meant to let the memory of losing control distract him.

“It’s okay! I asked if you needed anything. If I could do anything to help?” This time she looked him in the eye, honest and direct. He knew it was difficult for her, putting herself out there just to be shot down. The least he could do was throw her a bone and offer up a conversation.

“I’m as well as I can be Bel. But I could use the comforts of home, crow feed is perfect.” He said with a sigh, as he willed him legs to a standing position. Bellara’s surprise was palpable, and a grin broke across her face with satisfaction. He smiled back at her, halfhearted and empty – it was better than nothing.

“ Everyone is already at the table; we were just waiting for you to pick which wine we should have.”

She was trying to butter him up, and he knew it. Knew had it been any other night, Bel would have picked the first bottle she found and announced it good enough. Or worse even, Neve would have brought out that horrific box of “wine” swill from Minrathous and insisted it was “just as good”.

He trudged to the door, holding it open for the small elf and peering into the stagnant dining hall. Dinners used to be lively, with Rook and the team. They’d telling stories of their most recent adventures, or read letters from the members who were out on mission and making up stories about what they were facing.

But tonight, just like every night since she’d disappeared, it was quite. Too quiet. It made the hair on the back of his neck rise – he’d walked into a trap. And it was too late to turn back, as he head the soft click of the door behind him and saw Bellara walk towards the table where the head seat still sat painfully empty.

He took his seat, the seat everyone else had purposefully left for him. Ever since the night they’d caught him baking, and rebaking, and rebaking again the hazelnut Nevarran torte for Rook. He’d never admit how much effort he’d put into the dessert - but the team knew. He’d never outright told them about the conversation that followed that night. But, it felt as if they already knew something had been growing between him and their fearless leader.

He took his seat to the right of the head of the table. The seat still empty, no place setting laid out for its occupant.

He could feel their eyes on him, drilling past his defenses, staring daggers into his soul, as he looked anywhere else. Compartmentalization was one thing. Confrontation was another, and he was not ready for that discussion just yet. Not today, after a particularly long fight with Spite that had landed him with a particularly bad nosebleed, and a splitting migraine.

“YOUR FAULT.”

The demon shouted.

“YOUR FAULT. ROOK GONE.”

“FIND HER. FIND HER!"

He would do anything for 15 minutes for true, uninterrupted silence – without the team, or the spirit demanding something of him. With a relegated sigh, he looked up catching the eyes of the team boring into him.

“I’m fine” Even he didn’t believe himself.

“That’s not what people who are fine would actually say.” Taash threw back at him, without an ounce of careful caution.

Not like Bel who had been walking on eggshells around him for the past few weeks. Taash was always like this. Brash, but honest. He liked it, usually. They were an open book to read, no games to play, or mind tricks. Another other day it would have been refreshing.

But today, they was a nuisance..

“You’re right Taash, I’m not fine. But I will be – with time” He kept his tone even, his responses short and to the point. No need to get emotional, no need to let the team how badly he was falling apart, or how frayed his control had become.  He needed to put his feelings aside, in order to complete the contract. That was all he could focus on.

“Why not just be just be honest, for once.”

His head snapped up at that, of course it was Davrin who felt the need to make a dig at his behavior. He’d had a hard time letting go of his grudge against the warrior ever since the siege at Weisshaupt. They may have shared a drink together, but that didn’t erase their strained history.

“What would you like me to say, Davrin? That I’m upset? I’m sure you’re all more than aware of that by now”

No need to be subtle, the whole team has watched Taash restrain him as he clawed at his own skin. Spite desperate enough to take out it’s anger on anyone or anything. It was a moment of weakness he’d tried hard not to think about, embarrassed at the glaring weakness and shame of having to be held against his will like a child acting out.

“ So that’s it? You’re just going to give up? You’re not even going to bother fighting for her? Bother trying to find her? You claim you love he---“

The warrior was sharply cut off as a knife soared through the air, grazing across his left cheek, and embedding itself in the wall behind him.

“You know nothing of what I feel. Don’t’ you dare speak of it again!” He shot back his tone razor sharp, eyes subconsciously flashing midnight as his restraint faltered and Spite snuck into control.

The elfhan face was apparent with shock, morphing into a grimace, and then nothing put pure, unadulterated rage begin radiating from him.

It happened in quick succession, Davrin forcefully pushing back his chair, the flipping of the neatly made dining room table, and then the shouting as the elf charged at him eyes full of ire.

“WE ALL LOVE HER YOU COWARD, AND YET YOU’RE THE ONLY ONE WHO’S GIVEN UP ON HER”

He grabbed at a chair that had been haphazardly thrown to its side. Needing something to use a weapon as the warrior charged at him. Ready with a steely look in his eye for a fight. He could feel himself give in, let go of his tether on Spite as his eyes glowed dark and wings appearing behind him. If Davrin wanted a fight, he’d give it to him.

That hardheaded idiot knew nothing, NOTHING, about how he felt! What had been racing through his mind every day, every moment since Rook had vanished. Davrin knew nothing about the gaping hole in his chest where his heart used to be, how he would never feel the same, never smile the same, never think the same without her by his side. He’d rather the Fade take him, than lose someone as precious as her. At least someone like him deserved to disappear. All he knew was death.

He barely heard Bellara suck in a gasp, and the two men went at each other. Nothing but wrangled limbs, and rage as Davrin threw a solid punch, connecting with his left eye and he brought the lone chair down hard, against the elf’s head – shattering it to splinters. It seems Davrin really was as hardheaded as he seemed. His face throbbed, but it was a dull pang compared to everything else. He felt the wind knocked out of him as the elf rushed at him again, locking his arms around his waist and taking them to the ground. If the warrior wanted a brawl, he’d be more than happy to oblige. Sprawled out on his back, he reached around him searching for anything to use as a weapon. Smirking, he his hand connected with cool silvery metal. He grabbed the instrument and jabbed down, hard and fast into the other man’s shoulder stabbing the utensil deep into covered skin.

Davrin let out a howl, hollow and angry as he began throwing punch after punch into his stomach, his chest, anywhere the elf could make contact. He could barely heard the horrified shouts of his team mates around the sound of Spike finally being let loose.

“BREAK HIM.”

“KILL HIM.”

“HE THINKS. HE KNOWS ROOK BEST. END HIM”

And for once, he agreed. Davin thought he knew everything, thought he deserved to know everything – when really he didn’t know when to let things go and admit defeat. He wasn’t a leader; he was a fool. A hopeful, childish fool who would only have those hopes crushed when he realized there was no getting her back. They couldn’t. She was stuck in the Fade with no way of making contact, no way of freeing her.

The sooner Davrin learned to accept reality and cut his losses the sooner the team could move forward on their mission. The sooner he could complete the last contract he had, the last piece of Rook he had to hold onto.

As he reared back his head, ready to bash the elfhen man square in the face – he felt a chill. Something cold and foreign holding him in place, holding him back. He looked up to see Taash had quite literally picked Davrin off the floor, holding him like someone may hold a misbehaving kitten by the scruff. Davrin trashed at the restriction, and Taash let out a strained grunt as the man struggled against them.

He whipped his head to see the source of the chill holding him in place, came from none other than Neve as she stood Infront of a horrified looking Bellara and a disappointed Emmerich. She’d had to use magic to freeze him in place he realized with an annoyed grimace. But at least he wasn’t being held at bay by Taash, again.

The shouting continued, getting louder and louder as each man hurled more colorful swears than most of their team had ever heard. Davrin being especially creative, and his being mostly in Antivan. He could make out the sound, in the back of his mind, of Bellara begging them to stop. Emmerich holding her close to shield her from the sight of the fight.

But it wasn’t until a green rip opened in the middle of the dining room that the two men went silent. It was a fade tear. Totally uncontrolled, and random. Something the team had been trying to conjure on demand for the last few months to get back to their leader.

He could feel the heat creep red hot up his neck, across his cheeks as his heart pounded so wildly he was sure the elfhen in the room could hear. This----this was impossible. The only thing that could tear into the fade was the dagger, and the dagger was last with……..

No.

It couldn’t be.

And yet there it was. The rip opened wider, growing until it was the size of a doorway, big enough for an adult to walk through – and through the rip he saw a shadow. Short in stature, with same tell-tale red curls and a mischievous grin slashing across her face. And with one step, out of the green haze and into the shaken dining room – she was there.

It was her.

Out of now where, like an angle she just – appeared. He couldn’t think straight. Couldn’t process what was happening, as the feel the cold around his arms and legs melted away as Never lost concentration on the spell.

He couldn’t think straight. His heart thundering– hard and fast like he’d been running for his life. Some part of him recognized he was shaking, hands quivering as he reached out to her like she might disappear again if he were to touch her. Reverently, as if she were too pure, like she would break if he was too rough, too good for this world.

“I’m home! Did you miss me?” Was all she had time to get out before he was on his knees, and then rushing across the room.

Unbothered by what the team thought, unbridled by what a Dellamorte should act like, inhibitions running lost as he threw himself around her – wings blazing bright in the soft light of the Fade tear, before wrapping around her gently. Cocooning her in a shield of protection. He would never let her go. Never let her leave, never go another day without seeing her, hearing her, holding her. Never again.

