#i can definitely imagine this conversation

[hexescore]

oh and by the way, i love you.

♡ ◞ includes: caitlyn, ekko, jayce, jinx, mel, sevika, viktor, vi.

☆ ◞ summary: first 'i love you's with (character)!

△ ◞ warnings: gn! reader. pre-established relationship (caitlyn, jinx, mel, viktor). friends-to-lovers (ekko, jayce, sevika, vi).

CAITLYN KIRAMMAN

It's quiet, the early morning blessing you both with a peaceful silence that allows you two to truly appreciate the sight in front of you— each other. Caitlyn enjoys moments like this, waking up with you, getting to see the way the rising sun filters through her curtains to cast a golden glow across your skin.

Her hand, which is in yours, gives a gentle squeeze. You give her a sleepy smile, and she chuckles as she leans in to press a quick peck to your lips, and then another, and another, before you're both shuffling together, closer. Legs and arms entangled, a slowness in you both knowing that neither of you have to leave anytime soon.

"You know," She whispers, her eyes shut. She had imagined how she'd say this a million times, wondered when it'd be the right time, but Caitlyn quickly realizes that perhaps the right time is the time she makes to say it. So she makes the time. "I love you."

Your heart skips a beat, and you pull away to look at her. Her eyes open, and you can see the panic flashing in her eyes- was it too soon? did she get confused? had she-

"I love you, too." Her tense form immediately relaxes again, and she buries her head into your neck, shaking her head as she lets out a breathless laugh. You laugh along with her, both of you feeling nerves and excitement at those words.

"Don't scare me like that," she whines against your skin. Indulging this rare side of Caitlyn, you gently pat her back, cooing at her.

"'m sorry, 'm sorry, won't happen again." You'll definitely respond faster next time!

─ ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──── ♡ ─── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──

EKKO

Ekko had been acting quite strange as of late, and had you been any less keen you'd just assume he was busy- but this was different, he was most definitely avoiding you! Which is why you devised a plan to corner him and get to the bottom of this whole situation.

It was like any other day, except you had been lying in wait. Waiting, and waiting, until he was finally alone. You continued to follow him to a secluded area. "Ekko." He tensed up, but recovered quickly as he turned to glance at you.

"Oh, uh, hey, what's up?" Was he serious? You cross your arms over your chest, giving him a pointed look. Ekko's guilty conscious is clear as day when it comes to you, from the way his Adam's apple bobs to the way his fist clench and unclench. You frown.

"Ekko..." He doesn't say anything. "Alright, I'll ask it. Why have you been avoiding me?" He falters, looking ashamed. He knew it was wrong to avoid you, but when he came to realize how intense his emotions were for you it freaked him out. He hadn't... He didn't mean to... well, fall in love, during such a time.

The silence is heavy, and you debate just leaving, before Ekko clears his throat. "There are things that I've been meaning to tell ya... I'm just having a hard time finding the words..." He scratches the back of his neck.

"Like?" You press, needing to know what has been so hard to say that he's been avoiding you.

"Like... I love you?"

─ ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──── ♡ ─── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──

JAYCE TALIS

"Jayce? What are you doing?" Jayce, with his hand respectfully on your lower back, guides you away from the boring and artificial conversations of Piltover's finest. He excuses you both, much to your dismay. "Where are you taking me?"

"Somewhere private," He says through a tense smile. You soon find yourself down the hall, away from the party but still able to hear it's chatter. It seems Jayce hadn't prepared for what comes after he got you away from those flirty elites.

"Well?" You ask, head tilted in a questioning way. "Are you going to explain why you so rudely pulled me away? I was about to get some nice funding for your-" Jayce cuts you off, desperation rolling off of him in waves.

"Because I love you," He says, "And I can't stand to see them look at you, touch you-" He stops to take a deep breath before he gets himself too worked up. "Look, I know... I know you probably don't feel the same, and I understand if you don't, but-"

"Jayce," You call once, and like an obedient dog he stops everything he's doing. Instead he waits, hanging on to your words. Your arms wrap around his neck, and you pull him into a kiss. It's needy, filled with want and love and passion. Until you can't breath, you wait until you can't breathe to pull away, and look him in the eyes.

"I love you."

For the first time that night, Jayce's lips curl into a genuine smile. It's so bright and warm you get weak in the knees and butterflies in your stomach.

"Can we ditch the party now?"

"Oh definitely."

─ ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──── ♡ ─── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──

JINX

"Wrench!" Jinx calls dramatically, hand stuck out and awaiting her tool- which you promptly hand to her, repeating her words 'wrench.' She giggles as she grasps the wrench and twists a few bolts on her latest invention.

When she finishes, she takes in inhale of breath, ready to shout the next tool she needs, but already in her hand is a can of spray paint. She blinks a few times- how did you know? She grins, looking back at you, before looking at the can of spray paint.

"This is why I love you, ya know that?" She says, not really processing the words until you say them back to her.

"You... You love me?" The shock is evident in your voice. It's not that Jinx hasn't shown her love, her affections, for you, but this is the first time she's vocalized them and it has your heart hammering in your chest. She blinks a few times, lifting her goggles to rest on top her head.

"I did say that, didn't I?" She says, more to herself than to you. She then looks you in the eyes, that sparkle in them has your throat tightening up. "Yeah, I love you." You try to speak, truly, but you can't get a word out. "Jeez, is it that surprising, thought it was obvious?"

"No, it's just-" You finally manage to speak. Actually, you finally manage to get a good look at her. Her cheeks are a little flushed, she's fiddling with her tools, she's nervous- she's vulnerable- and you feel a protective instinct come on. "I love you, too- I really, really love you."

She laughs nervously, turning away from you. That's enough emotional vulnerability she's willing to share today. "Yeah, yeah, let's not get too mushy, 'kay?" You don't push it, instead nodding along. "Uh, anyways... Hand me that wrench again...!"

─ ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──── ♡ ─── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──

MEL MEDARDA

"You don't have to say it back," Mel Medarda has always been diplomatic, even in your relationship. She's also always been rather guarded, keeping all her cards close to her chest- but she allows you from time-to-time to catch a peak behind her walls. "I just wanted to let you know. I... I love you."

Undoubtedly, you love her back. You've loved her from the moment she smiled at you- Mel was hard not to love. Which is why you're having a hard time responding, because how could you even possibly begin to explain just how much you love her?

Mel begins to grow withdrawn, those small anxieties nipping away at her mind. Did you not feel the same way? Had she embarrassed herself with her little display? Did she ruin this relationship in one phrase? She takes a step away from you, wondering if she should take her leave.

Thankfully before than can happen, you've caught her wrist and meet her eyes.

"I love you, too." A breath of relief leaves you both. "Mel, I... I can't even begin to explain, I mean, it's just that you... god, you, you definitely deserve a better response than this mess but, I mean it, truly. I love you. I've loved you since the moment I saw you. I'll always- I'll always love you."

"Darling..." Mel started to feel flustered, your earnest rambling getting her cool and collected persona to crack a little. "I get it."

"Right, sorr-" Before you can apologize for your cute, anxious rambling, Mel shuts you up with a kiss. Something that symbolizes that you both understand just how much you both mean to each other.

─ ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──── ♡ ─── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──

SEVIKA

Sevika can't help but crack a smile at your antics sometimes. She's watching you with a close eye as you dance in an exaggerated way, being goofy in a way that's so very rare in the undercity. She shakes her head as you sit in the seat across from her, wiggling your brows. "Dance with me?"

"Not a chance in hell." She snorts, "How you made me fall in love with you is still beyond me." Sevika takes a drink, not noticing what she said. You, on the other hand, have gone still. "What's wrong with you now?" She asks, already exasperated.

"You love me?"

"What're you-... Shit." She definitely didn't mean to say that, but now that it's out there, she might as well commit. She downs the rest of her drink, clears her throat, and looks away from you.

"And if I do? Would that be a problem?"