His shaking worsened, and his face felt wet and he gripped her tightly around the middle – arms locking in place. Gingerly, he felt her arms raise up and hold him in return. He let out an uncontrollable sob, wet and loud. He hadn’t cried since he was a child, not since he lost his mother. But today, here- seeing her again? This was worth it.

She laid her head gently against his chest, and likely heard how deafening his pounding heartbeat was. He was fighting for control now, eyes flickering between purple and brown as Spite pulled at the fraying tether of restraint. He knew the spirit was just as excited as he was to have her back- to have her in their arms once again. But he couldn’t give up, couldn’t give up this moment. He’d rather die than lose this.

“I’m sorry” She whispered in his ear, softly enough that only he could hear, and another sob wrecked his body. He’d never live this down if Viago or Teia heard.

“shhhh, shhhh, it’s okay, it’s okay.  I’m home now. I’m safe. We’re safe.” She continued rubbing his back gently, as she repeated the soft words to him. As his grip tightened, and ratcheting around her until he thought for a moment that she wouldn’t be able to breath. But she let him continue, knew he needed this just as much as she did.

“ROOK.NEVER.LEAVE.AGAIN”

“Never leave us again, not like this”

He begged softly, words heavy on his tongue as he held her tightly in their cocoon. No one could see them, they were safe, protected here. She couldn’t leave, couldn’t disappear into the Fade, couldn’t fall through his fingers into nothingness. He drank in the embrace, the feel of her short frame against his, the smell of her messy curls against his cheek, the feel of her heart matching his thrumming in his chest. If it were his choice, he’d never leave this moment. Never let her go again.

“….Love.”

It took him a moment to realize she was talking to him. She’d never called him that before, and it added a warmth to his chest that was sorely needed. Love. He loved her. He’d always known, he could tell he was falling for her weeks ago despite how badly he wanted to distance himself from the feeling – he’d known. And when she’d gone missing? The largest regret he carried was never telling her, never being a brave enough man to accept the fear in his heart and tell her the truth. He’d never let that happen again.

“I love you, Rook. And I’m never losing you again”

He shook, out of fear or overwhelming joy he couldn’t be sure. He’d never said those words to anyone, not since he was a boy saying them to his mother. He’d never expected how terrifying it could be to say aloud to another person. But today, for now, he could be brave. He had to be, Rook deserved it. She deserved honestly, she deserved truth, and even if she deserved more than the love of a broken man – he would still offer all he had and more to her.

“I love you too, sweetheart”

She carded her hands through his hair softly, bringing a hand down to rest a warm palm against his cheek, eyes raising up to meet his wet gaze. She was beautiful, perfect, deadly. Everything he could want in partner, everything and more than he deserved.

“May I?"

She asked softly, not needing to even ask before he gently leaned down to meet her lips. It wasn’t perfect, his cheeks still wet with tears, his breath ragged with fear as his heart was still thundering in his chest. It was messy, and imperfect. But it was him, honest and present – everything he could offer to her.

He’d once told her that a good coffee tastes like a kiss goodbye, bitter and then sweet. But this, this was better. This was a welcome home kiss, a reuniting kiss, and kiss of endless opportunity and hope. Like honey and lavender cream, and so much more than he could have ever imagined.

A cough rang out from somewhere in the room, and it took him a moment to notice that Spite’s wings had disappeared – leaving the kissing lovers exposed to the rest of the team and the disheveled dinning room.

“Well, I supposed that settles that.” Never said as she let out a chuckle, at the sight of the embracing couple, both wearing matching pink cheeks.

Rook was mindful enough to let out an embarrassed chuckle, as she loosened her arms around his shoulders. She stepped to move out of his embrace, only for him to tighten his grip around her – he wasn’t ready to let go just yet.

“It’s okay, I’m not going anyway.” Rook whispered to him softly, reaching to grasp his hand in hers tightly. He reflexively reached out to grab hers, squeezing tightly, not wanting to be separated from her yet.

“Sooooo, so wants to tell me the story of why our dinning room looks like a war zone?” She quipped softly, trying to lighten the mood in the already awkward hall.

“You’re boyfriend was acting like a kicked puppy, I told him to grow up, and then he stabbed me with a fork” Davrin tossed out casually, pulling the offending cutlery out of his shoulder blade as proof of the indiscretion.

“And the chair. Don’t forget about the chair he broke over your stupid thick skill” Taash added in, with a look of amusement and a chuckle.

“ Ah yes, a true assassin’s way of showing affection. I should have known. If only I were so lucky.” Rook laughed disbelievingly, not quite sure of the statement had Davrin not been ready to show her the blood-tinged fork for herself. But she supposed there had to be more to the story, there always was.

But for now, she was content to laugh at the antics of her lover and their oddly mismatched family. Perhaps they weren’t prefect, or well behaved. But they were hers, and she loved them – no matter what.

[biblical-chronicles]

Sober up

__________________________________________

where Liam looks after a tipsy reader at a Christmas party, only for her to accidentally confess her love while he’s helping her sober up.

__________________________________________

Gem’s house was alive with Christmas chaos—laughter ringing out, someone yelling over the music about what song should come next, and glasses clinking in a never-ending loop. You’d lost count of how many drinks you’d had, but it didn’t seem to matter when everyone else was equally far gone.

The evening was a blur of conversations and laughter, and somewhere in the haze, the drinks had caught up to you. It wasn’t until you stumbled slightly on your way back from the kitchen that you realized the room was spinning just a little too much. You gripped the counter for a moment, then straightened up, the thought flashing through your mind: Find Liam.

You weren’t sure why, but in your dizzy, slightly tipsy brain, Liam felt like the solution to everything. Reliable? Maybe not the first word you’d use to describe him, but he was steady in his own weird way. The kind of steady that came with teasing and eye rolls but always with a hand out to catch you if you stumbled.

It took you a minute to locate him. He was in the kitchen, perched on a barstool, pint in hand, holding court with Noel and Bonehead. His voice was unmistakable, cutting through the noise with some remark about how Christmas crackers were a scam because “Who wants a shite paper hat and a plastic comb, anyway?”

You shuffled over, steadying yourself on the back of his chair before leaning into him, your forehead resting against his shoulder.

“Liam,” you mumbled, your voice muffled by the fabric of his parka.

He turned slightly, glancing down at you. “Oi, what’s this? You alright, love?”

“I’m so drunk,” you admitted, gripping his sleeve for dear life.

Noel barked a laugh from the other side of the counter. “And you came to him for help? What, was every other adult in the room busy?”

“Shut it, Noel,” Liam shot back, though he looked more amused than annoyed. He turned his attention back to you, tilting his head to get a better look at your face. “Jesus, look at the state of ya. Who let you near the tequila?”

You groaned dramatically, burying your face further into his shoulder. “Help me.”

Noel leaned back in his chair, a smirk playing on his face. “You’re asking Liam Gallagher for help. That’s like asking a fox to guard the henhouse, darlin'.”

“Go on, take the piss, Noel,” Liam shot back. “The damsel in distress clearly came to me for a reason you jealous bastard."

Noel rolled his eyes but didn’t bother with a retort. Liam, meanwhile, slipped off his barstool, steadying you with a hand on your back. “Alright, come on, let’s get you some fresh air before you start decoratin’ Gem’s floor.”

He guided you through the crowded living room, his hand firm on your back as you weaved through the throng of people. When someone called out to him, he waved them off with a quick, “Busy here. Got a rescue mission.”

Once outside, the crisp December air hit you like a slap in the face. You wobbled slightly, but Liam steadied you, pulling your coat around your shoulders.

“There,” he said, tugging it snug. “Feel better already, don’t ya?”

You nodded weakly, your grip still firm on his arm. “Me shoes,” you mumbled, glancing down at your bare feet. At some point in the night, you’d ditched them, though you couldn’t remember when.

“Bloody hell,” Liam muttered, crouching down to grab your boots from the porch. “You’re a disaster, you know that?”

He plopped down on the bench and motioned for you to sit beside him. “Right, foot up,” he ordered, tapping his knee.

You complied, giggling as he wrestled one boot onto your foot. “You’re like me fairy godmother,” you teased, your words slightly slurred.

“Yeah, except instead of a magic wand, I’ve got these grimy boots,” he shot back, holding up the other one. “Could’ve at least worn somethin’ decent, but nah, you went for these clunkers.”

“They’re vintage,” you argued, laughing.

“They’re knackered, love.”

Once your boots were on, he leaned back on the bench, shaking his head. “Proper piece of work, you are.”

You turned to him suddenly, throwing your arms around his waist in a tight hug. “Thank you, Liam,” you mumbled against his chest. “You’re the best.”

He stiffened for a moment, clearly caught off guard, before his arms came around you hesitantly. “Alright, alright,” he said gruffly, patting your back. “Don’t get all mushy on me.”

You stayed like that for a moment, your head against his chest as his fingers found their way to your hair, smoothing it down gently.

“You’re a proper handful,” he murmured, though his tone was softer now.

“I know,” you whispered, smiling slightly.

He pulled back just enough to look at you, his hand still resting on your shoulder. “You soberin’ up, or do I need to chuck you in the snow to wake you up proper?”

“I’m okay,” you said, though you didn’t move from your spot. “Just needed some air... and you.”

His expression softened further, his teasing grin giving way to something quieter. “Yeah, well. You’ve got me, don’t ya?”

He reached into his coat pocket, pulling out a bottle of water he’d snagged from the kitchen. “Here,” he said, handing it to you. “Drink this. Can’t have you passin’ out on me.”

You took the bottle gratefully, sipping it as Liam leaned back against the bench, his arm draped lazily across the backrest. The porch light cast a soft glow over the two of you, and for a moment, the world felt quiet and still.

“Thanks, Liam,” you said again, your voice steadier now. “I mean it.”

He shrugged, but his smirk was warm. “What can I say? I’m a proper saint.”

You laughed, feeling a little more like yourself as the fresh air and Liam’s steady presence worked their magic. He still had that teasing smirk on his face, though his arm stayed comfortably slung along the back of the bench, fingers brushing your shoulder.

“You’re a right lightweight, y’know,” he said, eyeing you with mock seriousness. “Couldn’t hack another hour in there, could ya? Party like a rockstar, my arse.”

“Shut up,” you muttered, but there wasn’t any bite to it. You leaned back, your head resting against the bench. “You’re mean to me.”

“I’m mean to everyone,” he shot back, grinning. “Don’t feel special.”

You stuck your tongue out at him, and he chuckled, shaking his head. But just as he opened his mouth to say something else, you suddenly sat bolt upright, panic flashing across your face.

“Oh my God!” you exclaimed, grabbing at his arm.

Liam startled, his pint nearly toppling over. “Bloody hell, what now?”

“The presents!” you gasped, clutching at his sleeve like the world was ending.

He squinted at you, clearly baffled. “Presents? What presents? It’s a party, not Santa’s grotto me little lunatic.”

You shook your head frantically, your words spilling out in a drunken flurry. “No, no, no, you don’t get it. I had a present! And it was all supposed to be perfect. Like, I had this plan, right? I was gonna give you the gift, and then I was gonna—” You cut yourself off, throwing your hands in the air. “Oh God, it’s ruined! Dead ruined!”

Liam blinked, a slow grin spreading across his face as realization dawned. “Hang on a second. You had a plan?”

“Yes!” you wailed, not noticing the way his cheeks were turning a faint shade of red. “I was gonna give you your gift, and then I was gonna—” You stopped again, waving your hands dramatically. “It doesn’t matter now. The moment’s gone!”

He leaned forward, trying and failing to hide his amusement. “What were you gonna do, then? Gimme me present and then, what? Serenade me?”

“No,” you groaned, burying your face in your hands. “I was gonna confess me love, obviously!”

The words tumbled out so fast that you didn’t even realize what you’d said, far too focused on your lamenting. Liam, on the other hand, froze, his eyes going wide as his brain scrambled to process your drunken confession.

You, oblivious, started fumbling in your coat pocket. “I had this whole thing planned. I even wrote it down in a card, see? So it’d be all nice and festive and perfect.”

“Right,” Liam managed, his voice cracking slightly. “Festive. Perfect. Sounds... sounds good.”

You finally pulled a Christmas card from your pocket, holding it out to him with a triumphant smile. “Here it is! Merry Christmas, Liam!”

He stared at the card for a moment before taking it, his fingers brushing against yours. You watched expectantly as he opened it, your head tilted like you hadn’t just dropped the world’s biggest bombshell in front of him.

His eyes scanned the card, and his expression softened as he read your handwriting. It wasn’t just festive and perfect—it was heartfelt, sweet, your words spilled across the page, messy and sincere, detailing everything you loved about him.

By the time he finished, Liam was quiet, his grin replaced by something softer. He folded the card carefully and slipped it into his pocket, looking at you with an intensity that made your tipsy brain do somersaults.

“C’mere,” he said, his voice low, as he pulled you into a tight hug. His arms wrapped around you like he never wanted to let go, and for a moment, you just melted into him, your face buried in his shoulder.

“Thanks,” he murmured against your hair.

You pulled back slightly, looking up at him. “For what?”

“For... everything,” he said, his voice uncharacteristically soft. Then, before you could process his words, he leaned in and kissed you.

The world seemed to tilt for a moment—not from the alcohol, but from the sheer fact that he was kissing you. His lips were warm and insistent, his hands cupping your face like he couldn’t believe you were real.

When you finally broke apart, you were both a little breathless, your foreheads resting together.

“I blew it, didn’t I?” you mumbled, your cheeks heating up as the realization hit you. ��The whole plan. The card. I ruined everything.”

Liam chuckled, his thumb brushing against your cheek. “You blew it a bit, yeah,” he teased, his grin returning. “But I dunno... I reckon it worked out alright in the end.”

You groaned, hiding your face in his chest. “I’m such an idiot.”

“Yeah, but you’re my idiot now,” he said, his voice warm and teasing. “So I reckon I can live with it.”

You laughed, your arms tightening around him. The night air was still cold, but with Liam’s arms around you, you felt warmer than you had all evening.

“Come on,” he said, standing up and offering you his hand. “Let’s get back inside before Noel starts wonderin’ if I’ve chucked you in a snowbank.”

You took his hand, letting him pull you to your feet. “He’s gonna give me so much shit, isn’t he?”

“Absolutely,” Liam said, his smirk widening. “But don’t worry, love. I’ll tell him you’re mine now. That’ll shut him up.”

You rolled your eyes, but you couldn’t stop smiling as he laced his fingers with yours and led you back inside.

__________________________________________

Figured I’d throw a bit of Christmas sparkle on this one since Noel’s already had his festive story—can’t be leavin’ Liam out in the cold, can we?

hope whoever requested it likes it as well as all you lovely lot !! xx

[anamazingangie]

i thought you ought to know | Rupert x Taggie

Rated M | 6.5k words | Complete! | by  AmazingAngie

Tags: fluff, all comfort no hurt, breeding kink, daddy kink, spanking, married life, older man/younger woman, making your husband a daddy in more ways than one

Summary:

"This is  my  wife, Taggie Campbell-Black.”  She would never tire of hearing that, especially when Rupert said it with so much pride.  It wasn’t uncommon for them to get the response, “My god, I thought she was your daughter!”  But Taggie never tired of that, either, even if she probably should. It was hardly an insult, to be thought related by blood to a man like Rupert.  (Though, being related by marriage almost felt more special, because he had chosen her in a way you couldn’t choose a child.) . or; Rupert takes far better care of her than her actual father ever did, so it's no wonder that Taggie, on occasion, pretends Rupert is more than just her husband. 

Excerpt:

"You’re an angel, darling. All the more so, when I’m such a devil.”  He meant the words in jest, but they didn’t come out that way. He was still too concerned with corrupting her, even if they both enjoyed her corruption a great deal.  “Rupert,” she said, tugging on his tie and forcing him to look at her, “I may be an angel in your eyes, but you are hardly a devil in mine.”  Maybe he expected her to make a joke, but she was quite serious when she said, “You’re my wings,” she said with a smile.  Sometimes, he really did make her feel like she could do anything, maybe even that she could fly.  But he made her so happy, that she had no desire to fly away. 

the snow is snowing and the wind it is blowing

.

They had gotten married in spring, just a handful of weeks after her birthday. It was a small ceremony, in a meadow, with a few dozen guests they could trust not to leak details to the press.

There was no debauchery on that day worth reporting, really, but they wanted it to be private since it was a luxury rarely found in Rupert's life.

Though they had agreed that their love would be public — in part because of their mutual insecurity, but also because of Rupert’s possessiveness, and his inability to keep his hands to himself. 

(Which, to be fair, Taggie also struggled to do.)

.

but I can weather the storm

.

Taggie hadn’t expected a lot of support regarding their nuptials, because Taggie never expected much support for any decision she made. 

A stupid girl could hardly make smart decisions, after all. 

She had been told that often enough to question herself constantly, often looking to those around her for guidance, because her sister and brother were so clever, especially compared to her. 

Of course, their opinion was better and more trustworthy than her own. It had to be.

Or, at the very least, they were more confident in their opinions. 

(Then again, it didn’t take much confidence to be ' more confident' than Agatha O’Hara…at least until she met Rupert Campbell-Black.) 

.

what do I care how much it may storm

.

There were a thousand reasons she shouldn’t trust Rupert, at least on paper. 

Her sister had told her that when she found out about the engagement.

Taggie had laughed because it was probably true, but she simply responded, “Good thing that I can’t read them,” and hung up. 

She had never hung up on her sister before. Or anyone, even. 

She was always polite to a fault.

But for the first time in her life, she didn’t care what her sister thought, because she was confident her sister was wrong. 

Because the only thing Taggie had ever been confident about in her entire life was : 

She loved Rupert Campbell-Black. 

And the only time she hadn’t questioned what she was doing or saying was when he asked her to marry him. 

The answer had been so obvious, and she had been so certain, and so happy. 

(Of course, she said yes.) 

.

i've got my love to keep me warm

.

It didn’t matter that everyone else thought she was setting herself up for heartbreak. 

Maybe she was. Maybe he would grow bored and leave her. Maybe he would become cruel. 

Maybe. 

It was a risk she was willing to take because she had already lived the reality that was life without him and it was agonizing. If their marriage was just a brief reprieve from that, a plaster on her heart that beat only for him, then it was better than nothing. 