"Not at all- I love you, too!" Your enthusiasm has her taken aback once more. She looks at you incredulously, searching your face for any sign of lying or messing with her. She finds nothing but genuine love. Shit, shit, shit. Sevika was so totally unsure on how to handle this.

"You love me, huh?" When you nod, eagerly, Sevika bites her cheek. Well... She supposes if it's you, she could try and give it a shot. "I guess, yeah, I do love you... so... what're we gonna do about that?"

You had a few ideas.

─ ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──── ♡ ─── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──

VIKTOR

"Yes, yes, I understand." Viktor says as he wraps the scarf you gifted him around his neck. "I'll be back tonight for dinner, not to worry." You don't really believe him when he says that, still you help him zip up his winter coat.

"If you're not," You say, taking a step closer, your lips hovering over his. "I'll personally drag you back here." Your lips meet his and he hums into the kiss, pulling away with a small smile.

"I'll be here." You just hum dismissively. You'll believe when you see it. He rolls his eyes at your sass, opening the door and stepping out. "Alright, I'll see you then. Goodbye, I love you." He closes the door, and just as quickly he's trying to pry it back open.

You're laughing your ass off on the other side of the door whilst Viktor's ears turn red. "Dear, please, open the door, I forgot my keys... and I need to say those words properly..." he groans, his head resting against the door. After a few seconds, the clicks unlock and it opens to reveal you, tears in your eyes from laughing.

"This is not funny."

"It's a little funny." You tease, handing Viktor his keys. "I lov-"

"Wait," He halts you. "Let me... Let me say it properly." His blush moves from his ears to his cheeks. He takes your hand and presses a sweet kiss to it, looking up at you through his lashes. "I love you."

"I love you, too, Viktor."

─ ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──── ♡ ─── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──

VI

You're patching her up after a particularly brutal beating. Her job, these missions, can get pretty violent, and it's always up to you to heal her wounds. 'I don't trust any other doctor,' she explains before you inform her that you are not a doctor. Despite that she still finds you after every fight she gets herself in.

You sigh, cleaning a nasty cut on her face. "You've got to be more careful." You tsk, reveling in the way she hisses at the disinfectant. It's what she deserves after scaring you to death all these times.

"Worried 'bout my pretty face?" You scoff, rolling your eyes at her.

"More like your brain- I'm afraid you can't afford to lose anymore braincells." She laughs at your snark. She likes that about you, likes everything about you, actually. Her hands find your waist, pulling you closer to her. You huff, pulling back to get a better look at her wounds.

"Hey," Vi calls, and you just hum in response. "I love you." You freeze, before looking down at her with wide eyes.

"Did you actually get brain damage-" She bites back another laugh, shaking her head. "Vi...?"

"I love you. Have for a while, so no, this isn't a brain damage confession." Oh. You falter for a second, hands shaky as you finish placing the band-aid on her cheek.

"If you're messing with me-"

"I'm not." She insists, earnest in her affections. "So... Do you-"

"Yes." You mumble, turning your face to hide it from her. "I... Love you, too, Violet."

[slurmpinheimer]

from @cyber-harpie !! spit that shit homie!! I thought this deserved to be seen because it brings up a lot interesting points—and I do agree with this, though it got me thinking again. I would like to add a few things to my initial statement because analysis and talking about Kim is fun;

(WARNING: MAJOR KIM-RELATED YAPPAGE BELOW)

I’ve watched several play throughs where (especially at the beginning of the game/if they have low psyche) people aren’t sure of Kim, or even go so far as to call him annoying, a buzzkill, or an asshole. At first I found myself getting really defensive about this. Obviously not to the point that I made any hate comments or anything, that would be silly— But just in my head, automatically dismissing it because I love him and didn’t want to hear it. I couldn’t imagine anyone disliking him, instead of thinking deeper and considering *why* people might come to these conclusions.

I believe the bits we get from Esprit and Empathy support my initial point that Harry is the perfect narrative device to meet Kim through. If I remember correctly, Kim was written specifically to find Harry funny, and Harry’s skills let us see that. and that’s IF you succeed the checks, or if you’re dedicated enough to save scum to see other possibilities/go through Fayde to see what other options might have held.

Like, before I learned about the end of the Homosexual Underground thought line, I certainly had my suspicions. I definitely thought Kim was at least queer-coded and headcanoned him as gay, but that thought trail is behind a legendary Composure check that I spent like 10 full minutes save-scumming. I had low motorics on my first run, and I only tried so hard because I had been spoiled and knew that it gave a thought called “Homosexual Underground” and needed to see where that led with my own eyes.

That’s just one example too—There’s several times that Kim Lore is behind hard checks (Ace’s High/Low, that tidbit about him smoking weed lol) or things he just refuses to elaborate on without specific circumstances. Plus there’s all the stuff that you can learn when you play a different quest line. I’ve had several people tell me that going through a fascist ends up with Kim actually being pretty open about things you don’t learn about in other questlines. I don’t even know all the details of that yet because I’ve been so busy doing the other quests and achievements that I haven’t finished a fascist run yet.

My thought process with all this is that without seeing Kim through the lens Harry, who works with him almost constantly for a week straight in a situation where deep and meaningful conversation is not just encouraged but *needed* to build a repertoire and ultimately solve the case—Not to mention the patience and care Kim treats Harry’s situation with—I can see how someone would look at Kim from the outside and find him to be… (anguish at typing out this word) …mid.

So yeah. On the surface level; Kim is a cop. He can be condescending and uptight, sometimes leading into lecturing people (something he himself admits). He plays his cards close to his chest, with both his moralist beliefs and even more so his sympathies for the rebellion—Which can make him look a bit like a fence sitter. He can be emotionally unavailable towards himself and others, making him hard to read and sometimes appear cold.

But past that, he is a beautifully crafted, deep character, and the perfect foil to the chaos that is Harry. He is the man that reaches out to shake your hand even though you ghosted him two days prior. He will pat you and give you a handkerchief when you throw up. He can be the man that sticks up for you time and time again, not just because he needs to in order to solve the case, but because if you really try, he believes you’re a good detective at heart. Past suicidal rants and nervous breakdowns, he encourages you to keep going.

He has been beaten down, ground and polished to a smooth finish by mutiple facets of oppression—from his glasses, to his race, his sexuality, all fundamental parts of himself that he cannot change. From years of working in a high-pressure, volatile work environment with low pay and little benefits other than the small satisfaction of completing a case, only to dive headfirst into the next one.

He pushed aside his lofty dreams of the skies to be down with the rest of us in the dirt and mud, trudging, struggling through life until we all inevitably burn away the fuel reserves and are nothing but smoke, a memory in the mind of fire.

Beyond that carefully constructed exterior, past his wall of professionalism (and habit of using his notebook as a shield) hides a goofy nerd, a lover of crosswords and cars, of silly radio stations, and a deep appreciation for beautifully bearded muscular men. He is an expert user of sarcasm and master of cryptic jokes, some even philosophical or political in nature. At his core, he wants to make things better for the people around him. He wants to believe he can make a difference, no matter how long it takes or how small the change is. Even if working for the RCM destroys him before he can see it come to fruition.

He is wonderful. He is amazing. He’s probably my favorite character all of fiction, and I don’t think there will ever be a day in my life that I stop loving him. That’s pookie you’re talking about. I’ll always have space in my heart for him.

He will live on as long as we do, as real as The Man From Hjemdall is to Roy because Disco Elysium *made* him real, handcrafting him, giving him life between margins and pixels. And that is worth everything.

Kim Kitsuragi is a fascinating character because there's not that much fun or interesting or compelling about him. And yet somehow over the course of playing Disco Elysium the game rewires your fucking brain around him. He's the middest man you've ever seen in both appearance and personality but at some point he says something kind to you or something critical of you and you feel like you just got hit by a truck and you need his approval like you need oxygen and like how tf did this happen. what are you

[writingwisterias]

how would eras of leon respond to jealousy/yearning with sex?

Hi Anon!