“You don’t understand,” she told her siblings, fiddling with the tea towel in her lap to hide her frustration, “He makes me feel like I can do anything. Because if a man like him loves me, then surely anything is possible.” 

She swallowed, looking down at her fingers, “He makes me feel safe. Not the way a security system does, it's more than that. It feels like...nothing can hurt me when I’m with him, not the world, not myself, nothing. When he looks at me, when he holds me, I know everything will be okay.” 

For someone with near-crippling anxiety, there was no sweeter feeling than a safe haven that made all those thoughts ebb away, and nothing had ever given her that sort of relief, except for Rupert.

“He can’t protect you from himself, Taggie. He could hurt you.” Patrick said softly. 

Caitlin was frowning, “Patrick is right, and you talk about him like he is your father, not your fiancé. It freaks me out.” 

Declan, who had been ignoring them from his seat at the table, snorted, snidely commenting that, “He is certainly old enough to be, imagine how I feel.”

Taggie grit her teeth, wanting to scream that this wasn’t about him, or anyone else. It was about her, and maybe he should think about how his sniping made her feel. 

The thought was selfish enough that in the past she might have cried and apologized just for it crossing her mind. 

But a single week of being with Rupert had changed her, and she could practically hear him whispering in her ear, asking ‘How does that feel, darling?’ while his fingers curled inside of her, ‘You’re such a good girl, Taggie, let me make you feel good.’ 

He was the only one who ever cared about how she felt, much less making her feel good about herself. Taggie didn’t associate those things with a father figure at all, she just associated them with Rupert. 

Maybe Caitlin was right and she did talk about Rupert like he was a parent in addition to a partner. But she would never talk about their parents like that. Neither of them had been much of a safe haven to her, in fact, they were often quite the opposite. 

So she just sighed, “Maybe I do.” 

(Maybe she needed a father figure as badly as she needed a husband.) 

.

.

.

“For fucks sake, you look more like her father than her groom,” Bas said with a laugh as he looked over the prints from their wedding. 

Rupert glared, “I’ve heard enough of that from Declan, my father-in-law, thanks.” 

“It isn’t your age that makes me say so,” Bas said, lifting a photo from the reception, in which Rupert’s eyes were narrowed at the cameraman, his hand on Taggie’s waist, while she was turned to speak with Ricky. 

“You look at her like she is an angel, and you look at everyone else as if they want to corrupt her. Or steal her, I suppose, and you have to be constantly on guard to protect her virtue.” 

Rupert snorted, he’d well and truly stripped Taggie of that, both before they married and after.  

He hadn’t even waited for the honeymoon to do it, either. 

He hadn’t even waited until the reception , he thought with a grin. 

Her rosy cheeks, glow of happiness, and ruddy lips had nothing to do with touching up her makeup, even if that was the excuse she gave to slip away after the ceremony. 

“She is an angel,” Rupert said, “And of course people want to steal her. Every man she speaks to falls in love.” 

Bas laughed but didn’t disagree, “Quite like you with women, no?” 

Rupert’s mouth opened, then closed, finally stumbling out the poor come back of, “Some men, too,” which made his friend chuckle. 

“What a match you make, inciting so much lust and love wherever you go that you constantly feel undeserving of each other,” Bas dropped the photo and took a seat across Rupert, “My point still stands, though.” 

He took a long sip of his drink and crossed his legs, “Is that not how a father feels for their daughter? That sort of adoration for a girl is so great that you assume everyone feels it too. The sort that makes you spoil them rotten and leaves you fearful that one day they will grow up and find someone they love more than you.” 

He frowned, thinking about it. His actual daughter, Tabitha, was the complete opposite of Taggie in nearly every way — their shared commonality being him and the fact they were both great beauties.

Though he supposed there were some parallels in how he categorized them in his mind. 

(Perhaps it wasn’t a terrible thing, he had been a much better father to her than he had been a husband to her mother.)

.

The words lingered in his mind the following day as he sat beside his wife in the stands, his arm protectively curled around her waist. 

He watched the way people watched his daughter as she rode through the course, in awe over her talents and good looks, despite being too young to be a prospect in any way. She would be a menace when she got older, though, and started looking back, and he dreaded that day.

But he loved her, too, and he would do anything to protect her. But he didn’t feel this… need to protect her the way he did with Taggie. 

Tabitha, having had him as her father, had no qualms about talking back and speaking up for herself, assuming that her opinion was always the right one, just as he so often did.

She had an awareness of her talents and beauty, and the fact these were perceived by others. She knew her worth and she would curse out anyone who treated her as anything less than what she perceived that worth to be.

But Taggie wasn’t like that. She was talented and beautiful, and completely unaware of it.

Maybe they were both lambs being circled by wolves, but where Tabitha would fight them off with her hooves, Taggie would probably apologize for being so unappetizing, her dying bleat saying how she hoped they found a better meal and didn’t go hungry that day. 

Taggie needed him in a way his actual daughter never had. 

Rupert was used to being wanted, but never needed. There was a stark difference. 

(Maybe he needed someone who needed him, too.) 

.

i cannot remember the worst December

.

The timeline was…suspicious in many people's minds, and rumors of teenage pregnancy and entrapment ran rampant through Rutshire. 

Even The Scorpion speculated as much as they legally could without setting themselves up for a lawsuit, which was something Rupert would have been happy to funnel his riches into. 

The whispers followed Taggie when she went shopping, the leading comments from the cashier asking if she had any, ‘unique cravings’ recently, while holding up the jar of pickled onions. 

Rupert’s response to this was buying her a wardrobe of summer dresses, ones with fitted bodices that showed off her tiny waist — and often a bit of cleavage, too, which he claimed hadn’t occurred to him at all. 

(Rupert would never admit it, but he wished the rumors were true. He would happily trap Taggie in such a way, if she hadn’t chosen to stay on her birth control.)

.

just watch those icicles form

.

“I just want them to know you married me for love,” she had told him and he could understand that even if he didn’t like that. 

To him, it was so obvious he loved her, and he had finally convinced her of that, he had no desire to waste time convincing others, too. 

But he had seen her parents’ disapproving looks and heard the skepticism around town. They didn’t have anything to prove, but it would make Taggie’s life easier if they did. 

“Until then,” Taggie said softly, “We should practice a lot.” 

(Taggie had never scored well on a test, but Rupert gave her high marks when it came to their sex life.)

.

.

.

When the tell-all article came out a month after they married, he was…god, he had never been so angry, so devastated, and so disappointed in himself. 

His dirty laundry had been spread across The Scorpion, spanning eight pages and linking him to dozens of women. It spoke at length about how he had fucked his way through just about every city he stayed in and every party he went to—including ‘the political party’ given that his leg up came from getting his leg over  a ‘woman of great influence’ so now people were speculating he fucked Margaret Thatcher. 

They outlined drug-fueled orgies, the fact he had sex before and after every competition with whatever groom took his fancy, that he celebrated his twenty-first birthday by sticking himself in twenty-one different women, among countless other sordid stories which padded out the pages.

They weren’t really stories, though, because it was all true.

He had proudly recounted the vast majority of it to Beatie Johnson, delighted to share his promiscuous past. 

That had been just a handful of months before he met Taggie, and god, so much had changed between then and now. 

Before the articles came out, he had been delighted by his monogamous future with her, but now he was haunted by his past inability to keep it in his pants. 

Taggie, the fucking angel she was, was surprisingly non-pulsed. 

“I knew you had a past,” she said softly, “It didn’t change the fact I loved you and wanted to marry you. Those actions…and women…they are part of the patchwork quilt of your life, not my favorite parts, but without them, you wouldn’t keep me nearly as warm at night.” 

She pressed kisses to his damp cheeks.

“I don’t love you because I think you’re perfect, Rupert. I love you because you’re you. There is no other man I could love the way I love you, and your past cannot change my feelings in the present.” 

Now it was his turn to kiss her. 

God, he loved her so much and he hoped like fucking hell that was true, and that this angel would stay no matter how devilishly he had behaved in the past. 

He almost wanted to say a prayer, but he chose to worship her instead. 

(There was a difference between being loved and being loved unconditionally. The first was expected from one’s spouse — the other was expected from one’s parents. But both Taggie and Rupert had been denied both …until they met each other.) 

.

what do I care if icicles form

.

His political career was over, though he found it hard to be sad about that, especially when Taggie sweetly reminded him it would give him more time with the horses. 

And, more time in bed with her, too. 

She was optimistic, and truly seemed unbothered by the revelations, not that she had read all of them. She insisted she was only concerned with the man he was now and how he treated her. 

She was the only one who seemed to feel that way, though. 

She sighed at the headline, Campbell Conquest says: ‘he took all my confidence when he left me’ and Rupert reached out to flip it around. 

Then, catching sight of the one below it, Rupert Campbell-Black insists he has moved on from a sordid past, and claims his teenage bride has ‘changed him.’

The wedding photo they used on the cover was sweet, at least. If you ignored the dig at Taggie’s age. She was nineteen for fucks sake. 

Barely nineteen, but still. 

“It’s fine,” she said, tangling her fingers with his when he reached for the magazine rack again, “You have changed,” Taggie said so genuinely he believed it. 

He did, truly, but given his track record and his friendships with men made similar statements while financing a half-dozen mistresses, left him painfully aware of how little the words meant. 

Your words don’t matter nearly as much as your actions , Taggie had told him a dozen times. 

She had taken to telling that to his daughter, too, like she was trying to make them all better.

(Tabitha had taken to responding with, “You would say that, you can’t read!”)

.

i've got my love to keep me warm

.

The pitying looks she got made him feel sick, eyes searching for cracks in the marriage that they were now, more than ever, certain was doomed for failure. 

They would prove them wrong. 

It made him cling to Taggie all the tighter, afraid the sympathy would guide her to a realization that ended with her leaving him . 

It wasn’t that he didn’t trust her. It was quite the opposite. He thought so highly of her, that it seemed like just a matter of time until she came to her senses. It wasn’t like she would be lacking options, everyone loved her, truly. 

His possessiveness only worsened the rumors. People thought him controlling or even abusive.

(Only half those bruises were his fault, and Taggie had damn well enjoyed the act that led to them.)

.

so I will weather the storm

.

Taggie was forced to bear the worst of the gossip at the end-of-term recital that Marcus was performing in. Hiding in a bathroom stall during intermission she bit her lip and waited for the trio to leave. 

“Did you see them come in? It’s creepy how he never lets go of her.” 

Taggie loved how he never let go of her. 

She didn’t like parties or strangers and clung to his arm out of anxiety as much as desire. She found it comforting how he returned this grip several times over, fearing she would slip away. 

It made her feel confident he wanted her there as much as she wanted to be there.

And god, the pride in his voice when he introduced her to people. The little smile he saved just for her, almost gloating as he said, “This is my wife, Taggie Campbell-Black.” 

It wasn’t uncommon for them to get the response, “My god, I thought she was your daughter!” usually said in good humor. 

Taggie didn’t mind that either, even if she probably should. It was hardly an insult, to be thought related by blood to a man like Rupert. 

(Though, being related by marriage almost felt more special, because he had chosen her in a way you couldn’t choose a child.)

.

what do I care how much it may storm

.

“He has always been so…dismissive with his partners, and then there is her, who he constantly babysits!” 

“Maybe he misses his children, it would explain the child bride.” 

“Fuck, you are so right. He must see her as a kid rather than a woman. That is why he is so loyal and protective, he probably isn’t even attracted to her.” 

“That makes more sense, I mean, really, she is so meek—I can’t fathom why else he would be with her.” 

“When his daddy era is over I’m going to try my hand again. I miss his cock.” 

Taggie winced, waiting until the women left before leaving the stall. 

She knew they were wrong, but it still hurt. 

She was used to people having doubts, but they were usually directed at Rupert’s past that had recently been dredged up, not her potential failings as a partner. 

She wasn’t a child, she told herself as she returned to her seat, playing with her wedding ring while she waited for Rupert to return.

He smelled like cigarettes and mint, not what she would classify as pleasant out of context, but the scent of him, no matter how smokey or sweaty, was so familiar and comforting that it felt like a warm blanket on a cold day. 

She took deep breaths, determined not to cry. It didn’t matter what Sarah said. It didn’t matter that Helen was glaring at her, along with just about every other woman in the audience. 

They saw her as an inconvenient barrier in the way of seducing the most attractive man in the room. 

God, she just wanted to crawl into his lap, to rest her head on his chest and breathe in the fading scent of cologne on his collar. 

Maybe she was a child.

She bit down on her lip, hard, grateful when the lights dimmed and her tears were hidden. She had forty minutes to compose herself now, she could do that much — even a child was capable of that. 

She was so focused on this task that she startled when Rupert’s fingers tucked a lock of hair behind her ear, which was just a ploy to cup her neck and pull her closer to him. It wasn’t quite a kiss, but it was hardly appropriate, either. 

“How do they expect me to concentrate on anything but you?” Rupert muttered, “A whole fucking orchestra and it doesn’t sound half as pretty as your moans.” 

Her cheeks felt warm, growing hotter when someone loudly hushed them. 

Rupert sighed, letting go of her neck, and settling his hand on her thigh instead. 

Those women were just jealous, she reminded herself, attraction clearly wasn’t an issue in their marriage. 

(He was too fucking attracted to her, that was the issue in their marriage.)

.

off with my overcoat off with my gloves

.

Rupert laughed, “Fuck, she really said that?” 

Taggie nodded, feeling far more at ease after riding him in the backseat of the car, neither of them wanting to wait until they got home. 

Sometimes, she mused, a hard fuck was all one needed to see things clearly again.  

She hoped his driver hadn't seen much, though. God knows how she would ever look him in the eye again if he had.

“My daddy era,” he spat, “That feels like an insult.” 

“It probably was,” she agreed, “But I don’t see it like that — you’re a good dad, you’re good at taking care of me, there isn’t anything shameful about that.” 

Not to her at least, god, she hoped she wasn’t some freak for thinking so.

“It’s a bigger insult to me,” she said with a frown, “That I’m an incompetent little girl.” 

Rupert laughed, tugging on her hair until her head tipped back, “Mm, but there is nothing shameful about that, either. If what you said is true, you’re my little girl, and sometimes you need guidance, as all girls your age do.” 

She shivered, feeling butterflies in her belly along with the familiar arousal that always pooled there when Rupert was present. 

“You like that, don’t you?” He mused, sounding surprised. 

She shook her head a little too quickly, if that wasn’t a giveaway than the blood pooling in her cheeks surely was. 

(It was a good thing that he liked it, too.)

.

who needs an overcoat I'm burning with love

.

It had only been a few months, but Rupert liked to think he could read his wife well enough to know what she liked. 

Sometimes even before she realized what she liked. 

And he guided her towards it, as he supposed fathers did with their children, shepherding them towards their interests and a bright future.

With Taggie, those interests just happened to coincide with sex. 

And as often as they explored those interests, they had never taken on roles, never cried out a name other than what they were called by their typical acquaintances. 

This was different and he had to tread lightly. 

“Don’t lie, Taggie, I’d hate to have to punish my sweet girl.” 

She shivered, “I—I’m not…” 

Her eyes were closed now, unable to even meet his. 

“Are you sure? Or are you just lying again because you want to be punished?” 

She shook her head, but her breathing had changed, and her hips squirmed.

“Maybe you’d like being punished, too.” He mused, carding his fingers through her hair, “That is what fathers do, don’t they? When they care, they make sure there are consequences, so their daughters are well-behaved.” 

Taggie nodded and then, “I— myfatherdidn’t,” spilled out. 

“That’s because you’re so good, he didn’t think he needed to,” he paused, “And you had to be good, to be loved, didn’t you?” 

She nodded.

“You know I’ll love you no matter what, don’t you? Even if you’re bad. Even if you lie. And I love you enough to punish you, too.” 

(When her sister was worried Rupert would hurt her, she probably didn’t mean like this.) 

.

my heart's on fire and the flame grows higher

.

He had such nice hands, Taggie had noticed that on their second meeting, and hated herself because of it, still fancying herself in love with Ralphie. 

Rupert had nice everything, really, though she hadn’t wanted to acknowledge that at the time, either. 

Now she could scarcely stop acknowledging it, even getting aroused on car trips simply from watching his fingers grip the wheel of his Aston Martin. 

His every action and gesture held so much confidence. He never stopped to question himself, and sometimes that was to his detriment, but she thrived in his company. He was such a force of nature that his attitude flowed over his surroundings, over her, and it made her feel brave and confident, too. 

And aroused. 

God, she had never thought herself a wanton person, but Rupert seemed to radiate sex in a way that made him irresistible. Somehow her inhibitions melted away under his touch, and her response was immediate and instinctual in a way that was entirely beyond her control. 

It was terrifying, having her desires be discovered by someone else and trying to process them while feeling so much pleasure. 

But it was refreshing, too, because her body reacted before her brain could, she wasn’t responsible for her reaction, and that made any humiliation ebb away — allowing her to enjoy things she would have been far too embarrassed to ever suggest. 

She never would have suggested this. No matter how nice his fingers were, she had never imagined them there, stroking her in a place that not even she had touched. 

She had certainly never imagined his palm coming down on her bare rear, making her gasp and arch against his grip while she stayed spread over his lap. 

She flinched when his fingers smoothed over the stinging cheek, expecting another slap, dreading it, yet almost disappointed when it didn’t come. 

“How about we do ten, and by the end, we’ll see if you’re willing to tell the truth.” 

Each one hurt more than the last, the ache building and building until her ass throbbed, but it was good, too, he is doing this because he cares. Because he wants me to be honest about my feelings. Because he wants me to be good. Good girls don’t lie. 

The thoughts were jumbled, not fully logical but making perfect sense in the hazy moment where pleasure and pain coincided. 

“Do you like the idea of being my little girl, Taggie? Do you like the idea of me being your daddy, taking care of you like this and as a husband?” 

The word came as easily as it did when he proposed, “ Yes,” she mumbled against the quilt that was still stretched atop the bed. 

“Does my little girl want to be fucked?” He asked, his hand stroking her inner thigh.

“Please,” she begged. 

“By who?” He sounded amused and perfectly composed, a sharp contrast to her desperate words laced with such obvious desire. 