Thanks for the request...I had a lot of fun thinking about this one 👀

Ok ok I'm cracking down on requests! I promise I needed a day to recover from work 💗

Warnings: NSFW, Yearning, Jealousy, Sexual Tension, MNDI

GN!Reader

RE2:

Just for something different, I'm doing a no Apocalypse AU for this one

You sit opposite him, your desks are connected. You were always so kind to him compared to the other officers

Both of you always get along well when you are paired for patrol etc

But he's not the only one that has eyes on you, every other officer seems to as well

He hates feeling jealous that the other officers are talking to you, touching you as they past and you are entertaining them?

There's a staff party and everyone is buying you drinks and chatting, he barely has a chance to speak to you. After all you are his only friend

What he didn't know is you are frustrated from all the attention and you are just trying to get to Leon

When you finally reach him, he's in a mood and it doesn't take long for you to realize hes jealous.

Maybes it's the drinks in your system or the small crush you have on him bubbling in your chest. But you kiss him

He's shocked at first, but recovers fast. His lips are desperate

Spots all the officers back off when he kisses you, so then his touch becomes possessive claiming you as his.

He'll make sure he's the only one you think about when you both leave and he takes you home. 👀

RE4R:

He's touched starved so anyone even approaches you with the intention of sex he's immediately jealous

He's confident enough that you won't go for someone else, even if you aren't exclusive but he'll be pissed off for a while

His jealous would come out in the form of silence,

like he's giving you the silence treatment until you figure out what's wrong and fix it

I think he would probably insert himself into the situation but more of him being a presence there than actually joining in...again silent treatment.

If you don't give him attention he's very heavy with eye contact, constantly trying to get you in his eyeline so he can watch you

Infinite darkness:

The most verbal about being jealous,

like he will pull you away and probably whisper to you how you are making him jealous

Longer touches as well, on your hip or lower back..he's making sure you notice it's there

I think he'll just constantly remind you of his presence until you eventually cave

To make him jealous it would be entertaining other people in an awkward conversation, like if someones asking you to dinner or whatever and your reply is "I'll have a look at my schedule" or "let me get back to you"

You probably aren't going to do either of those things but Leon doesn't like it, he'll make sure your schedule is full of him

Damnation:

I like the idea that he doesn't care enough to get jealous, like if you don't want him he will accept defeat and it will add to the list of other things wrong with his life

But he won't hide the fact he wants you

I imagine it's a situation where he's rough with everyone but you

The rest of his department constantly digs at him for this, it makes you blush when you finally notice it

Heavy eye contact on you, like constantly watching what you are doing around the office etc

It's when you are on a mission together that you finally cave and give him what he wants, and you definitely don't regret it

RE6:

I think he would be in the same boat as damnation where he doesn't really get jealous but he does show that he wants you

With his intense scenes with Ada as well he would make it even more prominent that he wants you

Whenever it's to show Ada that he's moved on or it's to show you that he still wants you

That's up to you

But he's going to make it known that there's nothing to worry about, he's smart enough to understand how him caring for Ada might seem he's still hung up on her

Vendetta:

I like the idea of you being a bartender at the bar he constantly visits

He enjoys your attention and sympathy, often having long chats about anything but his work

As soon as someone needs you though or you turn to serve another customer he's instantly jealous

You want him too, it's obvious. But not drunk and in the state of mind he's in

You understand that he would be good with that commitment and probably a loving partner but he needs to heal first

You put up with his drunken exclamations how he loves you and wants you, his constant staring and snarling at other customers

It's cute that he wants you that badly but until he sobers up and shows some signs of self improvement you won't do it

It does increase the heat from him, but he'll be thankful when he does eventually get sober

Death Island:

Super super jealous

Like you are an angel in his eyes why are you hanging out with someone else?

Why are you talking to one of his co workers? You don't need to entertain that asshole you are his

You aren't actually though, not yet

Both of you tip toeing on this line of friends and lovers

A game of seeing who caves first

He does, pressing you into a kiss that you can't forget. It was rushed after he had a close call with the virus.

Yet it leaves you logging for more, he's just waiting until you finally admit it to him

[pucksandpower]

Order Up

chef!Max Verstappen x vegan!Reader

Summary: in which an unstoppable force (the stubborn Michelin-starred chef of a glitzy steakhouse) meets an immovable object (the vegan just looking for something she can actually eat) … and the rest, as they say, is history

The steakhouse is packed, the ambient light just dim enough to cast a flattering glow over everyone at the long wooden table. Glasses clink together in a chorus of celebration, laughter, and conversation filling the air as your friends lean in close to chat. The table is filled with shared appetizers — charred octopus, beef tallow truffle fries, the occasional bacon-wrapped date — but you’re preoccupied with the thick menu in your hand.

“What’s good here?” You ask, keeping your voice casual. But inside, you’re already scanning for the little green leaf symbols that typically offer you some respite. There’s not a single one. It’s all meat, meat, meat.

“Everything,” someone pipes up. “But definitely the steak.”

You give them a polite smile, already sensing the dilemma growing in your chest. You could’ve sworn someone mentioned the place had plant-based options. But this is a Michelin-starred steakhouse — it seems like steak is the only thing anyone’s interested in tonight.

“Anything catching your eye?” You friend across the table asks, eyes bright with excitement.

“Not exactly.” You chew on your lip, setting the menu down. “I’m, uh, vegan.”

A silence falls over your corner of the table, the chatter continuing elsewhere as your friends stare at you. You feel your cheeks heat up, the familiar twinge of anxiety flaring up as you mentally prepare for the usual questions.

“Vegan? Seriously?” One of them finally says, brow furrowing. “You’re in the wrong place for that.”

“Yeah, it’s just ... it’s my thing, you know?” You laugh lightly, hoping to defuse the situation. “I’m sure they can whip something up in the kitchen, right?”

“I don’t know, this place is pretty strict,” another friend comments, glancing towards the kitchen doors as if expecting a sous-chef to pop out and reprimand you. “But you could ask.”

You take a breath, nodding. “Yeah, I’ll ask.”

The waiter approaches, a polished smile on his face as he sets down more drinks and asks if you’ve made any decisions. You tilt your head, giving him a hopeful look.

“I was wondering if the kitchen could prepare something vegan?” You say, your voice steady but polite. “I didn’t see anything on the menu, and-”

“I’ll ask the chef,” he cuts in smoothly, though there’s a slight twitch in his jaw as he scribbles something in his notepad. “One moment.”

As he disappears towards the back, your friends exchange wary glances. You try to brush it off with another easy smile, though your nerves are prickling beneath the surface.

“This could be interesting,” someone says, raising their eyebrows. “Michelin-starred chefs aren’t exactly known for accommodating special requests.”

“Yeah, well, I’m hoping this one’s different,” you say, half-joking, though you can’t shake the knot in your stomach.

The seconds tick by, each one dragging out longer than the last. You sip at your water, making small talk, but your mind is already in the kitchen, imagining what kind of chef you’re dealing with. When the kitchen doors finally swing open, you feel a flutter of anxiety — and maybe a little curiosity.

He’s not what you expect.

Max Verstappen storms out of the kitchen, wiping his hands on a towel with an intensity that makes the air crackle around him. His blue eyes are sharp, his jaw tight, and there’s a heat in his expression that has nothing to do with the stoves behind him. He’s annoyed. No, more than annoyed — he’s furious.

And when he locks eyes with you, you feel like the world narrows down to just the two of you.

“Who asked for vegan?” His voice is clipped, Dutch accent thick, and it’s obvious he’s not here to make friends. Your friends glance between the two of you, sensing the impending storm, but you lift your chin, refusing to be intimidated.

“I did,” you say, matching his intensity with your own steady gaze. “Is that a problem?”

Max narrows his eyes, like he can’t quite believe what he’s hearing. “This is a steakhouse,” he says slowly, as if explaining something very simple to a child. “A Michelin-starred steakhouse. I don’t make rabbit food.”

“Then maybe tonight you could make an exception,” you reply, keeping your tone even but firm. “I’m sure a chef of your caliber could whip something up.”