“You — just — you, Rupert, Daddy, please.” 

It should have felt wrong, or cheesy, or embarrassing, but it didn’t. It sounded right, it felt right. 

“There is my good girl, asking so nicely, of course I’ll fuck you.” 

(It felt so good.) 

.

i thought you ought to know my heart's on fire

.

It wasn’t a kink of his — at least it wasn’t before Taggie. 

But he liked it a lot. More than he probably should have. 

She sounded so desperate, so pitiful, so overwhelmed as she writhed beneath him, her voice mere gasps of ‘please’ and ‘more’ so frustrated by him taking his time, showing a rare bit of patience and drawing out her agony and pleasure. 

And his agony and pleasure, too, because fuck knows his cock was so hard it hurt. 

But that would make the orgasm feel all the better. 

“You have to let me take care of you,” he admonished, making her whine. 

He loved her like this, so desperate, looking like that innocent girl he met a year ago, and so very young, yet begging for his cock and her orgasm like she would die if he didn’t give it to her. 

She was so fucking selfless in life, which made her greed for orgasms in bed all the more delightful. 

“Please,” she mumbled, “Need you inside of me.” 

He curled the fingers buried in her cunt and she wailed, “I am inside of you, darling.” 

“Noooo, I–I–need your c-cock, please, I’ll be good, please,” she sniffled, “Don’t be mean, be nice, Dad— please. You said you would!” 

“I did, didn’t I? But I didn’t say when,” he really was being mean, but she was so gorgeous like this. 

“Now,” she pleaded, “Need it now, Daddy, please,” the word came more frequently the further gone she got, like when she was stripped down to this raw state, it was what came to mind first—how she saw him before anything else, not that she had permission to vocalize it. 

He supposed she likely had seen him as such a figure before he became her lover and then husband. He had certainly tried to see her as a daughter for months before acting upon his feelings. 

He may have failed to see her as that — or to see her as only that, rather, because having her as just his daughter wasn’t enough, even if she played the part of one when with his children. 

And played it so well even the waitstaff got confused when they went out for meals. 

He didn’t dislike the idea, not anymore, not when he got to have her as his wife, too. 

(He got to have all of her, she was his .) 

.

the flames, they just leap higher

.

The word slipped out often. Too often. Especially when Tabitha was around. At least then, Taggie could claim it was for the children’s benefit. 

Thank god no one ever questioned her flushed cheeks when she stuttered out that excuse. 

Rupert always gave her a look, though, because he knew, and when the children weren’t looking, he’d pull her into her arms — tell her that she was his favorite, because she was so well-behaved. 

“Tabitha is a fucking nightmare, but you’re a dream, darling.” 

She couldn’t help but laugh, because she knew he adored Tabitha too — and he loved Marcus, too, even if he did a very poor job of showing it — but they were exhausting at the best of times, and according to his words, she was perfect. 

“Best fucking thing that ever happened to me.” 

(She felt exactly the same way about him.)

.

.

.

He was so lucky to have met Taggie. 

He was so lucky to have married Taggie. 

He loved her long before he had any idea how she would be in bed, and he was pretty sure there was no sex bad enough to discourage him from being with her, because she was so good in every other way. 

But fuck, he was grateful she was good at this, too. 

As in, genuinely, the best fuck he’d ever had, and he had a lot of experience. 

Maybe it was because he loved her. 

Maybe it was because she was half his age. 

Maybe it was because she was so responsive. 

Maybe it was because she was so fucking tight. 

Maybe it was because she whimpered the word ‘Daddy’ like a prayer when she came. 

(Maybe it was all of those things and more.)

.

so I will weather the storm

.

He was grumpy the day he turned thirty-nine, feeling very old, all the more so by the nineteen-year-old in bed beside him. 

She had her whole life ahead of her, but he had been too selfish to let her live it without him. 

If there was a god, they would probably never forgive him. But that was alright, his life with Taggie was heavenly, whatever came after, no matter how hellish, didn’t matter. 

She tried to cheer him up, making him breakfast and insisting on delivering it to him while he was in bed — while she was wearing nothing but a cotton apron. 

The following fuck left them sticky, maple syrup being drizzled and licked off of ill-advised places, but the orgasm was worth it. 

“Was that my present?” He asked, and he would be perfectly content if it was. 

Taggie bit her lip and shook her head, “No–I couldn’t think of what to get you, when you have so much, so instead, I got rid of something instead.” 

Maybe his memory was going in his old age, but he didn’t quite understand, and the fact she looked nervous was not helping things. 

“What did you get rid of?” He asked, very slowly.

“My birth control,” she said plainly. 

He froze. 

“Do you mean it?” He asked, not wanting to sound too hopeful. 

She nodded, but looked more nervous now, “You want that, right? I can get them back out—they are just in the tras—” 

He rolled them,  “ Don’t you fucking dare,” he growled, feeling his arousal flare again at the prospect of knocking her up. 

She knew he wanted that more than anything, and had been trying not to pressure her while vying for it since before they even married. 

If someone asked him a year or two ago if he wanted more children, he would have said no. 

But Taggie was such a natural-born caretaker, she would be such a good mother, and he wanted to make her one. 

And, a possessive part of him, wanted to see her pregnant. He wanted everyone to see her pregnant with his child, because she was his wife, and she was so much more than that too. 

“I fucking love you,” he muttered against her lips. 

(Since ‘actions speak louder than words,’ he made love to her, too.)

.

how do I care how much it storms

.

Their first Christmas together felt like a test — both the day of, and the parties that came before and after it. 

It had been six months since Beattie released the dreaded article, and even longer since they married. 

They had survived Rupert’s thirty-ninth birthday, and his…response to her ‘gift’ had given her confidence that he would like this one too. 

Because the truth was, she was already pregnant.

She hadn’t taken a pill in nearly three months but didn’t want to get his hopes up, knowing it could take a while for it to leave her system. 

“You didn’t have to get me anything,” she said, when she saw the boxes under the tree. 

He scoffed, “Of course I did.” 

This was it.

“You didn’t, really, you already gave me the best present.” 

His brow rose, and she was impressed by the restraint he showed in not saying, ‘my cock?’ 

“You gave me a baby,” she said softly, hand moving to her stomach. 

He looked stunned. 

And then he smiled. 

“Going to make you a dad for real,” she said softly, then adding, “Again,” since she could never forget Tabitha and Marcus. 

“Can’t fucking wait for it,” he said, pulling her into his lap, “You’ll be the best mother, god, can’t believe my little girl is giving me a baby,” he purred. 

She squirmed, feeling the heat build in her pelvis. 

“I’ll still be your little girl, though, won’t I?” She asked, hating how insecure she sounded. 

The look he gave her was adoring as anything, “Of course you will be, Taggie.” 

And he’d still be her daddy . 

But—

“Will I still be your favorite?” She asked, feeling ashamed for asking but needing reassurance.

“Always,” he promised, “My favorite girl, my favorite wife, my favorite fuck, my favorite person on this fucking earth.” 

(It was not lost on Taggie that he said favorite person, she knew better than to ask where she placed amongst the hounds and horses.)

.

i've got my love

.

People knew right away. They couldn’t tell from how she looked — the red velvet clung to her waist that was tiny as ever, the little bump barely visible even when she was nude — but the way she refused drinks could only mean one thing. 

The congratulations were plentiful, if not particularly genuine. 

He heard the, ‘that poor girl,’ muttered, and got sympathetic, ‘sorry your young wife is going to get fat,’ slaps on the back from other men, both of which he found equally offensive. 

Taggie was glowing, though, she couldn’t stop smiling, even with the stressors of the party and holiday. 

“I got everything I wanted this year, you know,” she told him that night, “I have you and I’m having your baby.” 

(He had her, and he made her happy, and that was all he wanted, too.)

.

to keep me warm

.

“Fatherhood suits him,” Sarah said longingly, her bleary eyes focused on Rupert while she sipped her fifth drink of the evening.

Though Taggie usually appreciated her husband earning such compliments, because he deserved them, Sarah’s attempt to ‘nurse him’ while Taggie fed Matthew in one of the spare bedrooms was not something Taggie would forgive or forget any time soon, even if Rupert had turned her down quite emphatically and publicly. 

“It does,” Taggie agreed, “He is the best daddy,” she said, drawing the word out and leveling a glare in Sarah’s direction, because she hadn't forgotten her words from last year, either.

“He will always be that to me, so try your hand at something else. And keep your tits to yourself, too.” 

Rupert moved towards them, and baby Matthew reached for her, bouncing in his father’s arms while looking delighted to be reunited with his mother, “How is my favorite girl?” He asked, greeting her with a devastating grin and a lengthy kiss.

“Tired. Happy. Hopelessly in love. And horny, too," she told him, when her lips were freed from his. 

He laughed, “So the usual, then.” 

She nodded, “You’ve turned me into a monster.” 

He shook his head, “I think you mean mother, though some are one and the same.” He frowned in the direction of her mother, Maud, who was hanging off some stranger's arm, while Declan looked on with an expression of exasperation heavy on his face. 

“Not you, though,” he reassured her, “You’re an angel, darling. All the more so, when I’m such a devil.” 

He meant the words in jest, but they didn’t come out that way. He was still too concerned with corrupting her, even if they both enjoyed her corruption a great deal. 

He had been especially whiny on his fortieth birthday, going on about how she was ‘wasting her life with an old man’ until Bas called him a, ‘fucking idiot wasting a day moping when he could be fucking his gorgeous wife who is half your fucking age’ which was a bit crass, but something Taggie very much agreed with. 

“Rupert,” she said, tugging on his tie and forcing him to look at her, “I may be an angel in your eyes, but you are hardly a devil in mine.” 

Maybe he expected her to make a joke, but she was quite serious when she said, “You’re my wings,” she said with a smile. 

Sometimes, he really did make her feel like she could do anything, maybe even that she could fly. 

But he made her so happy, that she had no desire to fly away. 

.

i've got my love to keep me warm

.

[stxrrynxghts]

Re-watching Star Plus Mahabharat (1/?)

DISCLAIMER: Whatever I say in this is about the CHARACTERS as per the way this SHOW showed them. The show=/= The Ved Vyasa Mahabharata. Don't want any more controversies, lmao. IF I mention any canon event, I will state IT. So pls, DNI if you can't handle a joke/criticism.

Starting with a shankh naad and the iconic promo woohooo

show start karte hi Arjun ke darshan ho gaye. WAAH. No but really. The face card is insane.

Why are their mukuts dangling tho o_O

Me thinking why is Satyavati shown as a main character since she is js there for the 1st quarter of the story, but then I realized that the entire reason all of this happens is because she was so manipulative during the Princess of Kashi portion, lol.

Krishna posing to give me a jaadu ki jhappi ToT

Okay, we are greeted by some classical music. I feel so peaceful.

ANDDD now that I have seen Shatanu and Satyavati, my mood is ruined.

Why are they having an affair tho

Shantanu not liking being a king and complaining. Funny how his descendants are going to have a blown war to GET this burden, LOL. #richpeopleproblems

ANDDD now we are going to be shown how ambition is bad.

Arre, why let poor Satya get all the blame? Where is her Daddy?

Satyavati: im greedy af, Shantanu: wanna be yours *puppy eyes*

Ladki ka chakkar, babu bhaiya, ladki ka chakkar

Krishna being happy in his lil garden uwu

Bhishma arriving with his superman style entry XDD

There was no need to put his feet in that kichad tho

Hastinapur ki praja being tortured by Bhima's future in-laws while Shantanu is busy doing aashiqui haha

Satyavati being rightfully shocked tbh

Ok but I thought Maharani, aka Queen, is a person who a) inherits the throne and rules in her own right, aka Queen REGNANT, or b) marries a King, aka Queen Consort??? What does that have to do with whether your son sits on the throne or not o_O

Not all of them assuming that they will have sons, what if you had daughters, Satyavati

OK BUT SOMEONE PLS WRITE AN AU WHERE SATYAVATI GIVES BIRTH ONLY TO GIRLS, I WANNA KNOW THE CHAOS THAT HAPPENS AFTER THAT PLS

Bhishma willingly signing on a slavery contract LOL

Ok but Im genuinely curious. How will Satyavati be a good queen tho? She is prolly not as well educated as princesses are, neither is she trained to be queen...

Bhishma: Make Vichitraveerya Great Again (except he was never gr8 to start with, lol)

I see, even Drupad's Father/Grandfather is fiery af. Runs in the blood, eh?

Okay but wait a sec. The Panchal King is right tho. Bhishma cannot interfere in the matters of their state, even if HIS prince is the one to do all the shit. He is a criminal, and he cannot violate the rules of other kingdoms!

Srsly, Bhishma time and again, in both canon and the show, gets his will done by the other Kingdoms, who do not oppose even if it's wrong because they know that they will be killed. Is he an unknown bully, by that standard?

Unnamed Panchal King, you are my fav from now on

Ok so, this is Prishata. Okay okay. Noice.

Vichitraveerya being cocky af. There are some things that Bhishma can't protect you from, like TB.

EW VICHITRAVEERYA SPAT ON HIM

bro clearly lacks etiquette and manners.

I'm sorry but Vichitraveerya really needs the belt treatment

Bhishma comparing Vichitraveerya to Hanuman o_O

Okay but PANCHAL cannot punish Vichitraveerya for committing crime on their land, but BHISHMA can abduct princesses from Kashi without their permission? Hypocrite much, eh?

Not Bhishma using his warrior skills so that the other kingdoms follow Hastinapur's bidding o_o

this is unfair af

poor Panchal tho, why are they being mistreated so much like can't even punish a criminal who burnt their fields

OH WOW, So not only has Bhishma entered Panchal to stop the justice system from carrying out justice, he also brought an entire army with him?!

I bet all my life savings that Shikhandi is Prishata's fav grandkid, lol

Amba doing the same crime that Vichitraveerya did XDDDD

NGL, but Amba's makeup is on point.

What is Shalva doing with Arjun's earrings and Dury's mukut

Vichitraveerya is so incompetent, GOD

Hm, Bhishma, I'm sure 99% royals drink, both male and female. Surely they must not be drunkards like your bro, tho.

um....Kuru and Panchal are enemies? Since when tho?

OH MAYBE ALL THE KURU PRINCES GO AND COMMIT CRIMES IN PANCHAL AND ESCAPE WITHOUT PUNISHMENT HMMMM

Krishna giving pottery class lmfao

Satyavati is that mom who thinks that her bahu will fix her son.

Bhishma going to interrupt a swayamavara and take the decision to marry on their own from 3 girls, LOL. How tf is this dharma?

At least in the show, Bhishma is against this. In canon, he js justified his actions saying that this form of marriage (aka rakshasa vivaha) is upheld by saints o_O

Bhishma, I like you, but why do you so much questionable stuff in the first half of MB

[stayevildarling]

Wilhemina Venable x Reader- All I want for Christmas is you

A/N: dedicated to @stepintomyworld and all the credit to you for this incredible idea💜

tw/tags: soft mina, mentions of minas past

word count: 2.7k

taglist:

@lunaticwhittaker , @billiebeanhoward , @lanawinters-ily , @kenzbro , @minaslittleone , @httpfiftyshadesofgay @whitelotus00 , @ninaahelvar , @paulsonsratched , @vintagepaulson , @isle-of-earle , @grilledcheeseandguavajelly , @lucyintheskywithxanax , @fanfics4world , @mymiraclewitch , @hazard-to-myself , @awritersometimes , @wastdstime , @p1pecleanerwitheyes , @queen2234 , @ihartnat , @lifebyinez , @ahsatanizgay , @blu3dimples , @stepintomyworld

The idea had came to you a few weeks ago, Wilhemina and you in each other‘s arms as you had one of your usual deep midnight conversations. She had said it so casually, almost as if it didnt matter. The woman had never had an advent calendar before and despite her making it seem like it wasn‘t a big deal, you could see something behind her brown eyes. You knew about Wilhemina‘s past by now, how she was never taken seriously for her pains and even when she finally got the diagnosis, she was treated like nothing other than a burden.

The redhead had always been careful about her past, not necessarily liking to bring it up, rather keeping it hidden. But after months of your relationship, the woman noticed how you never pushed, never got annoyed when she did share, you made her feel safe and seen, never like a burden and so she began trusting you, opening up and letting her guard down in a way she never had before. And with the season coming up, you decided to change just that. But it wasn‘t going to be any advent calender, her experience had to perfect, not the usual chocolates in a cardboard box.

If Mina was going to experience this for the first time, it had to be perfect. And so by the time december rolled around, you crafted your own version of an advent calendar, each day filled with something for the woman who captured your heart, little gestures to make her smile but also reminders for how much you loved her and how strong she truly was. Some were small, a book you knew she would love, a scented candle, her favorite teas, some handmade things like your own attempt at lavender soap. Some more expensive or taking longer to get your hands on like a beautiful designer scarf in her favorite shade of lilac, a new handle for her cane as hers had become a bit bruised and broken over the years.

You made sure that each day included a handwritten note, reminding her what you loved about her, her sharp wit, the way she mumbled to herself when reading a book or the way her soft hands would brush yours when she reached for her morning coffee. The night before december first, you carefully placed the wrapped boxes and envelopes on the shelf by the fireplace in the livingroom, each one labeled with the dates. When the two of you walk to sit in the livingroom with your coffees the next morning, her reaction was worth every bit of planning and effort you had gone through for the love of your life.

Her fingers delicately brushed over the first gift, her expression a mix of surprise and confusion. „What is this?“ she asked, her voice softer than usual when she saw all the shades of her favorite colour. You smile from the doorway, leaning against the frame. „An advent calendar, you said you never had one, so I thought I would make you one“ you explain, feeling a little shy, hoping it was going to bring her as much joy as you had hoped.

Mina turned towards you, her dark eyes shining „This.. is for me?“ she asks with furrowed eyebrows, almost in disbelief you would have went through that kind of trouble for her. „All for you“ you smile, stepping closer. „Go on, open today‘s“ you encourage with a warm smile. Her eyes dart between you and the box, hesitating for a moment before carefully unwrapping the small package, revealing a hardcover copy of the new book she mentioned months ago but never managed to get one. She gasps a little before finding a little note „You have a way of making this world feel brighter by just being in it. I hope this makes your day a little brighter too“.