A scoff escapes him, and for a moment, you think he’s about to walk away. But instead, he steps closer, the heat of his presence almost tangible. “You think I’m going to ruin my kitchen with tofu or whatever it is you people eat?”

You blink at him, thrown off balance for a second by the sheer force of his disdain. But you gather yourself quickly, leaning forward slightly. “So you’re saying you can’t do it? That it’s too much for you?”

The challenge hangs in the air between you, thick with tension. Max’s jaw clenches, his eyes sparking with something dangerous. But then, to your surprise, he laughs — a short, harsh sound that doesn’t reach his eyes.

“I’m not making you anything,” he says, finality in his voice. “You should’ve picked a different restaurant.”

“Maybe I would have, if I’d known the chef had such limited skills,” you retort, not backing down.

His eyes darken, and for a moment, you think you’ve gone too far. But then, something shifts. The anger in his expression falters, replaced by something else — something almost amused.

“You’re really pushing it,” he mutters, but there’s a faint smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.

You feel a strange thrill at that, your pulse quickening. “I’m just asking you to do your job. Isn’t a good chef supposed to cater to all his customers?”

“A good chef is supposed to maintain the integrity of his menu,” he shoots back. “Not cater to every whim that walks through the door.”

“Maybe a great chef can do both,” you say quietly, watching him closely.

For a long moment, he just stares at you, his gaze intense and unreadable. You’re not sure what you expect him to do next — yell, walk away, maybe call security to kick you out — but what happens is the last thing you expect.

He leans in even closer, his voice dropping to a low, dangerous murmur. “You think you’re clever, don’t you?”

“Not particularly,” you reply, heart pounding. “I just know what I want.”

Max holds your gaze for a moment longer, then straightens up, tossing the towel over his shoulder. “You’re not going to win this,” he says, but there’s a hint of something in his voice — a challenge, maybe.

“We’ll see about that,” you reply, giving him a small, almost defiant smile.

He doesn’t smile back, but there’s a flicker of something in his eyes, something that makes your breath catch in your throat. Without another word, he turns on his heel and heads back to the kitchen, the doors swinging shut behind him with a decisive thud.

The table is silent for a moment, everyone exchanging wide-eyed looks as if they can’t believe what just happened. Your heart is still racing, your mind replaying the exchange over and over, analyzing every word, every glance.

“Did you just ...” one of your friends starts, trailing off in disbelief.

“I think I did,” you reply, a bit dazed yourself. But beneath the shock, there’s a strange sense of satisfaction. You’re not sure what it is — maybe the fact that you stood your ground, or maybe it’s something else, something about the way Max looked at you in those final moments.

Whatever it is, it leaves you feeling more alive than you have in a long time.

“Okay, that was intense,” someone else says, still staring at the kitchen doors. “Are you sure you want to keep pushing him?”

You take a breath, letting the adrenaline course through you. “Yeah. I think I do.”

“Good luck with that,” another friend mutters, though there’s a hint of admiration in their voice.

You don’t need luck, though. Not with this. There’s something about Max — something infuriating and fascinating all at once — that makes you want to see how far you can push him, how much he can take before he cracks. You’re not even sure what you’re aiming for — his respect, his irritation, or something else entirely — but you know you’re not backing down.

The minutes pass, and the chatter around the table picks up again, though you can tell everyone’s still on edge, waiting to see if Max will come back. You sip your water, trying to calm the lingering buzz of energy in your veins. Part of you wonders if you’ve made a mistake, if you’ve pushed too far, but another part — a bigger part — knows that this is exactly where you need to be.

When the kitchen doors finally swing open again, the table falls silent once more. Max strides out, his expression unreadable, and heads straight for you. He doesn’t have a plate in his hands, and for a moment, your heart sinks, thinking he’s come out just to reiterate his refusal.

But instead, he stops in front of you, crossing his arms over his chest. “You’re really not going to let this go, are you?”

“Nope,” you say, meeting his gaze steadily. “I’m not.”

He studies you for a long moment, his blue eyes piercing. Then, to your surprise, he sighs — a heavy, resigned sound.

“You’re a pain in the ass,” he mutters, shaking his head slightly.

“So I’ve been told,” you reply, lifting an eyebrow.

He lets out a low, frustrated growl, but you can see the ghost of a smile twitching at the corners of his mouth. The tension between you is still palpable, but it’s shifted — softened in a way that neither of you acknowledges.

“All right,” he finally says, his tone somewhere between exasperation and something almost like admiration. “I’ll make you something.”

Your friends exchange surprised glances, but you keep your gaze locked on Max, not letting yourself get too excited just yet. “You don’t have to,” you say, though the look in your eyes says otherwise.

“I’m doing this once,” he warns, pointing a finger at you like it’s some kind of punishment. “And if you don’t like it, you’re not getting a refund.”

You bite back a smile. “Deal.”

He narrows his eyes at you one last time before turning on his heel and heading back to the kitchen. The doors swing shut behind him, and this time, the silence at the table is charged with something new — something like disbelief, mingled with anticipation.

“What just happened?” Someone finally asks, breaking the spell.

“I think Max Verstappen just agreed to make a vegan dish,” you say, a touch of incredulity in your own voice.

“That’s got to be a first,” another friend chimes in, shaking their head. “You’ve got some kind of magic power.”

You laugh, the sound lighter than it’s been all night. “I don’t know about that. I think he just likes a challenge.”

“Or maybe he just likes you,” one of them says, waggling their eyebrows suggestively.

You roll your eyes, though a part of you wonders. There was something in the way he looked at you — something beyond just irritation. But you push the thought aside. Whatever this is, it’s not something you can figure out in the middle of a crowded steakhouse.

The minutes tick by, and though the conversation at the table picks up again, you can feel the undercurrent of curiosity running through your friends. They’re all waiting to see what Max will come up with, and honestly, so are you. The anticipation builds, your mind racing with possibilities — what could a Michelin-starred chef possibly make that’s both vegan and up to his standards?

When Max finally reappears, he’s carrying a single plate in his hands. He walks with purpose, his expression serious, but there’s a glint in his eyes that wasn’t there before. As he approaches, the table falls silent again, everyone leaning in to see what he’s brought.

He stops in front of you, holding out the plate with a sort of grudging respect. “Here,” he says simply.

You look down at the dish and feel your breath catch. It’s stunning — an artful arrangement of roasted vegetables, grains, and a vibrant sauce that you can’t quite place. It’s clear that he didn’t just throw something together — he put thought into this. Care, even.

“This looks amazing,” you say, genuine awe in your voice.

Max shrugs, though you can see the faintest hint of pride in his expression. “I told you — just this once. Don’t get used to it.”

You give him a small smile, something warm blooming in your chest. “Thank you.”

He nods, but before he can turn away, you add, “I’m serious. It really means a lot that you did this.”

For a moment, his eyes soften, and you see a flicker of something vulnerable beneath his tough exterior. But then he smirks, the mask slipping back into place. “You’re just lucky I’m in a good mood.”

“Is that what this is?” You tease, raising an eyebrow.

He doesn’t answer, just gives you a look that says more than words ever could. Then, with a final nod, he heads back to the kitchen, leaving you with the dish in front of you and the lingering feeling that something significant just happened.

You take a bite, and it’s even better than it looks. The flavors burst on your tongue, rich and complex, and you can’t help but smile. This is more than just food — it’s a statement, a challenge met and won.

The rest of the meal passes in a blur. Your friends order their steaks, and while they rave about their meals, you’re completely absorbed in your own, savoring every bite. You can’t help but steal glances towards the kitchen every now and then, wondering if Max is watching, if he’s thinking about you as much as you’re thinking about him.

By the time dessert rolls around, you’re almost too full to eat another bite. But when the waiter places a plate in front of you, you freeze.

It’s a small, delicate dessert — something that looks like a cross between a tart and a cake, with a perfectly smooth layer of chocolate ganache on top. But that’s not what catches your attention. Written in dark chocolate sauce across the edge of the plate, in neat, precise handwriting, is a phone number.

You blink, staring at it, your heart skipping a beat. Your friends lean in, catching sight of it as well, and their reactions range from gasps to stifled laughter.

“No way,” someone whispers, eyes wide with disbelief.

You can hardly believe it yourself. But there it is — clear as day, an unmistakable invitation.

You glance towards the kitchen, and just as you do, the doors swing open again. Max steps out, catching your eye from across the room. For a moment, the world seems to narrow down to just the two of you again, the noise and bustle of the restaurant fading into the background.

He gives you a small, almost imperceptible nod — an acknowledgment, a dare. Then, without waiting for a response, he turns and disappears back into the kitchen, leaving you with your friends and the plate in front of you.

“Are you going to call him?” One of them asks, their voice tinged with excitement.

You stare at the number, feeling a rush of adrenaline. “I don’t know,” you admit, though a smile is already spreading across your face.

But deep down, you do know. Because this — this little gesture, this playful challenge — feels like the start of something. Something you’re not quite ready to let go of.

You pick up your fork, take a bite of the dessert, and let the sweetness melt on your tongue. It’s perfect — just like everything else he’s made tonight. And as you savor the taste, you can’t help but think that maybe, just maybe, this is the beginning of something far more interesting than you ever expected.

***

The kitchen is filled with the scent of something sweet and savory, a blend of spices and roasted vegetables that wafts through the house and wraps around you like a warm blanket. You’re perched on a barstool at the kitchen island, one hand absentmindedly resting on your growing belly, the other holding a glass of freshly squeezed juice that Max insisted you drink, despite your protests that you were perfectly fine with water.

“You need the vitamins,” he had said, the Dutch accent that once made you bristle now soothing in its familiarity.

“Max, it’s fine,” you replied, but he had just given you that look — the one that says he’s not backing down — and you relented with a sigh, knowing there was no point in arguing.

Now, you watch as he moves around the kitchen with a practiced ease, his hands deftly chopping, stirring, and seasoning. It’s a sight you’ve grown accustomed to over the years, but it never fails to fill you with a mix of awe and gratitude. He’s changed so much since that night at the steakhouse, when he’d been all sharp edges and stubborn pride. Now, those edges have softened, replaced by a quiet determination to make you happy in every way he can.

“How’s it coming along?” You ask, taking another sip of juice and trying to ignore the flutter of excitement in your stomach that has nothing to do with the baby.

“Almost done,” Max replies, glancing up at you with a smile that makes your heart skip a beat. “Patience, liefje.”

“You know I’m not good at that,” you tease, leaning forward to try and catch a glimpse of what he’s cooking.

He chuckles, shaking his head as he continues to stir the pot on the stove. “I know. That’s why I’m hurrying.”

You can’t help but smile at that, the warmth of his words spreading through you like a comforting embrace. It’s moments like this that make you realize just how lucky you are — how much you’ve both grown together, built a life together. It hasn’t always been easy, but it’s been worth it.

“What are you making, anyway?” You ask, your curiosity getting the better of you.

He gives you a sly look, his lips curling into a smirk. “You’ll see.”

You groan, rolling your eyes. “You’re impossible.”

“And you love it,” he retorts, his voice full of playful confidence.

“Unfortunately, yes,” you admit with a mock sigh, though the smile on your face gives you away.

He laughs softly, the sound deep and full of affection. “Good thing, too.”

You watch him for a moment longer, your heart swelling with a mixture of love and contentment. He’s wearing an apron over his casual clothes, his hair slightly tousled from the steam rising off the stove. There’s something almost domestic about the whole scene, but it’s more than that—it’s the intimacy of knowing someone so well, of sharing your life with them in all its messy, beautiful complexity.

“Have I told you lately how amazing you are?” You ask, your voice softening.

Max glances at you, his expression tender. “Not today.”

“Well, you are,” you say, feeling a sudden rush of emotion. “I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

He pauses, the spoon in his hand hovering over the pot as he looks at you with an intensity that makes your breath catch. “You won’t ever have to find out,” he says quietly, his voice laced with a promise.

For a moment, you just stare at each other, the weight of his words settling over you like a warm blanket. It’s not the first time he’s said something like that, but it never fails to hit you with the same force, the same certainty that you’ve found something rare and precious in each other.

Before you can respond, he turns back to the stove, breaking the moment with a casualness that belies the depth of what was just said. “Besides,” he adds, a hint of mischief creeping into his tone, “I’m pretty sure you’d starve without me.”

You laugh, the sound a little shaky as you try to regain your composure. “You’re probably right. But I’d find a way.”

“Not as well as I do,” he counters, his voice filled with mock arrogance.

“True,” you admit, watching him with a smile. “You’ve ruined me for all other chefs.”

“Good,” he says, the pride in his voice unmistakable. “That was the plan.”

You shake your head, but you can’t help the warmth that spreads through you. He’s always been confident, sometimes to the point of being infuriating, but there’s a sincerity to it now that wasn’t there before—a genuine desire to take care of you, to be there for you in every way.

“Are you going to let me taste whatever masterpiece you’re working on, or do I have to wait until it’s perfect?” You ask, trying to peek over the counter again.

“Patience,” he repeats, though there’s a glint in his eye that tells you he’s enjoying this far too much.

“Max,” you whine, drawing out the syllable in a way that you know he can’t resist.

He sighs dramatically, as if you’ve just asked him to perform some Herculean task, but there’s a smile tugging at his lips. “Fine. But just a taste.”

He picks up a small spoon and dips it into the pot, then turns and walks over to you, holding it out with a flourish. “Here.”

You take the spoon from him, your curiosity piqued. The aroma is intoxicating, and when you bring the spoon to your lips, the flavors explode on your tongue — rich, savory, with a hint of sweetness that lingers just long enough to make you want more.

“Oh my god,” you say around the mouthful, your eyes widening in surprise. “This is amazing.”

“I know,” he says, clearly pleased with himself as he leans back against the counter, crossing his arms. “I had to do something special for my girls.”

You swallow, the warmth of his words spreading through you like a soft, gentle wave. “Girls, huh?” You ask, raising an eyebrow. “So you’re still convinced it’s a girl?”

He shrugs, but there’s a softness in his expression that makes your heart swell. “Just a feeling.”

You smile, resting a hand on your belly. “Well, I’m sure she’ll love whatever you cook for her.”

“She better,” he replies, though his voice is teasing. “Or I’m sending her back.”

You laugh, the sound filling the kitchen and easing the last remnants of tension in the air. “Too late for that.”

“Damn,” he mutters, but there’s a smile on his face as he turns back to the stove, stirring the pot with practiced ease. “Guess we’ll just have to keep trying.”

You watch him for a moment, your heart full to bursting with affection. He’s taken to this whole thing — pregnancy, impending fatherhood — with a kind of devotion that you never expected, but that somehow doesn’t surprise you at all. He’s always been all in, whether it’s in the kitchen or in your relationship. It’s one of the things you love most about him — that relentless drive to be the best, to give his all, no matter what.

“You’re going to be a great dad,” you say softly, the words slipping out before you can stop them.

Max pauses, his hand stilling on the spoon. For a moment, he just stands there, his back to you, and you wonder if you’ve said the wrong thing, if maybe it’s too soon, too much. But then he turns, and the look on his face — full of vulnerability and determination — takes your breath away.

“I’m going to try,” he says, his voice low but steady. “I promise.”

You nod, unable to find the words to respond. Instead, you reach out, taking his hand in yours and squeezing it gently. He squeezes back, his thumb brushing over your knuckles in a gesture that’s so simple, so familiar, and yet it says everything you need to hear.

“Okay,” he says after a moment, clearing his throat and breaking the spell. “I’ve got something else for you.”

You raise an eyebrow, intrigued. “What is it?”

He smirks, pulling his hand away and turning back to the counter. “Just wait.”