Your girlfriends lips part, her eyes focused on the note and book before she looks at you, her usual composure softer than usual, more vulnerable. „This is.. little one.. I don‘t know what to say“ she mumbles before you step a little closer „You don‘t have to say anything“ you encourage, wrapping your arms around her. „Just enjoy it and know that every gift and every note is true, I love you“ you whisper. Your words cause you to hold on tightly and for a moment it was if though the world outside or her past didn‘t exist, just the two of you and the quiet love you shared, now carefully spelled out by daily gifts for your girlfriend.

The days passed with Wilhemina eagerly unwrapping each present, finding little gestures and notes that caused her heart to melt at your thoughtfulness. She tried to hide how giddy it made her but you would see the way her fingers lingered over the wrapping paper, a smile tugged on her lips whenever she read your notes, almost as if she was more excited about those than the actual gifts. One morning, you find her sitting at the table, the december 8th package in front of her. It wasn‘t opened yet, though she was staring at it, fingers lightly tracing the ribbon.

„Waiting for me?“ you tease, setting down two mugs of coffee before sitting across from her. She glances up, her expression softer than you had seen it before „Maybe.. I like opening them with you“ she whispers, barely audible. Her confession warmed your heart „Well don‘t let me keep you waiting, show me what you got today“ you encourage excitedly. The redhead unties the ribbon carefully, her movements unhurried, as if savouring the moment. Inside she finds a beautiful scarf, her favorite shades of lilac. You had found it weeks ago at a designer store, this not exactly within your budget but wanting to spoil the woman who had captured your heart.

She holds it up, admiring the piece of clothing before she murmurs „This is stunning“ but when she notices the small Prada tag, her eyes widen as she looks at you. „This is too much little one“ she argues but you shake your head, encouraging her to read the note. „It reminded me of you“ you whisper, watching her reaction closely. She sets the scarf down before reading the note „You are the most captivating person I have ever known, everytime I see you, I fall in love all over again“. Mina‘s breath hitches as she presses her lips together, eyes glistening with tears as she rereads the note. „You‘re going to ruin me with these“ she says, voice trembling slightly.

„Good“ you reply with a wink, reaching out to take her hand. „You deserve to be ruined in the best way possible, for love, for joy, for feeling safe and for all the things you misses out on growing up“. Her eyes find yours and for once she doesn‘t have a clever or sarcastic response. Instead she stands, leaning in as she kisses your lips, lingering on yours as if to pour all the unspoken words and gratitude into the moment. When she pulled back, she is smiling, a rare unguarded smile that causes your heart to ache. „Thank you“ she whispers „For this.. for everything“.

She doesn‘t say anything else, simply pulling you into another kiss, the scarf forgotten on the table for now. But you knew your Mina wasn‘t the type to say how much something meant to her, but in the way she held you after, the way she lingered close, you knew she didn‘t need to, her actions louder than any words. As the days passed you noticed her coming home after work, proudly wearing the scarf and using the other things you had gotten her, finding her drinking the tea you had gotten for her, reading the book and finding the room smelling like the lavender scented candle you bought, finding a soft smile on her features each time.

In the following weeks, you noticed how much more relaxed Mina seemed around you. She was anyway but there was something softer and subtler about the way she would talk to you, almost as if she wasn‘t thinking about what she is saying or holding back the slightest details which she usually would. Her arms would find yours more often, hands holding your own and her lips finding yours more softer than before, always as to make up for the fact she wasn‘t good with words and expressed her gratitude through those things.

Two nights before christmas, the two of you sit by the fireplace, the sound of the fire crackling echoing through the quiet room. There is a lilac knitted blanket draped over both of your legs as you watch the fire, the presence of each other enough as well as the vinyl you had gotten her playing softly in the background. Out of the corner of your eyes you could see how she keeps looking at you, her lips parting before she stops herself and you can‘t help but find her hand under the blanket, squeezing it a little reassuringly before locking eyes with the woman that you love. „Something on your mind Mina?“ you ask gently before her brown eyes find yours. She halts for a moment before her lips finally part, her walls knocking down gently with your grounding eyes.

„Thank you“ she whispers, her hand squeezing yours a little tighter instinctively as her eyes stay on your own. „Thank you for making this christmas so special“ she whispers, causing you to frown when you see the honesty in her eyes, the pain from her past replaced by something else. It was you that replaced those things, the notes, the carefully chosen gifts and the way you had made her feel seen ever since capturing her heart. „Thank you for making me feel seen and not like a burden“ she admits, some tears welling in her eyes as your own sparkle in your eyes. You pull her closer, holding her in your arms before pulling away with a smirk. „Wait til you open tomorrow‘s“ you tease with a wink which causes her to chuckle lowly at your antics. She leans her head on your shoulder, never once letting go off your hand.

The day christmas rolls around, the two of you begin with some breakfast, opting to spend it in the comfort of each other, Mina having made a dinner reservation for you two at a fancy but quiet restaurant she chose for the night. She had been excited to open your last box, a much smaller one this morning but you had told her she needed to wait til after breakfast, causing her to fake pout. The two of you enjoyed breakfast, happy that Wilhemina was finally getting a break from work for a little while, excited to spend it with her fully. While Wilhemina got in the bath and ready, having gifted her some lavendar bath salts for the occasion yesterday, you made sure to perfect the surprise that you had kept for the very end of this advent calendar.

By the time the woman steps out of the bedroom, dressed in a lilac uniform for tonight, her hair styled perfectly the way it usually was. But there was something different about the way she looked today, happier and almost a little less tense than usually. You watch from behind the sofa as you hide there, seeing her walk inside with a confused expression when she finds her favorite lilac flowers on the table with the last box for today. The note next to it reads „Open now“ and she glances around confused for a moment, not having seen you yet before she opens it, finding nothing other than another note in it. As her eyes glance over it her eyebrows furrow yet again as she reads „Turn around“ and as she does, her breath hitches when she sees you, on one knee and a tiny box with a purple ribbon in your hands.

„Y/N, what are you doing?“ she asks, confusion and fear in her features for a moment before your eyes locking with her own ground her. „Mina“‘you begin, trying to hide your trembling hands and trying to calm your nerves. „I know you aren‘t one for these big gestures and so that‘s why I‘m keeping this small“ you begin with a smile, trying to hold back your own tears. „I have loved you since first laying eyes on you and I couldn‘t be more grateful that you opened your heart to me. I love you with all my being, you are beautiful beyond words. And I promise you that I will spend every single one of my days reminding you how special you are“. She watches you in shock, her eyes never leaving yours as she listens to your words carefully. „I promise that I will spend my days making sure you slowly forget the memories you grew up with and replace them with happy and safe ones just like you deserve“.

Your breath trembles as you open the small box, exposing a subtle ring with a lilac diamond, not too big, not too small or grand, perfect for your girlfriend. „Will you do me the greatest honour of becoming my wife?“ you ask, a part of you worried this was too much for her, the two of you having talked about marriage before but unsure whether she was truly ready. „I promise we can take it as slow as you need and if this is too much, this is something you aren‘t ready for or not want, I will understand and I won‘t..“ you begin rambling but before your nerves can get the better of you further, she pulls you up, your faces inches apart. „Can you stop talking and kiss me?“ she whispers, tears in her eyes as you nod a bit dumfounded, her lips meeting yours in a kiss that feels so much more meaningful than all the others you had shared.

„So is that a yes?“ you ask with a sly smile as you both pull away which causes her to roll her eyes and smirk „Yes idiot, it means yes“ she whispers, tears still swelling in her eyes as you carefully place the ring on her finger, seeing how her eyes sparkle as she secretly admires it. There is silence between you as the vinyl player carries on playing softly in the background, your anxiety having drawn out the fact you turned it on before she stepped into the room while fixing all the details for her surprise. You glance at her cane, slowly reaching and putting it aside as you hold her up instead, causing her to meet your eyes, scared at first before it is instantly replaced by trust and safety. „I have got you“ you whisper as she leans her head on your shoulder and the two of you begin swaying softly to the sound of her favorite song.

„This month has been so special, thank you“ she whispers as you smile before you feel her smirking against you „How are you gonna beat that next year?“ she teases which causes you to chuckle before shrugging. „I have got something for you to open now too“ she remarks, reaching for her cane before disappearing for a moment. „I was going to give it to you tonight but I guess you beat me to it“ she whispers before you carefully unwrap the present, exposing a small box. Your heart hammers against your chest as you have a feeling what it might be by her words and smile. Tears well in your eyes as you see the beauiful ring she had chosen for you. „You know I can‘t get on one knee but will you do me the honour too?“ she teases, both utterly serious but something soft in her tone.

„I suppose so“ you shrug, tears streaming down your cheeks, causing the woman‘s elbow to softly land on your side before you both begin chuckling, laughter errupting in the quiet room as Wilhemina had learnt you truly cared for her. How you truly felt for her and she couldn‘t deny this any longer, especially after this month, that you are the one, that she trusted you fully and was never going to let you go. Her arms wrap around you again before her hand takes yours to admire the ring „Y/N Venable has a nice ring to it“ she smirks which causes you to smile before pulling her in for a kiss. And it was true, all you both wanted for christmas was each other, today and for all the christmases to come.