You watch as he opens the fridge and pulls out a small tray, carefully covered with a cloth. He sets it on the counter and, with a dramatic flourish, pulls the cloth away to reveal ... a plate of beautifully arranged pastries, each one delicately shaped and glistening with a light dusting of powdered sugar.

“Vegan croissants,” he says, a note of pride in his voice. “Made from scratch.”

Your jaw drops, and you stare at the pastries in disbelief. “You made these?”

“Of course,” he replies, as if it’s the most natural thing in the world. “I told you I’d figure it out.”

You’re speechless, the effort and care he’s put into this gesture rendering you momentarily stunned. You know how much work goes into making croissants, and the fact that he’s done it just to satisfy your cravings — it’s almost too much.

“Max,” you say, your voice thick with emotion, “you didn’t have to do this.”

He shrugs, though there’s a hint of bashfulness in his expression. “I wanted to.”

You reach out, picking up one of the croissants and holding it in your hands like it’s something precious. “You’re amazing, you know that?”

“I try,” he says with a smirk, watching as you take a tentative bite of the croissant.

The layers are perfectly flaky, the pastry light and buttery despite being vegan. It melts in your mouth, and you close your eyes, savoring the taste. “This is ... incredible,” you murmur, barely able to believe how good it is.

Max’s smirk softens into a genuine smile. “I’m glad you like it.”

You take another bite, unable to stop yourself from grinning. “I don’t just like it, Max. I love it.”

He chuckles, leaning against the counter with an air of satisfaction. “Good. But don’t go telling anyone, okay? You’re still the only person I’d cook vegan for.”

You laugh, a sound full of love and warmth. “Your secret’s safe with me.”

He winks, his eyes sparkling with mischief. “Better be. I’ve got a reputation to uphold, you know.”

You shake your head, your heart full as you look at the man you married — the man who, despite all his bravado, has always made you feel like the most important person in his world. “You’re impossible,” you say fondly.

“And you love it,” he replies, his voice softening as he reaches out to gently cup your cheek.

“I really do,” you whisper, leaning into his touch.

Max leans down, pressing a tender kiss to your forehead, his lips lingering there for a moment longer than necessary. When he pulls back, there’s a softness in his eyes that makes you feel like you’re the only person in the world.

“I love you,” he says, his voice steady and sure.

“I love you too,” you reply, your voice thick with emotion.

And as you sit there together, the scent of freshly baked croissants filling the air, you can’t help but feel a deep sense of contentment. Life might not always be easy, but with Max by your side — cooking for you, joking with you, loving you — you know you’ll always have a reason to smile, no matter what comes your way.

[spiderfunkz]

SEND YOU MY LOVE ON A WIRE!

pairings. cho hyun-ju x f!reader

cw. fluff, reader is alternative and plays the bass, no games au.

author's note: guys i don't know anything about instruments okay💔💔 i'm not sure if i did justice for this one, my knowledge for the subculture is very limited but i tried my best.

wandering through the streets of seoul late at night wasn't exactly the plan for cho hyun-ju.

after a long day at work, all she wanted to do was to eat at her favorite restaurant. she could already imagine sipping on the warm hearty soup. unfortunately though, the place was closed for the rest of the week.

now she has found herself staring into the window of a local pub. the music playing gave her a sense of nostalgia and starstruck-ness. the tunes brought a small wave of relief to hyun-ju, no matter how loud it was, it felt empowering.

a band was putting on a show there. hyun-ju was mesmerized by the melody, the genuine emotions it stirred, and also the cute bassist.

but to her luck the band stopped playing rather abruptly.

a rush of muttering and soon shouting came along with it. the band left the pub silently, walking towards the old van parked nearby.

the bassist followed behind them.

this could be the time to start a conversation with her, hyun-ju thinks, she could come up with many topics. it has been a long day, some small talk with a girl couldn't hurt, right?

"excuse me?" her hands awkwardly fidgeted, she wonders if you were even in the mood to talk. her worries were soon brushed off as she was met with a friendly smile.

"hi!" the light reflected on you, hyun-ju noticed your makeup. it looks flawless, everything seemed to compliment your features very well.

"could i help you with something?" your voice was just as angelic as the singer— well, you were in a band, that talent must've lingered for all the members.

hyun-ju's mouth began talking faster than her head could comprehend it, "is it okay if i ask why you stopped playing in there?"

you laugh, "oh yeah, i guess the guy, owner, whatever- was expecting we play something.. softer? i don't know. i'm assuming he didn't read the list of songs we were gonna play."

hyun-ju nods, "i thought it was really nice."

"the guy thought otherwise," you shrug.

"you played very well there, i only heard a bit of it. but you looked very skilled." hyun-ju's voice made it sound like it was more of a statement. she was genuinely in awe of your talent.

"i'm just the bassist, credits should be given to the guitarist or singer if anything."

"but the bass ties it together, no? it controls the rhythm and pace, i think it enhances the tune of the song you were playing," hyun-ju smiles, she hopes she doesn't sound too sheepish or weird, "you brought a nice sense of energy and aura."

her words definitely struck a chord with you.

"what's your name, pretty?" your words caught the woman off guard, "oh, hyun-ju, cho hyun-ju."

"well, hyun-ju, do you want to grab a drink with me?"

"what about your band?" she gestures to the van that has been waiting for you this entire time, "i can handle it. they won't mind too much, besides, we're not gonna play anything else tonight."

hyun-ju nods, excited.

"okay then, i know a spot."

you motion to the van to leave without you, the bass still strapped on your back. hyun-ju's eyes focused on you before giving a small wave to the van driving away.

hyun-ju was wrong. wandering the streets of seoul late at night was the perfect plan. to meet someone as talented and gorgeous as you, she was able to ease off for the night. forgetting all the worries that laced her thoughts earlier today.

the night felt more lively than ever. you got to tell her many things, such as; your love for alternative rock, how you eventually learned the bass, how you met your friends slash bandmates, and how you discovered yourself through the art of music. you got to share your views and perspectives, your makeup routine, your favorite places to play at— hyun-ju listened to every single word that came out of you.

you noticed it. "say, hyun-ju, would you like to go out sometime? grab another drink maybe, or go to a place of your choice?"

"i would love to."

"okay then," you grab a piece of paper and pen hidden in your pocket, you had this planned all along, did you?

"here, give me a call, pretty."

[tryingtofindava]

𝐁𝐮𝐢𝐥𝐝 𝐌𝐞 𝐔𝐩

𝐄𝐥𝐥𝐢𝐞 𝐖𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐢𝐚𝐦𝐬 𝐱 𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

: ̗̀➛Back to source

Scenario: Winter depression hits Ellie like a snowball, being the loving girlfriend you are you want to of course cheer her up for the holidays. What better way to do that then build a snowman? Maybe even build Ellie back up too…

⋆꙳•❅*‧ ‧*❆ ₊⋆･:*:｡･:*:･ﾟ⋆꙳•❅*‧ ‧*❆ ₊⋆･:*:｡･:*:･ﾟ⋆꙳•❅ ⋆꙳•❅*‧ ‧*❆ ₊⋆

“Babe… it’s cold, c’mon.” Ellie called for you again as you tracked through the thick snow, Jackson has always had the fluffiest thickest snowfall you could ever imagine.

“It’s your fault you’re cold!! Who wears converse in the snow??” You called back to the girl, a smile on your face as you finally found the perfect place to start building up your snowman. You could practically feel Ellie’s eye roll.

The past few days Ellie had just been down, winter depression making her act like a kicked puppy 25/8. And this was your attempt at cheering up the freckled faced girl.

“What’re you even doing…??” She questions you, now beside you as you crouched to the ground and started to roll snow. “Making a snowman, duh…” You look up at her, her brows just furrowed in response.

“Make the second layer for me, Els.” The demand left your lips, she sighed as she started rolling up the snow to make the second layer.

Once you finished the base of the soon to be snowman, Ellie lifted the second part up on top of your base with ease. A small smile etched on your lips, you looked over at Ellie, only to see the auburn haired girl working away at creating the snowman’s head.

You’re smile only grew, as your turned away to start to find little stones and sticks, to decorate your snowman.

Picking up everyone you can get your hands were filled with little stones, you dumped them at yours and Ellie’s feet. The two of you glanced at each other, giving her a nudge before you guys got to work.

Giggling as you guys bumped hands trying to pick up the same pebbles. Smooshing them into the snow of the snowman.

Taking a step back you admire your work, hands on your hips. “He’s naked…” Ellie mumbles, you looked up at her, you could see the faint smile pulling at the corners of her lips.

“Not anymoreeeee~!!” You spoke gently in a sing song voice, taking your bobble bag off and stretching it to fit over the snowman’s head. Ellie follows yours lead and unwraps her scarf and placed it around the snowman’s head.

Admiring your work, you nudge Ellie with a grin. “Not too shabby, huh…?” You wiggle your brows, which warned a roll of the eyes from your girl.

But you could see her faint smile, small… but still definitely there. “It’s not the worst lookin’ snowman I’ve ever seen…” She hummed, shrugging. You giggled at her before leaning up to capture her lips in a sweet kiss. “Let’s head homes your shivering…”

You whisper softly, running your hands up and down her arms. She took your hand, and pulled you along. “Finally! I’m gonna get hypothermia out here!!”

⋆꙳•❅*‧ ‧*❆ ₊⋆･:*:｡･:*:･ﾟ⋆꙳•❅*‧ ‧*❆ ₊⋆･:*:｡･:*:･ﾟ⋆꙳•❅ ⋆꙳•❅*‧ ‧*❆ ₊⋆

eh it’s short n shitty but I wanted to get it out the way since I was supposed to post this for Christmas… my bad :p so excuse the poor spelling and grammar I’m sleep deprived and wanted this out the drafts LMAO

Always last list for the Christmas chronicles this year hehe

[starmaker-astral]

Im currently reading @phoen1xr0se 's 1941 fic (wonderful. Go read it, 3 chapters, around 20K words, every single word definitely worth it)

And apart from the fact that I love how the evening in 1941 is replayed with Crowley POV from the moment he receives the bootleg alcohol (with a glimpse of all his thoughts, why he did this and that etc....), Phoenix gave a meaning for everything that wasn't said in the show and it's really good. It's so coherent and fluid that I might forgetting that it's not even entirely canon. It's sooo pleasant omg.

And obviously the description are so nice and well written you FEEL the story and you can imagine the scenes very smoothly. Even me who have struggles vizualizing stories, it's so comfortable and easy with this one.

But most of all, I love how Phoenix conveyed Aziracrow's vibe: "The world is a mess but we're together and that's what matters"

"You are about to die by the hand of a Naz!"

- "Oh yeah, whatever. Dont interrupt our conversation please thank you... More importantly, dear, what's the J stand for ?"

____________________________________

You Don't Dance - The Story of 1941

https://archiveofourown.org/works/51170593/chapters/129293383

____________________________________

[ajwrks]

Would you be willing to write a platonic oneshot with Ultra Magnus and a gender neutral human reader? :)

(I loved your Ratchet fic btw, it was perfect)

—Distractions

ultra magnus x gn! human reader

i’m glad you liked it!! <3

this one shot is about reader getting ultra magnus to play board games instead of doing his job 🔥. and the research i tried to do on cybertronian games was actually so bad LMAO. so just imagine the game is jenga/tetris 💔

It’s late into the afternoon. far too late. the bright overhead lights humming quietly, the muted buzz of keys fills the empty void. you stand patiently in front of his desk— his very clean and pristine desk, it makes you wonder if ultra magnus has any life outside of harshly enforcing rules and patrolling the ship like his spark depended on it. 

“can i assist you with anything?” he finally says, optics shifting away from his extensive layers of spreadsheets and… and you’re not too sure anymore. you just know that it is a lot of work for one person to be doing alone. 

“i think you’re the one who needs help. why do you drown yourself in all of this?” you cringed, making it very evident as your shoulders hike up to your ears. without warning, ultra magnus feels a shift in weight on the edge of his desk and next thing he knows, there you go, sitting on the very edge with your legs crossed and dangling directly next to his neatly arranged papers. ultra magnus and his entire frame still as his optics bore into yours, and then back to the stack of papers, and then back to you. “relax. i’m not going to knock them over,” he glances at you once more, irritation arising. 

“did you come here to ridicule me, y/n?” he asks slowly. unfazed by his solemnity, your grin widens. 

“no. the exact opposite actually,” you begin, leaning on your arm to get more comfortable in the space. “what’s the name of that game you taught me?” you inquired, aimlessly wandering to get the cogs turning in your head to remember the name of your precious game. 

“tadek?” magnus replies plainly. your eyes glint at the familiarity of the name. 

“yes! that’s it. let’s play it.” 

“i don’t think i can, y/n.”

“what? why not? you’re always busy magnus, and i’m bored,” you retort, whispering the last part to yourself— but it definitely didn’t go unnoticed by ultra magnus. “a couple of games and then you can go back to being your boring self at this desk.” you were fairly shocked to learn that ultra magnus learned how to play a game throughout the years in his considerable life span. ultra magnus can’t even utter the word fun without internally stalling and ultimately butchering up its pronunciation. upon your request, he shifts uncomfortably in his seat, fingers hovering over the keys of his digital notepad. he couldn’t seem to concentrate at the current task at hand with your persistence, making casual conversation, and your complete unconcern with the deadlines looming over his helm. 

“so are you going to play a few games?” your smile broadens, he always falls for this tactic, it's inevitable. he can never say no to you. ultra magnus drags a servo down his faceplate, carefully considering. 

“perhaps a couple games wouldn’t hurt my schedule,” he says begrudgingly, falsely displaying his exasperation. he was actually rather relieved that you had come along to stick a bookmark in his list of a billion things to do. you hum in satisfaction as you make your way across his office to fish for the games and its contents. (ultra magnus took 80 years just to clear his desk btw) setting the square box down, you unload everything and set up as quickly as possible. 

—

the game of tadek was strenuous, building structures with tiles to perfectly resemble a tower was difficult but was easily fun beyond that aspect. each move by magnus was calculated, each strategy you utilized countered with precision— you were starting to question if he was taking this too seriously (per usual). you drum your fingertips on the edge of the desk, resting the side of your head in the palm of your hand. drawing to a conclusion, your hand reaches to grab a colored tile. 

“are you sure?” ultra magnus blurts out. eyeing him you pause. 

“what? now you’re making me nervous.” you say as a subtle grin tugs at the corner of his derma. “don’t make me come over there and pull you out that armor.” 

he stopped smiling. 

“are YOU sure?” you jeered, lowering your voice to sound like the enforcer of the tyrest accord sitting right in front of you. ultra magnus blatantly ignoring your mockery as he placed his next tile. soon enough, it was your turn, gazing upon the selection your brows burrow in thought. you settle on the neon pink one, gently setting it on top of your growing tower. blue holographic light ignites, engulfing your structure. your eyes widened at your victory, laughing triumphantly. 

“finally! i beat you!” 

“i let you win,” ultra magnus adds. you gape at him.

“no you didn’t…” the smallest chuckle escapes his throat as he stands from his chair, collecting the pieces to place back into its respected spot. “did you really?” you squint at him. he expressed no indication of whether he did or not— “i appreciate the time you chose to spend with me. it was entertaining,” he spoke formally, placing the cover back over the box. 

“see? it was fun,” you emphasize the word fun on your tongue. “ i’ll be back again soon!”

“i’m afraid i have important work to finish y/n… please do not come back…”

[riongeee]

I lowk want to make a Sebek time travel fix-it fic but I don't know what to do with it :'^( Do you have any specific troupes/scenarios you would like to see?

Dhdidifjfjdjdj

Okay so, in this situation it's very dependant on where he time travels from. See most peoples immediate assumption would be after an overblot went wrong and he died or something or after the overblots in general.

But imagine this, things do go wrong in Malleus' or Grimms overblot, I'm thinking Yuu dies, maybe the first years. Regardless, Sebek doesn't. He lives on with the regrets of what he could have done differently and becomes a jaded old man. His relationship with Malleus is never the same, he just can't look at him the same way.

So when he finally passes on and wakes up as his younger self, he's: old, jaded and almost reminiscent of Baul-Sebek, not the loud Sebek of the past. Just think about it.

On the flip side, if you wanted to take the other approach of him going back while he's still young, it has so much angst potential. Because all the events will be fresh in his mind and he just can't quite look at anyone without getting sick.

If it's a young enough time travel (before Nrc) he stops hanging out with Silver and throws himself into training. Or he begins to hang out with Silver more but almost like a bodyguard, trying to see where he can change the future.

As for other people, like the first years, I'd just like to say. Imagine being friends with someone and then suddenly they don't know you, have no recollection of the memories you've made, the conversations you've had. It would sting.

For the overblot gang, it would be difficult, because Sebek want them to avoid overblot but the Riddle before overblot is so strict and how would he even go about talking to Leona or Jamil??? (Sebek taking over Yuus job as unpaid therapist arc?(making friends with the upper years and becoming their honorary sibling arc??? Idk just some food for thought))

Something else interesting to consider is whether Sebek would stay in the same dorm. Rook changed dorms after first year after all, what's to say that a Sebek that has gone through so much wouldn't change too(what potential dorm, I'll leave for you to think about).

Anyways this is just some ideas to play around with, main point is that you should definitely write the fic😼😼😼

Sebek needs more fics dedicated to him, he's not appreciated enough :'(

Dkjddjdjdj, anyways excited to see what you do with these (you don't have to use any of these just some fun ideas that have been swimming in my head, but I hope you like em<3)

[aquatic-hybrid]

While Artemis and Wicht were having their own small argument between fairies, Akio followed along with Noelle and left them alone so he could focus on their own conversation.

Hearing her knowledge about the current iteration of the Hero and her personal experiences with them. Akio grew even more curious about who this person might be, another thing that caught his ears was the mention of a magical artifact.

The usage of such an item would definitely make sailing much easier, gods know how often Akio struggles with bad weather. "If it helps, I can always come with you in your next Hylian adventure. You can keep the baton safe while we look for this Linkle girl." Akio began to respond, part of him hiding the growing want to explore that land once more.

"Plus, if we were to find Lady Fi first, nothing is really stopping us from keeping her with us while we travel around anyhow. And we can test your own little theory to see how long I can wield her if we are in a safe environment. With her permission, of course." That last part definitely was Akio's adventurous side talking over, so much of that land was riddled with things to explore. It made him hard to not imagine spending time there.

"How have you been, Akio? Feels like I haven't seen you at port in awhile. Did you get pulled into a grand adventure?"

Standing tall as he looked over at other ships arriving at the port, Akio looked back at Noelle as she gathered his attention. He has changed a little bit since last time, longer hair, slightly worn jacket, but his bright smile and eyes were the same as always.

"Ah! Nell! It has been a while since we have last seen each other." Fully turning to face her, he kept his familiar smile as he continued. "Oh yeah, you won't believe half the things I got into while out in my last adventure. Are you familiar with fairies by chance?" That question alone was clearly the start of a great tale.

@songofsilentechoes

[doll-elvis]

“He sat next to me, switching between holding my hand and petting my hair; he was so sweet and attentive… we were all having a great time but it was getting late. I was surprised when Elvis told everyone to go down the hall to Joe’s room to continue the party. He whispered to me, ‘I want you to stay here with me’. He then took my hand and we walked out on the balcony and he kissed me”

“I couldn’t help opening my eyes for a split second, saying to myself, Oh my God, I’m kissing Elvis Presley. We stayed there for a while just kissing and talking before he took my hand and led me to his bedroom. He kissed me as he took off all his clothes, his body was muscular and firm in all the right places. He carefully removed my dress and pulled me down on the bed. He was a great kisser and an incredible lover. Just unbelievably wonderful…”

(excerpt from “Centerfolds” by Charlotte Kemp)

[artemx746]

godswap au in which Ethan, Alabaster, and Luke are the sons of the big three, but their mortal parents were able to persuade two minor goddesses and one Olympian to pretend they were their children.

PLEASE THAT WOULD BE HILARIOUS.

Luke as a child of Hades with May asking Hermes to protect her son :((( May being so stubborn about wanting to be the Oracle that she doesn’t listen to Hades’ warnings about it and he has to deal being gone because of the prophecy :(((((((

Ethan as a child of Zeus sounds so funny to me. I imagine it took a lot of convincing from Ethan’s mortal parent to get Nemesis to claim him. I’d like to believe that Nemesis made him swear on the Styx that he could not tell Ethan who his parent actually was because in her eyes it would’ve been funnier if Zeus’s own son respected her more than Zeus.

Poseidon Alabaster but instead of his mortal dad asking Hecate it’s poseidon asking Hecate to claim his son like someone pitching a new show to a producer. (She only accepts because she has a soft spot for children and baby Al just looked too cute)

going into canon Luke is the only one who’s aware of who his father actually is meanwhile Ethan and Alabaster genuinely believe Nemesis and Hecate are their respective parents and they also both HATE Zeus and Poseidon. Shenanigans ensue while the big three are all freaking out over three of their children joining the TA.

[rearranging-deck-chairs]

obsessed with their different reactions to being called starcrossed lovers

[loriache]

I think Holm's sister must be studying something to do with the dungeon? It's not 100 percent clear to me but she seems to also live on the island - and if not, probably kahka brud, since holm and kabru can drop in on her fairly casually. If she does live on the island, as a scholar, a good reason to do so is if you're studying the dungeon. Maybe she is a historian of the era of the golden kingdom? Maybe she researches dungeon related magic?

The main reason I'm sure it must be something like that is that Kabru isn't in a place at the start of the story where he's devoting any energy towards relationships that don't advance his goals. There are so many people on the island who are useful to know for that reason, after all - he would probably spend the whole time with an unrelated person thinking about how he could be spending his time more productively. Not to say he doesn't ever genuinely socialise or enjoy socialising- he definitely does, but I think he needs that excuse to really devote the time that semi regular meetups at her house and letters exchanged implied. But maybe they're corresponding about her area of study, as well as being friends/lovers.

[booksandwillowtrees]

I love a man in uniform <3 (5 months ago I saw a man and woman wearing UPS uniforms at my college and I felt a deep yearning in my soul, my heart rate accelerated, I believed in magic like I was a child again, and I’ve thought of them on a regular basis since.)

[girls-and-honey]

Hiya honey girl!

How are you doing? ♥️

I feel gay today, and I don’t have anyone to vent to, so it’s gonna be you I’m afraid

I feel so gay, I spent half the day looking longingly in the distance, and *sighing* wishfully

Do you ever feel like that?

Last week I bought a red rose from a dude in the street and offered it to a beautiful lady singer in a bar, and even if I don’t particularly want to see her again, it still felt good to do something chivalrous and lesbiany you know?

I like living my life on my own, but some days I wish I could do those romantic things with somebody, like holding hands and cuddling, and walking along the river, and maybe kissing a little.

Even if I’m happy by myself, sometimes I still yearn for the day I’ll have my own lady to offer my roses to 🥺

inkaaaa hi hi <3

I'm doing pretty good, in drastic need of a weekend. almost there!

!!! gay vents are always welcome here! oh to look longingly into the distance whilst sighing wishfully...

do I ever feel like that YES absolutely in fact while pondering my response I did just that asjdfkl okay I might ramble in the tags but yeah completely relate to be happy with life on my own but sometimes wishing it wasn't just me yeah I'm definitely going to ramble in the tags

offering a beautiful lady a rose I'm 🥺🥺 sometimes you just have to indulge in chivalrous lesbiany actions this is unavoidable. manifesting this for you, I hope all your rose offering yearnings come true!